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for a bit！ I know well enough that I've caught him and that he won't
escape me。 Where could he escape to； he…he？ Abroad； perhaps？ A Pole
will escape abroad； but not here； especially as I am watching and have
taken measures。 Will he escape into the depths of the country perhaps？
But you know； peasants live there； real rude Russian peasants。 A
modern cultivated man would prefer prison to living with such
strangers as our peasants。 He…he！ But that's all nonsense； and on
the surface。 It's not merely that he has nowhere to run to； he is
psychologically unable to escape me； he…he！ What an expression！
Through a law of nature he can't escape me if he had anywhere to go。
Have you seen a butterfly round a candle？ That's how he will keep
circling and circling round me。 Freedom will lose its attractions。
He'll begin to brood； hell weave a tangle round himself； he'll worry
himself to death！ What's more he will provide me with a mathematical
proof… if I only give him long enough interval。。。。 And he'll keep
circling round me； getting nearer and nearer and then… flop！ He'll fly
straight into my mouth and I'll swallow him； and that will be very
amusing； he…he…he！ You don't believe me？〃
Raskolnikov made no reply； he sat pale and motionless； still
gazing with the same intensity into Porfiry's face。
〃It's a lesson；〃 he thought； turning cold。 〃This is beyond the cat
playing with a mouse； like yesterday。 He can't be showing off his
power with no motive。。。 prompting me； he is far too clever for that。。。
he must have another object。 What is it？ It's all nonsense； my friend；
you are pretending； to scare me！ You've no proofs and the man I saw
had no real existence。 You simply want to make me lose my head； to
work me up beforehand and so to crush me。 But you are wrong； you won't
do it！ But why give me such a hint？ Is he reckoning on my shattered
nerves？ No； my friend； you are wrong； you won't do it even though
you have some trap for me。。。 let us see what you have in store for
me。〃
And he braced himself to face a terrible and unknown ordeal。 At
times he longed to fall on Porfiry and strangle him。 This anger was
what he dreaded from the beginning。 He felt that his parched lips were
flecked with foam； his heart was throbbing。 But he was still
determined not to speak till the right moment。 He realised that this
was the best policy in his position； because instead of saying too
much he would be irritating his enemy by his silence and provoking him
into speaking too freely。 Anyhow； this was what he hoped for。
〃No； I see you don't believe me； you think I am playing a harmless
joke on you；〃 Porfiry began again； getting more and more lively；
chuckling at every instant and again pacing round the room。 〃And； to
be sure； you're right： God has given me a figure that can awaken
none but comic ideas in other people； a buffoon； but let me tell you
and I repeat it； excuse an old man； my dear Rodion Romanovitch； you
are a man still young； so to say； in your first youth and so you put
intellect above everything； like all young people。 Playful wit and
abstract arguments fascinate you and that's for all the world like the
old Austrian Hofkriegsrath； as far as I can judge of military
matters that is： on paper they'd beaten Napoleon and taken him
prisoner； and there in their study they worked it all out in the
cleverest fashion； but look you； General Mack surrendered with all his
army； he…he…he！ I see； I see； Rodion Romanovitch； you are laughing
at a civilian like me； taking examples out of military history！ But
I can't help it； it's my weakness。 I am fond of military science。
And I'm ever so fond of reading all military histories。 I've certainly
missed my proper career。 I ought to have been in the army； upon my
word I ought。 I shouldn't have been a Napoleon； but I might have
been a major； he…he…he！ Well； I'll tell you the whole truth； my dear
fellow； about this special case； I mean： actual fact and a man's
temperament； my dear sir； are weighty matters and it's astonishing how
they sometimes deceive the sharpest calculation！ I… listen to an old
man… am speaking seriously； Rodion Romanovitch （as he said this
Porfiry Petrovitch who was scarcely five and thirty actually seemed to
have grown old； even his voice changed and he seemed to shrink
together） moreover； I'm a candid man。。。 am I a candid man or not？ What
do you say？ I fancy I really am： I tell you these things for nothing
and don't even expect a reward for it； he…he！ Well； to proceed； wit in
my opinion is a splendid thing； it is； so to say； an adornment of
nature and a consolation of life； and what tricks it can play！ So that
it sometimes is hard for a poor examining lawyer to know where he
is； especially when he's liable to be carried away by his own fancy；
too； for you know he is a man after all。 But the poor fellow is
saved by the criminal's temperament； worse luck for him！ But young
people carried away by their own wit don't think of that 'when they
overstep all obstacles' as you wittily and cleverly expressed it
yesterday。 He will lie… that is； the man who is a special case； the
incognito； and he will lie well； in the cleverest fashion； you might
think he would triumph and enjoy the fruits of his wit； but at the
most interesting； the most flagrant moment he will faint。 Of course
there may be illness and a stuffy room as well； but anyway！ Anyway
he's given us the idea！ He lied incomparably； but he didn't reckon
on his temperament。 That's what betrays him！ Another time he will be
carried away by his playful wit into making fun of the man who
suspects him； he will turn pale as it were on purpose to mislead；
but his paleness will be too natural； too much like the real thing；
again he has given us an idea！ Though his questioner may be deceived
at first； he will think differently next day if he is not a fool； and；
of course； it is like that at every step！ He puts himself forward
where he is not wanted； speaks continually when he ought to keep
silent； brings in all sorts of allegorical allusions； he…he！ Comes and
asks why didn't you take me long ago； he…he…he！ And that can happen；
you know； with the cleverest man； the psychologist； the literary
man。 The tempe