The sentence nevertheless turned out to be more merciful than might have been expected, given the crime committed, perhaps precisely because the criminal not only did not try to justify himself, but even seemed to show a desire to inculpate himself still more. All the strange and particular circumstances of the case were taken into consideration. The criminal's illness and distress prior to committing the crime were not subject to the least doubt. That he had not made use of what he had stolen was attributed partly to the influence of awakened repentance, partly to the not quite sound state of his mental capacities at the time the murder was committed. The circumstance of the accidental killing of Lizaveta even served as an example in support of the latter suggestion: the man commits two murders, and at the same time forgets that the door is standing open! Finally, the confession of his guilt, at the very time when the case had become extraordinarily tangled as a result of the false self-accusation of a dispirited fanatic (Nikolai), and when, moreover, there was not only no clear evidence against the real criminal, but hardly even any suspicion (Porfiry Petrovich had fully kept his word)—all this contributed in the end to mitigating the accused man's sentence.
Besides which, other circumstances quite unexpectedly came out that greatly favored the accused. The former student Razumikhin dug up information somewhere and presented proofs that the criminal Raskolnikov, while at the university, had used his last resources to help a poor and consumptive fellow student, and had practically supported him for half a year. And when the student died, he had looked after his surviving old and paralytic father (whom his dead friend had fed and supported by his own efforts almost since the age of thirteen), finally placed the old man in a hospital, and when he died as well, buried him. All this information had a certain favorable influence on the deciding of Raskolnikov's fate. His former landlady, the mother of Raskolnikov's late fiancée, the widow Zarnitsyn, also testified that while they were still living in the other house, at Five Corners, Raskolnikov, during a fire one night, had carried two small children out of an apartment already in flames and had been burned in the process. This fact was carefully investigated and quite well attested to by many witnesses. In short, the outcome was that the criminal was sentenced to penal servitude of the second class for a term of only eight years, in consideration of his having come to confess his guilt and other mitigating circumstances.
At the very beginning of the proceedings, Raskolnikov's mother became ill. Dunya and Razumikhin found it possible to take her away from Petersburg for the whole time of the trial. Razumikhin chose a town on a railway line, and only a short distance from Petersburg, so that he could follow regularly all the circumstances of the proceedings and at the same time see Avdotya Romanovna as often as possible. Pulcheria Alexandrovna's illness was of some strange, nervous sort, and was accompanied by something like madness, at least partial, if not complete. Dunya, on coming home from her last meeting with her brother, had found her mother already quite ill, in fever and delirium. That same evening she arranged with Razumikhin how precisely to answer her mother's questions about her brother, and they even invented a whole story for her mother about Raskolnikov going somewhere far away, to the Russian border, on some private mission that would finally bring him both money and fame. But they were struck that Pulcheria Alexandrovna never asked them anything about any of it, either then or later. On the contrary, she turned out to have a whole story of her own about her son's sudden departure; she would tell with tears of how he had come to say good-bye to her; she would let it be known by hints that she alone was informed of many quite important and mysterious circumstances, and that Rodya had many quite powerful enemies, so that he had even been forced to go into hiding. As for his future career, to her it also seemed unquestionable and brilliant, once certain hostile circumstances passed; she assured Razumikhin that in time her son would even be a statesman, as was proved by his article and by his brilliant literary talent. She read this article incessantly, sometimes even aloud; she all but slept with it; yet she hardly ever asked precisely where Rodya was at present, in spite of the fact that people obviously avoided talking to her about it—which in itself might have aroused her suspicions. Finally, they began to be frightened by Pulcheria Alexandrovna's strange silence on certain issues. She did not even complain, for instance, that there were no letters from him, whereas before, when she was living in her little town, she had lived only in the hope and expectation of soon receiving a letter from her beloved Rodya. This last circumstance was all too inexplicable, and greatly troubled Dunya; the thought kept occurring to her that her mother had perhaps sensed something terrible in her son's fate and was afraid to ask questions lest she find out something still more terrible. In any event, Dunya saw clearly that Pulcheria Alexandrovna was not in her right mind.
A couple of times, however, it happened that she herself led the conversation in such a way that it was impossible in answering her not to mention precisely where Rodya was then; and when, willy-nilly, the answers came out unsatisfactory and suspicious, she would all at once turn extremely sad, gloomy, and silent, and would remain so for quite a long time. Dunya saw at last that it was hard to go on lying and inventing, and came to a final conclusion that it was better to be completely silent on certain issues; but it was becoming more and more clear, to the point of obviousness, that the poor mother suspected something terrible. Dunya incidentally remembered her brother saying that their mother had listened to her raving on the eve of that last, fatal day, after her scene with Svidrigailov: had she managed to hear something then? Often, sometimes after several days or even weeks of gloomy, sullen silence and wordless tears, the sick woman would become somehow hysterically animated and begin suddenly to talk aloud, almost without stop, about her son, about her hopes, about the future...Her fantasies were sometimes very strange. They humored her, yessed her (she herself perhaps saw clearly that they yessed her only to humor her), but she still went on talking . . .
The sentence came five months after the criminal went and confessed. Razumikhin saw him in prison whenever he possibly could. So did Sonya. Finally it came time to part. Dunya swore to her brother that the parting was not forever; so did Razumikhin. A project had firmly shaped itself in Razumikhin's young and ardent head, to lay, as far as possible, over the next three or four years, at least the foundations of a future fortune, to save at least some money, and move to Siberia, where the soil was rich in all respects, and workers, people, and capital were scarce; to settle there in the same town where Rodya was, and...begin a new life together. On saying farewell, they all wept. Raskolnikov had been very pensive during those last days, inquired often about his mother, was constantly worried about her. He even suffered too much over her, which alarmed Dunya. Having learned in detail of his mother's ailing spirits, he became very gloomy. With Sonya he was for some reason especially taciturn the whole time. Sonya had long since made her preparations, with the help of the money left her by Svidrigailov, and was ready to follow the party of convicts with which he would be sent. No word had been spoken of it between her and Raskolnikov, but they both knew it would be so. During the last farewell, he kept smiling strangely at the fervent assurances of his sister and Razumikhin about their happy future when he would be done with hard labor, and foretold that his mother's ailing condition would soon end in grief. He and Sonya finally set off.
Two months later Dunechka married Razumikhin. The wedding was sad and quiet. Among those invited, by the way, were Porfiry Petrovich and Zossimov. All the time recently, Razumikhin had had the look of a man who has firmly made up his mind. Dunya believed blindly that he would carry out all his intentions, and could not but believe it: an iron will could be seen in the man. Incidentally, he began attending university lectures again, to complete his studies. They were both constantly making plans for the future; both firmly counted on moving to Siberia without fail in five years' time. Until then they relied on Sonya being there . . .