Prestuplenie i nakazanie. English by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
CHAPTER II
Razumihin waked up next morning at eight o'clock, troubled and serious.He found himself confronted with many new and unlooked-for perplexities.He had never expected that he would ever wake up feeling like that. Heremembered every detail of the previous day and he knew that a perfectlynovel experience had befallen him, that he had received an impressionunlike anything he had known before. At the same time he recognisedclearly that the dream which had fired his imagination was hopelesslyunattainable--so unattainable that he felt positively ashamed of it, andhe hastened to pass to the other more practical cares and difficultiesbequeathed him by that "thrice accursed yesterday."
The most awful recollection of the previous day was the way he had shownhimself "base and mean," not only because he had been drunk, butbecause he had taken advantage of the young girl's position to abuseher _fiance_ in his stupid jealousy, knowing nothing of their mutualrelations and obligations and next to nothing of the man himself. Andwhat right had he to criticise him in that hasty and unguarded manner?Who had asked for his opinion? Was it thinkable that such a creature asAvdotya Romanovna would be marrying an unworthy man for money? So theremust be something in him. The lodgings? But after all how could he knowthe character of the lodgings? He was furnishing a flat... Foo! howdespicable it all was! And what justification was it that he was drunk?Such a stupid excuse was even more degrading! In wine is truth, and thetruth had all come out, "that is, all the uncleanness of his coarseand envious heart"! And would such a dream ever be permissible tohim, Razumihin? What was he beside such a girl--he, the drunken noisybraggart of last night? Was it possible to imagine so absurd and cynicala juxtaposition? Razumihin blushed desperately at the very idea andsuddenly the recollection forced itself vividly upon him of how he hadsaid last night on the stairs that the landlady would be jealous ofAvdotya Romanovna... that was simply intolerable. He brought his fistdown heavily on the kitchen stove, hurt his hand and sent one of thebricks flying.
"Of course," he muttered to himself a minute later with a feeling ofself-abasement, "of course, all these infamies can never be wiped out orsmoothed over... and so it's useless even to think of it, and I mustgo to them in silence and do my duty... in silence, too... and not askforgiveness, and say nothing... for all is lost now!"
And yet as he dressed he examined his attire more carefully than usual.He hadn't another suit--if he had had, perhaps he wouldn't have put iton. "I would have made a point of not putting it on." But in any case hecould not remain a cynic and a dirty sloven; he had no right to offendthe feelings of others, especially when they were in need of hisassistance and asking him to see them. He brushed his clothes carefully.His linen was always decent; in that respect he was especially clean.
He washed that morning scrupulously--he got some soap from Nastasya--hewashed his hair, his neck and especially his hands. When it came to thequestion whether to shave his stubbly chin or not (Praskovya Pavlovnahad capital razors that had been left by her late husband), the questionwas angrily answered in the negative. "Let it stay as it is! What ifthey think that I shaved on purpose to...? They certainly would thinkso! Not on any account!"
"And... the worst of it was he was so coarse, so dirty, he had themanners of a pothouse; and... and even admitting that he knew he hadsome of the essentials of a gentleman... what was there in that to beproud of? Everyone ought to be a gentleman and more than that... and allthe same (he remembered) he, too, had done little things... not exactlydishonest, and yet.... And what thoughts he sometimes had; hm... and toset all that beside Avdotya Romanovna! Confound it! So be it! Well, he'dmake a point then of being dirty, greasy, pothouse in his manners and hewouldn't care! He'd be worse!"
He was engaged in such monologues when Zossimov, who had spent the nightin Praskovya Pavlovna's parlour, came in.
He was going home and was in a hurry to look at the invalid first.Razumihin informed him that Raskolnikov was sleeping like a dormouse.Zossimov gave orders that they shouldn't wake him and promised to seehim again about eleven.
"If he is still at home," he added. "Damn it all! If one can't controlone's patients, how is one to cure them? Do you know whether _he_ willgo to them, or whether _they_ are coming here?"
"They are coming, I think," said Razumihin, understanding the objectof the question, "and they will discuss their family affairs, no doubt.I'll be off. You, as the doctor, have more right to be here than I."
"But I am not a father confessor; I shall come and go away; I've plentyto do besides looking after them."
"One thing worries me," interposed Razumihin, frowning. "On the way homeI talked a lot of drunken nonsense to him... all sorts of things... andamongst them that you were afraid that he... might become insane."
"You told the ladies so, too."
"I know it was stupid! You may beat me if you like! Did you think soseriously?"
"That's nonsense, I tell you, how could I think it seriously? You,yourself, described him as a monomaniac when you fetched me tohim... and we added fuel to the fire yesterday, you did, that is, withyour story about the painter; it was a nice conversation, when he was,perhaps, mad on that very point! If only I'd known what happened thenat the police station and that some wretch... had insulted him with thissuspicion! Hm... I would not have allowed that conversation yesterday.These monomaniacs will make a mountain out of a mole-hill... andsee their fancies as solid realities.... As far as I remember, it wasZametov's story that cleared up half the mystery, to my mind. Why, Iknow one case in which a hypochondriac, a man of forty, cut the throatof a little boy of eight, because he couldn't endure the jokes he madeevery day at table! And in this case his rags, the insolent policeofficer, the fever and this suspicion! All that working upon a man halffrantic with hypochondria, and with his morbid exceptional vanity! Thatmay well have been the starting-point of illness. Well, bother itall!... And, by the way, that Zametov certainly is a nice fellow, buthm... he shouldn't have told all that last night. He is an awfulchatterbox!"
"But whom did he tell it to? You and me?"
"And Porfiry."
"What does that matter?"
"And, by the way, have you any influence on them, his mother and sister?Tell them to be more careful with him to-day...."
"They'll get on all right!" Razumihin answered reluctantly.
"Why is he so set against this Luzhin? A man with money and she doesn'tseem to dislike him... and they haven't a farthing, I suppose? eh?"
"But what business is it of yours?" Razumihin cried with annoyance. "Howcan I tell whether they've a farthing? Ask them yourself and perhapsyou'll find out...."
"Foo! what an ass you are sometimes! Last night's wine has not gone offyet.... Good-bye; thank your Praskovya Pavlovna from me for my night'slodging. She locked herself in, made no reply to my _bonjour_ throughthe door; she was up at seven o'clock, the samovar was taken into herfrom the kitchen. I was not vouchsafed a personal interview...."
At nine o'clock precisely Razumihin reached the lodgings at Bakaleyev'shouse. Both ladies were waiting for him with nervous impatience. Theyhad risen at seven o'clock or earlier. He entered looking as black asnight, bowed awkwardly and was at once furious with himself for it. Hehad reckoned without his host: Pulcheria Alexandrovna fairly rushed athim, seized him by both hands and was almost kissing them. He glancedtimidly at Avdotya Romanovna, but her proud countenance wore at thatmoment an expression of such gratitude and friendliness, suchcomplete and unlooked-for respect (in place of the sneering looks andill-disguised contempt he had expected), that it threw him into greaterconfusion than if he had been met with abuse. Fortunately there was asubject for conversation, and he made haste to snatch at it.
Hearing that everything was going well and that Rodya had not yet waked,Pulcheria Alexandrovna declared that she was glad to hear it, because"she had something which it was very, very necessary to talk overbeforehand." Then followed an inquiry about breakfast and an invitationto have it with them; they had waited to have it with him. AvdotyaRomanovna rang the
He talked for three quarters of an hour, being constantly interruptedby their questions, and succeeded in describing to them all themost important facts he knew of the last year of Raskolnikov's life,concluding with a circumstantial account of his illness. He omitted,however, many things, which were better omitted, including the scene atthe police station with all its consequences. They listened eagerlyto his story, and, when he thought he had finished and satisfied hislisteners, he found that they considered he had hardly begun.
"Tell me, tell me! What do you think...? Excuse me, I still don't knowyour name!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna put in hastily.
"Dmitri Prokofitch."
"I should like very, very much to know, Dmitri Prokofitch... how helooks... on things in general now, that is, how can I explain, what arehis likes and dislikes? Is he always so irritable? Tell me, if you can,what are his hopes and, so to say, his dreams? Under what influences ishe now? In a word, I should like..."
"Ah, mother, how can he answer all that at once?" observed Dounia.
"Good heavens, I had not expected to find him in the least like this,Dmitri Prokofitch!"
"Naturally," answered Razumihin. "I have no mother, but my uncle comesevery year and almost every time he can scarcely recognise me, even inappearance, though he is a clever man; and your three years' separationmeans a great deal. What am I to tell you? I have known Rodion fora year and a half; he is morose, gloomy, proud and haughty, and oflate--and perhaps for a long time before--he has been suspicious andfanciful. He has a noble nature and a kind heart. He does not likeshowing his feelings and would rather do a cruel thing than open hisheart freely. Sometimes, though, he is not at all morbid, but simplycold and inhumanly callous; it's as though he were alternating betweentwo characters. Sometimes he is fearfully reserved! He says he isso busy that everything is a hindrance, and yet he lies in bed doingnothing. He doesn't jeer at things, not because he hasn't the wit, butas though he hadn't time to waste on such trifles. He never listensto what is said to him. He is never interested in what interests otherpeople at any given moment. He thinks very highly of himself and perhapshe is right. Well, what more? I think your arrival will have a mostbeneficial influence upon him."
"God grant it may," cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, distressed byRazumihin's account of her Rodya.
And Razumihin ventured to look more boldly at Avdotya Romanovna at last.He glanced at her often while he was talking, but only for a moment andlooked away again at once. Avdotya Romanovna sat at the table, listeningattentively, then got up again and began walking to and fro with herarms folded and her lips compressed, occasionally putting in a question,without stopping her walk. She had the same habit of not listening towhat was said. She was wearing a dress of thin dark stuff and she had awhite transparent scarf round her neck. Razumihin soon detected signs ofextreme poverty in their belongings. Had Avdotya Romanovna been dressedlike a queen, he felt that he would not be afraid of her, but perhapsjust because she was poorly dressed and that he noticed all the miseryof her surroundings, his heart was filled with dread and he began to beafraid of every word he uttered, every gesture he made, which was verytrying for a man who already felt diffident.
"You've told us a great deal that is interesting about my brother'scharacter... and have told it impartially. I am glad. I thought that youwere too uncritically devoted to him," observed Avdotya Romanovna witha smile. "I think you are right that he needs a woman's care," she addedthoughtfully.
"I didn't say so; but I daresay you are right, only..."
"What?"
"He loves no one and perhaps he never will," Razumihin declareddecisively.
"You mean he is not capable of love?"
"Do you know, Avdotya Romanovna, you are awfully like your brother, ineverything, indeed!" he blurted out suddenly to his own surprise, butremembering at once what he had just before said of her brother,he turned as red as a crab and was overcome with confusion. AvdotyaRomanovna couldn't help laughing when she looked at him.
"You may both be mistaken about Rodya," Pulcheria Alexandrovna remarked,slightly piqued. "I am not talking of our present difficulty, Dounia.What Pyotr Petrovitch writes in this letter and what you and I havesupposed may be mistaken, but you can't imagine, Dmitri Prokofitch, howmoody and, so to say, capricious he is. I never could depend on whathe would do when he was only fifteen. And I am sure that he mightdo something now that nobody else would think of doing... Well, forinstance, do you know how a year and a half ago he astounded me and gaveme a shock that nearly killed me, when he had the idea of marrying thatgirl--what was her name--his landlady's daughter?"
"Did you hear about that affair?" asked Avdotya Romanovna.
"Do you suppose----" Pulcheria Alexandrovna continued warmly. "Do yousuppose that my tears, my entreaties, my illness, my possible death fromgrief, our poverty would have made him pause? No, he would calmly havedisregarded all obstacles. And yet it isn't that he doesn't love us!"
"He has never spoken a word of that affair to me," Razumihin answeredcautiously. "But I did hear something from Praskovya Pavlovna herself,though she is by no means a gossip. And what I heard certainly wasrather strange."
"And what did you hear?" both the ladies asked at once.
"Well, nothing very special. I only learned that the marriage, whichonly failed to take place through the girl's death, was not at all toPraskovya Pavlovna's liking. They say, too, the girl was not at allpretty, in fact I am told positively ugly... and such an invalid... andqueer. But she seems to have had some good qualities. She must havehad some good qualities or it's quite inexplicable.... She had no moneyeither and he wouldn't have considered her money.... But it's alwaysdifficult to judge in such matters."
"I am sure she was a good girl," Avdotya Romanovna observed briefly.
"God forgive me, I simply rejoiced at her death. Though I don't knowwhich of them would have caused most misery to the other--he to heror she to him," Pulcheria Alexandrovna concluded. Then she begantentatively questioning him about the scene on the previous day withLuzhin, hesitating and continually glancing at Dounia, obviously tothe latter's annoyance. This incident more than all the rest evidentlycaused her uneasiness, even consternation. Razumihin described it indetail again, but this time he added his own conclusions: he openlyblamed Raskolnikov for intentionally insulting Pyotr Petrovitch, notseeking to excuse him on the score of his illness.
"He had planned it before his illness," he added.
"I think so, too," Pulcheria Alexandrovna agreed with a dejected air.But she was very much surprised at hearing Razumihin express himselfso carefully and even with a certain respect about Pyotr Petrovitch.Avdotya Romanovna, too, was struck by it.
"So this is your opinion of Pyotr Petrovitch?" Pulcheria Alexandrovnacould not resist asking.
"I can have no other opinion of your daughter's future husband,"Razumihin answered firmly and with warmth, "and I don't say it simplyfrom vulgar politeness, but because... simply because Avdotya Romanovnahas of her own free will deigned to accept this man. If I spoke sorudely of him last night, it was because I was disgustingly drunk and...mad besides; yes, mad, crazy, I lost my head completely... and thismorning I am ashamed of it."
He crimsoned and ceased speaking. Avdotya Romanovna flushed, but did notbreak the silence. She had not uttered a word from the moment they beganto speak of Luzhin.
Without her support Pulcheria Alexandrovna obviously did not know whatto do. At last, faltering and continually glancing at her daughter, sheconfessed that she was exceedingly worried by one circumstance.
"You see, Dmitri Prokofitch," she began. "I'll be perfectly open withDmitri Prokofitch, Dounia?"
"This is what it is," she began in haste, as though the permission tospeak of her trouble lifted a weight off her mind. "Very early thismorning we got a note from Pyotr Petrovitch in reply to our letterannouncing our arrival. He promised to meet us at the station, youknow; instead of that he sent a servant to bring us the address of theselodgings and to show us the way; and he sent a message that he wouldbe here himself this morning. But this morning this note came from him.You'd better read it yourself; there is one point in it which worries mevery much... you will soon see what that is, and... tell me your candidopinion, Dmitri Prokofitch! You know Rodya's character better thananyone and no one can advise us better than you can. Dounia, I must tellyou, made her decision at once, but I still don't feel sure how to actand I... I've been waiting for your opinion."
Razumihin opened the note which was dated the previous evening and readas follows:
"Dear Madam, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, I have the honour to inform youthat owing to unforeseen obstacles I was rendered unable to meet you atthe railway station; I sent a very competent person with the same objectin view. I likewise shall be deprived of the honour of an interview withyou to-morrow morning by business in the Senate that does not admit ofdelay, and also that I may not intrude on your family circle while youare meeting your son, and Avdotya Romanovna her brother. I shall havethe honour of visiting you and paying you my respects at your lodgingsnot later than to-morrow evening at eight o'clock precisely, andherewith I venture to present my earnest and, I may add, imperativerequest that Rodion Romanovitch may not be present at our interview--ashe offered me a gross and unprecedented affront on the occasion of myvisit to him in his illness yesterday, and, moreover, since I desirefrom you personally an indispensable and circumstantial explanationupon a certain point, in regard to which I wish to learn your owninterpretation. I have the honour to inform you, in anticipation,that if, in spite of my request, I meet Rodion Romanovitch, I shall becompelled to withdraw immediately and then you have only yourself toblame. I write on the assumption that Rodion Romanovitch who appeared soill at my visit, suddenly recovered two hours later and so, being ableto leave the house, may visit you also. I was confirmed in that beliefby the testimony of my own eyes in the lodging of a drunken man whowas run over and has since died, to whose daughter, a young woman ofnotorious behaviour, he gave twenty-five roubles on the pretext of thefuneral, which gravely surprised me knowing what pains you were at toraise that sum. Herewith expressing my special respect to your estimabledaughter, Avdotya Romanovna, I beg you to accept the respectful homageof
"Your humble servant,
"P. LUZHIN."
"What am I to do now, Dmitri Prokofitch?" began Pulcheria Alexandrovna,almost weeping. "How can I ask Rodya not to come? Yesterday he insistedso earnestly on our refusing Pyotr Petrovitch and now we are ordered notto receive Rodya! He will come on purpose if he knows, and... what willhappen then?"
"Act on Avdotya Romanovna's decision," Razumihin answered calmly atonce.
"Oh, dear me! She says... goodness knows what she says, she doesn'texplain her object! She says that it would be best, at least, not thatit would be best, but that it's absolutely necessary that Rodya shouldmake a point of being here at eight o'clock and that they must meet....I didn't want even to show him the letter, but to prevent himfrom coming by some stratagem with your help... because he is soirritable.... Besides I don't understand about that drunkard who diedand that daughter, and how he could have given the daughter all themoney... which..."
"Which cost you such sacrifice, mother," put in Avdotya Romanovna.
"He was not himself yesterday," Razumihin said thoughtfully, "if youonly knew what he was up to in a restaurant yesterday, though therewas sense in it too.... Hm! He did say something, as we were going homeyesterday evening, about a dead man and a girl, but I didn't understanda word.... But last night, I myself..."
"The best thing, mother, will be for us to go to him ourselves andthere I assure you we shall see at once what's to be done. Besides,it's getting late--good heavens, it's past ten," she cried looking ata splendid gold enamelled watch which hung round her neck on a thinVenetian chain, and looked entirely out of keeping with the rest of herdress. "A present from her _fiance_," thought Razumihin.
"We must start, Dounia, we must start," her mother cried in a flutter."He will be thinking we are still angry after yesterday, from our comingso late. Merciful heavens!"
While she said this she was hurriedly putting on her hat and mantle;Dounia, too, put on her things. Her gloves, as Razumihin noticed, werenot merely shabby but had holes in them, and yet this evident povertygave the two ladies an air of special dignity, which is always found inpeople who know how to wear poor clothes. Razumihin looked reverentlyat Dounia and felt proud of escorting her. "The queen who mended herstockings in prison," he thought, "must have looked then every inch aqueen and even more a queen than at sumptuous banquets and levees."
"My God!" exclaimed Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "little did I think that Ishould ever fear seeing my son, my darling, darling Rodya! I am afraid,Dmitri Prokofitch," she added, glancing at him timidly.
"Don't be afraid, mother," said Dounia, kissing her, "better have faithin him."
"Oh, dear, I have faith in him, but I haven't slept all night,"exclaimed the poor woman.
They came out into the street.
"Do you know, Dounia, when I dozed a little this morning I dreamed ofMarfa Petrovna... she was all in white... she came up to me, tookmy hand, and shook her head at me, but so sternly as though she wereblaming me.... Is that a good omen? Oh, dear me! You don't know, DmitriProkofitch, that Marfa Petrovna's dead!"
"No, I didn't know; who is Marfa Petrovna?"
"She died suddenly; and only fancy..."
"Afterwards, mamma," put in Dounia. "He doesn't know who Marfa Petrovnais."
"Ah, you don't know? And I was thinking that you knew all about us.Forgive me, Dmitri Prokofitch, I don't know what I am thinking aboutthese last few days. I look upon you really as a providence for us, andso I took it for granted that you knew all about us. I look on you as arelation.... Don't be angry with me for saying so. Dear me, what's thematter with your right hand? Have you knocked it?"
"Yes, I bruised it," muttered Razumihin overjoyed.
"I sometimes speak too much from the heart, so that Dounia finds faultwith me.... But, dear me, what a cupboard he lives in! I wonder whetherhe is awake? Does this woman, his landlady, consider it a room? Listen,you say he does not like to show his feelings, so perhaps I shall annoyhim with my... weaknesses? Do advise me, Dmitri Prokofitch, how am I totreat him? I feel quite distracted, you know."
"Don't question him too much about anything if you see him frown; don'task him too much about his health; he doesn't like that."
"Ah, Dmitri Prokofitch, how hard it is to be a mother! But here are thestairs.... What an awful staircase!"
"Mother, you are quite pale, don't distress yourself, darling," saidDounia caressing her, then with flashing eyes she added: "He ought to behappy at seeing you, and you are tormenting yourself so."
"Wait, I'll peep in and see whether he has waked up."
The ladies slowly followed Razumihin, who went on before, and when theyreached the landlady's door on the fourth storey, they noticed that herdoor was a tiny crack open and that two keen black eyes were watchingthem from the darkness within. When their eyes met, the door wassuddenly shut with such a slam that Pulcheria Alexandrovna almost criedout.