Fyodor Dostoevsky (18211881). Crime and Punishment.
The Harvard Classics Shelf of Fiction. 1917.
RAZUMIHIN waked up next morning at eight oclock, 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. He remembered every detail of the previous day and he knew that a perfectly novel experience had befallen him, that he had received an impression unlike anything he had known before. At the same time he recognised clearly that the dream which had fired his imagination was hopelessly unattainableso unattainable that he felt positively ashamed of it, and he hastened to pass to the other more practical cares and difficulties bequeathed him by that thrice accursed yesterday.
The most awful recollection of the previous day was the way he had shown himself base and mean, not only because he had been drunk, but because he had taken advantage of the young girls position to abuse her fiancé in his stupid jealousy, knowing nothing of their mutual relations and obligations and next to nothing of the man himself. And what 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 as Avdotya Romanovna would be marrying an unworthy man for money? So there must be something in him. The lodgings? But after all how could he know the character of the lodgings? He was furnishing a flat Foo, how despicable 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 the truth had all come out, that is, all the uncleanness of his coarse and envious heart! And would such a dream ever be permissible to him, Razumihin? What was he beside such a girlhe, the drunken noisy braggart of last night? Was it possible to imagine so absurd and cynical a juxtaposition? Razumihin blushed desperately at the very idea and suddenly the recollection forced itself vividly upon him of how he had said last night on the stairs that the landlady would be jealous of Avdotya Romanovna that was simply intolerable. He brought his fist down heavily on the kitchen stove, hurt his hand and sent one of the bricks flying.
Of course, he muttered to himself a minute later with a feeling of self-abasement, of course, all these infamies can never be wiped out or smoothed over and so its useless even to think of it, and I must go to them in silence and do my duty in silence, too, and not ask forgiveness, and say nothing for all is lost now!
And yet as he dressed he examined his attire more carefully than usual. He hadnt another suitif he had had, perhaps he wouldnt have put it on. I would have made a point of not putting it on. But in any case he could not remain a cynic and a dirty sloven; he had no right to offend the feelings of others, especially when they were in need of his assistance 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 scrupulouslyhe got some soap from Nastasyahe washed his hair, his neck and especially his hands. When it came to the question whether to shave his stubbly chin or not (Praskovya Pavlovna had capital razors that had been left by her late husband), the question was angrily answered in the negative. Let it stay as it is ! What if they think that I shaved on purpose to ? They certainly would think so. Not on any account!
And the worst of it was he was so coarse, so dirty, he had the manners of a pothouse; and even admitting that he knew he had some of the essentials of a gentleman what was there in that to be proud of? Every one ought to be a gentleman and more than that and all the same (he remembered) he, too, had done little things not exactly dishonest, and yet. And what thoughts he sometimes had; hm and to set all that beside Avdotya Romanovna! Confound it! So be it! Well, hed make a point then of being dirty, greasy, pothouse in his manners and he wouldnt care! Hed be worse!
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 shouldnt wake him and promised to see him again about eleven.
If he is still at home, he added. Damn it all! If one cant control ones patients, how is one to cure them! Do you know whether he will go to them he will go to them, or whether they are coming here?
They are coming, I think, said Razumihin, understanding the object of the question, and they will discuss their family affairs, no doubt. Ill be off. You, as the doctor, have more right to be here than I.
Thats nonsense, I tell you, how could I think it seriously! You, yourself, described him as a monomaniac when you fetched me to him and we added fuel to the fire yesterday, you did, that is, with your story about the painter; it was a nice conversation when he was, perhaps, mad on that very point! If only Id known what happened then at the police station and that some wretch had insulted him with this suspicion! Hm I would not have allowed that conversation yesterday. These monomaniacs will make a conversation yesterday. These monomaniacs will make a mountain out of a molehill and see their fancies as solid realities As far as I remember, it was Zametovs story that cleared up half the mystery to my mind. Why, I know one case in which a hypochondriac, a man of forty, cut the throat of a little boy of eight, because he couldnt endure the jokes he made every day at table! And in this case his rags, the insolent police-officer, the fever and this suspicion! All that working upon a man half frantic with hypochondria, and with his morbid exceptional vanity! That may well have been the starting-point of illness. Well, bother it all! And, by the way, that Zametov certainly is a nice fellow, but hm he shouldnt have told all that last night. He is an awful chatterbox!
Foo, what an ass you are sometimes! Last nights wine has not gone off yet. Good-bye; thank your Praskovya Pavlovna from me for my nights lodging. She locked herself in, made no reply to my bonjour through the door; she was up at seven oclock, the samovar was taken into her from the kitchen. I was not vouchsafed a personal interview.
At nine oclock precisely Razumihin reached the lodgings at Bakaleyevs house. Both ladies were waiting for him with nervous impatience. They had risen at seven oclock or earlier. He entered looking as black as night, bowed awkwardly and was at once furious with himself for it. He had reckoned without his host: Pulcheria Alexandrovna fairly rushed at him, seized him by both hands and was almost kissing them. He glanced timidly at Avdotya Romanovna, but her proud countenance wore at that moment an expression of such gratitude and friendliness, such complete and unlooked-for respect (in place of the sneering looks and ill-disguised contempt he had expected), that it threw him into greater confusion than if he had been met with abuse. Fortunately there was a subject 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 over beforehand. Then followed an inquiry about breakfast and an invitation to have it with them; they had waited to have it with him. Avdotya Romanovna rang the bell: it was answered by a ragged dirty waiter, and they asked him to bring tea which was served at last, but in such a dirty and disorderly way, that the ladies were ashamed. Razumihin vigorously attacked the lodgings, but, remembering Luzhin, stopped in embarrassment and was greatly relieved by Pulcheria Alexandrovnas questions, which showered in a continual stream upon him.
He talked for three quarters of an hour, being constantly interrupted by their questions, and succeeded in describing to them all the most important facts he knew of the last year of Raskolnikovs life, concluding with a circumstantial account of his illness. He omitted, however, many things, which were better omitted, including the scene at the police station with all its consequences. They listened eagerly to his story, and, when he thought he had finished and satisfied his listeners, he found that they considered he had hardly begun.
I should like very much to know, Dmitri Prokofitch how he looks on things in general now, that is, how can I explain, what are his 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 is he now? In a word, I should like
Naturally, answered Razumihin. I have no mother, but my uncle comes every year and almost every time he can scarcely recognise me, even in appearance, though he is a clever man; and your three years separation means a great deal. What am I to tell you? I have known Rodion for a year and a half; he is morose, gloomy, proud and haughty, and of lateand perhaps for a long time beforehe has been suspicious and fanciful. He has a noble nature and a kind heart. He does not like showing his feelings and would rather do a cruel thing than open his heart freely. Sometimes, though, he is not at all morbid, but simply cold and inhumanly callous; its as though he were alternating between two characters. Sometimes he is fearfully reserved! He says he is so busy that everything is a hindrance, and yet he lies in bed doing nothing. He doesnt jeer at things, not because he hasnt the wit, but as though he hadnt time to waste on such trifles. He never listens what is said to him. He is never interested in what interests other people at any given moment. He thinks very highly of himself and perhaps he is right. Well, what more? I think your arrival will have a most beneficial influence upon him.
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 and looked away again at once. Avdotya Romanovna sat at the table, listening attentively, then got up again and began walking to and fro with her arms folded and her lips compressed, occasionally putting in a question, without stopping her walk. She had the same habit of not listening to what was said. She was wearing a dress of thin dark stuff and she had a white transparent scarf round her neck. Razumihin soon detected signs of extreme poverty in their belongings. Had Avdotya Romanovna been dressed like a queen, he felt that he would not be afraid of her, but perhaps just because she was poorly dressed and that he noticed all the misery of her surroundings, his heart was filled with dread and he began to be afraid of every word he uttered, every gesture he made, which was very trying for a man who already felt diffident.
Youve told us a great deal that is interesting about my brothers character and have told it impartially. I am glad. I thought that you were too uncritically devoted to him, observed Avdotya Romanovna with a smile. I think you are right that he needs a womans care, she added thoughtfully.
Do you know, Avdotya Romanovna, you are awfully like your brother, in everything, indeed! he blurted out suddenly to his own surprise, but remembering at once what he had just before said of her brother, he turned as red as a crab and was overcome with confusion. Avdotya Romanovna couldnt 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 have supposed may be mistaken, but you cant imagine, Dmitri Prokofitch, how moody and, so to say, capricious he is. I never could depend on what he would do when he was only fifteen. And I am sure that he might do something now that nobody else would think of for instance, do you know how a year and a half ago he astounded me and gave me a shock that nearly killed me, when he had the idea of marrying that girlwhat was her namehis landladys daughter?
Do you suppose Pulcheria Alexandrovna continued warmly. Do you suppose that my tears, my entreaties, my illness, my possible death from grief, our poverty would have made him pause? No, he would calmly have disregarded all obstacles. And yet it isnt that he doesnt love us!
He has never spoken a word of that affair to me, Razumihin answered cautiously. But I did hear something from Praskovya Pavlovna herself, though she is by no means a gossip. And what I heard certainly was rather strange.
Well, nothing very special. I only learned that the marriage, which only failed to take place through the girls death, was not at all to Praskovya Pavlovnas liking. They say, too, the girl was not at all pretty, in fact I am told positively ugly and such an invalid and queer. But she had some good qualities. She must have had some good qualities or its quite inexplicable She had no money either and he wouldnt have considered her money. But its always difficult to judge in such matters.
God forgive me, I simply rejoiced at her death. Though I dont know which of them would have caused most misery to the otherhe to her or she to him, Pulcheria Alexandrovna concluded. Then she began tentatively questioning him about the scene on the previous day with Luzhin, hesitating and continually glancing at Dounia, obviously to the latters annoyance. This incident more than all the rest evidently caused her uneasiness, even consternation. Razumihin described it in detail again, but this time he added his own conclusions: he openly blamed Raskolnikov for intentionally insulting Pyotr Petrovitch, not seeking to excuse him on the score of his illness.
I think so, too, Pulcheria Alexandrovna agreed with a dejected air. But she was very much surprised at hearing Razumihin express himself so carefully and even with a certain respect about Pyotr Petrovitch. Avdotya Romanovna, too, was struck by it.
I can have no other opinion of your daughters future husband, Razumihin answered firmly, and with warmth, and I dont say it simply from vulgar politeness, but because simply because Avdotya Romanovna has of her own free will deigned to accept this man. If I spoke so rudely of him last night, it was because I was disgustingly drunk and mad besides; yes, mad, crazy, I lost my head completely and this morning I am ashamed of it.
Without her support Pulcheria Alexandrovna obviously did not know what to do. At last, faltering and continually glancing at her daughter, she confessed that she was exceedingly worried by one circumstance.
This is what it is, she began in haste, as though the permission to speak of her trouble lifted a weight off her mind. Very early this morning we got a not from Pyotr Petrovitch in reply to our letter announcing our arrival. He promised to meet us at the station, you know; instead of that he sent a servant to bring us the address of these lodgings and to show us the way; and he sent a message that the would be here himself this morning. But this morning this note came from him. Youd better read it yourself; there is one point in it which worries me very much you will soon see what that is, and tell me your candid opinion, Dmitri Prokofitch! You know Rodyas character better than any one and no one can advise us better than you can. Dounia, I must tell you, made her decision at once, but I still dont feel sure how to act and I Ive been waiting for your opinion.
Razumihin opened the note which was dated the previous evening and read follows:
DEAR MADAM, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, I have the honour to inform you that owing to unforeseen obstacles I was rendered unable to meet you at the railway station; I sent a very competent person with the same object in view. I likewise shall be deprived of the honour of an interview with you to-morrow morning by business in the Senate that does not admit of delay, and also that I may not intrude on your family circle while you are meeting your son, and Avdotya Romanovna her brother. I shall have the honour of visiting you and paying you my respects at your lodgings not later than to-morrow evening at eight oclock precisely, and herewith I venture to present my earnest and, I may add, imperative request that Rodion Romanovitch may not be present at our interviewas he offered me a gross and unprecedented affront on the occasion of my visit to him in his illness yesterday, and, moreover, since I desire from you personally an indispensable and circumstantial explanation upon a certain point, in regard to which I wish to learn your own interpretation. I have the honour to inform you, in anticipation, that if, in spite of my request, I meet Rodion Romanovitch, I shall be compelled to withdraw immediately and then you have only yourself to blame. I write on the assumption that Rodion Romanovitch who appeared so ill at my visit, suddenly recovered two hours later and so, being able to leave the house, may visit you also. I was confirmed in that belief by the testimony of my own eyes in the lodging of a drunken man who was run over and has since died, to whose daughter, a young woman of notorious behaviour, he gave twenty-five roubles on the pretext of the funeral, which gravely surprised me knowing what pains you were at to raise that sum. Herewith expressing my special respect to your estimable daughter, Avdotya Romanovna, I beg you to accept the respectful homage of
What am I to do now, Dmitri Prokofitch? began Pulcheria Alexandrovna, almost weeping. How can I ask Rodya not to come? Yesterday he insisted so earnestly on our refusing Pyotr Petrovitch and now we are ordered not to receive Rodya! He will come on purpose if he knows, and what will happen then?
Oh, dear me! She says goodness knows what she says, she doesnt explain her object! She says that it would be best, at least, not that it would be best, but that its absolutely necessary that Rodya should make a point of being here at eight oclock and that they must meet. I didnt want even to show him the letter, but to prevent him from coming by some stratagem with your help because he is so irritable. Besides I dont understand about that drunkard who died and that daughter, and how he could have given the daughter all the money which
He was not himself yesterday, Razumihin said thoughtfully, if you only knew what he was up to in a restaurant yesterday, though there was sense in it too. Hm! He did say something, as we were going home yesterday evening, about a dead man and a girl, but I didnt understand a word. But last night I myself
The best thing, mother, will be for us to go to him ourselves and there I assure you we shall see at once whats to be done. Besides, its getting lategood heavens, its past ten, she cried looking at a splendid gold enamelled watch which hung round her neck on a thin Venetian chain, and looked entirely out of keeping with the rest of her dress. A present from her fiancé, thought Razumihin.
While she said this she was hurriedly putting on her hat and mantle; Dounia, too, put on her things. Her gloves, as Razumihin noticed, were not merely shabby but had holes in them, and yet this evident poverty gave the two ladies an air of special dignity, which is always found in people who know how to wear poor clothes. Razumihin looked reverently at Dounia and felt proud of escorting her. The queen who mended her stockings in prison, he thought, must have looked then every inch a queen and even more a queen than at sumptuous banquets and levées.
Do you know, Dounia, when I dozed a little this morning I dreamed of Marfa Petrovna she was all in white she came up to me, took my hand, and shook her head at me, but so sternly as though she were blaming me. Is that a good omen? Oh, dear me! You dont know Dmitri Prokofitch that Marfa Petrovnas dead!
Ah, you dont know? And I was thinking that you knew all about us. Forgive me, Dmitri Prokofitch. I dont know what I am thinking about these last few days. I look upon you really as a providence for us, and so I took it for granted that you knew all about us. I look on you as a relation. Dont be angry with me for saying so. Dear me, whats the matter with your right hand? Have you knocked it?
I sometimes speak too much from the heart, so that Dounia finds fault with me. But, dear me, what a cupboard he lives in! I wonder whether he 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 annoy him with my weaknesses? Do advise me, Dmitri Prokofitch, how am I to treat him? I feel quite distracted, you know.
The ladies slowly followed Razumihin, who went on before, and when they reached the landladys door on the fourth storey, they noticed that her door was a tiny crack open and that two keen black eyes were watching them from the darkness within. When their eyes met, the door was suddenly shut with such a slam that Pulcheria Alexandrovna almost cried out.