Prestuplenie i nakazanie. English

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  CHAPTER IV

  His mother's letter had been a torture to him, but as regards the chieffact in it, he had felt not one moment's hesitation, even whilst he wasreading the letter. The essential question was settled, and irrevocablysettled, in his mind: "Never such a marriage while I am alive andMr. Luzhin be damned!" "The thing is perfectly clear," he mutteredto himself, with a malignant smile anticipating the triumph of hisdecision. "No, mother, no, Dounia, you won't deceive me! and then theyapologise for not asking my advice and for taking the decision withoutme! I dare say! They imagine it is arranged now and can't be brokenoff; but we will see whether it can or not! A magnificent excuse:'Pyotr Petrovitch is such a busy man that even his wedding has to be inpost-haste, almost by express.' No, Dounia, I see it all and I know whatyou want to say to me; and I know too what you were thinking about, whenyou walked up and down all night, and what your prayers were like beforethe Holy Mother of Kazan who stands in mother's bedroom. Bitter isthe ascent to Golgotha.... Hm... so it is finally settled; you havedetermined to marry a sensible business man, Avdotya Romanovna, onewho has a fortune (has _already_ made his fortune, that is so muchmore solid and impressive) a man who holds two government posts and whoshares the ideas of our most rising generation, as mother writes, andwho _seems_ to be kind, as Dounia herself observes. That _seems_ beatseverything! And that very Dounia for that very '_seems_' is marryinghim! Splendid! splendid!

  "... But I should like to know why mother has written to me about 'ourmost rising generation'? Simply as a descriptive touch, or with the ideaof prepossessing me in favour of Mr. Luzhin? Oh, the cunning of them!I should like to know one thing more: how far they were open with oneanother that day and night and all this time since? Was it all put into_words_, or did both understand that they had the same thing at heartand in their minds, so that there was no need to speak of it aloud, andbetter not to speak of it. Most likely it was partly like that, frommother's letter it's evident: he struck her as rude _a little_, andmother in her simplicity took her observations to Dounia. And she wassure to be vexed and 'answered her angrily.' I should think so! Whowould not be angered when it was quite clear without any naive questionsand when it was understood that it was useless to discuss it. And whydoes she write to me, 'love Dounia, Rodya, and she loves you more thanherself'? Has she a secret conscience-prick at sacrificing her daughterto her son? 'You are our one comfort, you are everything to us.' Oh,mother!"

  His bitterness grew more and more intense, and if he had happened tomeet Mr. Luzhin at the moment, he might have murdered him.

  "Hm... yes, that's true," he continued, pursuing the whirling ideas thatchased each other in his brain, "it is true that 'it needs time and careto get to know a man,' but there is no mistake about Mr. Luzhin. Thechief thing is he is 'a man of business and _seems_ kind,' that wassomething, wasn't it, to send the bags and big box for them! A kind man,no doubt after that! But his _bride_ and her mother are to drive in apeasant's cart covered with sacking (I know, I have been driven init). No matter! It is only ninety versts and then they can 'travel verycomfortably, third class,' for a thousand versts! Quite right, too. Onemust cut one's coat according to one's cloth, but what about you, Mr.Luzhin? She is your bride.... And you must be aware that her mother hasto raise money on her pension for the journey. To be sure it's a matterof business, a partnership for mutual benefit, with equal shares andexpenses;--food and drink provided, but pay for your tobacco. Thebusiness man has got the better of them, too. The luggage will cost lessthan their fares and very likely go for nothing. How is it that theydon't both see all that, or is it that they don't want to see? Andthey are pleased, pleased! And to think that this is only the firstblossoming, and that the real fruits are to come! But what reallymatters is not the stinginess, is not the meanness, but the _tone_of the whole thing. For that will be the tone after marriage, it's aforetaste of it. And mother too, why should she be so lavish? What willshe have by the time she gets to Petersburg? Three silver roubles ortwo 'paper ones' as _she_ says.... that old woman... hm. What doesshe expect to live upon in Petersburg afterwards? She has her reasonsalready for guessing that she _could not_ live with Dounia after themarriage, even for the first few months. The good man has no doubt letslip something on that subject also, though mother would deny it: 'Ishall refuse,' says she. On whom is she reckoning then? Is she countingon what is left of her hundred and twenty roubles of pension whenAfanasy Ivanovitch's debt is paid? She knits woollen shawls andembroiders cuffs, ruining her old eyes. And all her shawls don't addmore than twenty roubles a year to her hundred and twenty, I knowthat. So she is building all her hopes all the time on Mr. Luzhin'sgenerosity; 'he will offer it of himself, he will press it on me.'You may wait a long time for that! That's how it always is with theseSchilleresque noble hearts; till the last moment every goose is a swanwith them, till the last moment, they hope for the best and will seenothing wrong, and although they have an inkling of the other side ofthe picture, yet they won't face the truth till they are forced to; thevery thought of it makes them shiver; they thrust the truth away withboth hands, until the man they deck out in false colours puts a fool'scap on them with his own hands. I should like to know whether Mr. Luzhinhas any orders of merit; I bet he has the Anna in his buttonhole andthat he puts it on when he goes to dine with contractors or merchants.He will be sure to have it for his wedding, too! Enough of him, confoundhim!

  "Well,... mother I don't wonder at, it's like her, God bless her, buthow could Dounia? Dounia darling, as though I did not know you! You werenearly twenty when I saw you last: I understood you then. Mother writesthat 'Dounia can put up with a great deal.' I know that very well. Iknew that two years and a half ago, and for the last two and a halfyears I have been thinking about it, thinking of just that, that 'Douniacan put up with a great deal.' If she could put up with Mr. Svidrigailovand all the rest of it, she certainly can put up with a great deal. Andnow mother and she have taken it into their heads that she can put upwith Mr. Luzhin, who propounds the theory of the superiority ofwives raised from destitution and owing everything to their husband'sbounty--who propounds it, too, almost at the first interview. Grantedthat he 'let it slip,' though he is a sensible man, (yet maybe itwas not a slip at all, but he meant to make himself clear as soon aspossible) but Dounia, Dounia? She understands the man, of course, butshe will have to live with the man. Why! she'd live on black breadand water, she would not sell her soul, she would not barter her moralfreedom for comfort; she would not barter it for all Schleswig-Holstein,much less Mr. Luzhin's money. No, Dounia was not that sort when I knewher and... she is still the same, of course! Yes, there's no denying,the Svidrigailovs are a bitter pill! It's a bitter thing to spend one'slife a governess in the provinces for two hundred roubles, but I knowshe would rather be a nigger on a plantation or a Lett with a Germanmaster than degrade her soul, and her moral dignity, by binding herselffor ever to a man whom she does not respect and with whom she hasnothing in common--for her own advantage. And if Mr. Luzhin had been ofunalloyed gold, or one huge diamond, she would never have consented tobecome his legal concubine. Why is she consenting then? What's thepoint of it? What's the answer? It's clear enough: for herself, for hercomfort, to save her life she would not sell herself, but for someoneelse she is doing it! For one she loves, for one she adores, she willsell herself! That's what it all amounts to; for her brother, for hermother, she will sell herself! She will sell everything! In such cases,'we overcome our moral feeling if necessary,' freedom, peace, conscienceeven, all, all are brought into the market. Let my life go, if only mydear ones may be happy! More than that, we become casuists, we learnto be Jesuitical and for a time maybe we can soothe ourselves, we canpersuade ourselves that it is one's duty for a good object. That's justlike us, it's as clear as daylight. It's clear that Rodion RomanovitchRaskolnikov is the central figure in the business, and no one else. Oh,yes, she can ensure his happiness, keep him in the university, make hima partner in the office, make his whole future secure; perhaps he mayeven be a rich
man later on, prosperous, respected, and may even end hislife a famous man! But my mother? It's all Rodya, precious Rodya, herfirst born! For such a son who would not sacrifice such a daughter! Oh,loving, over-partial hearts! Why, for his sake we would not shrink evenfrom Sonia's fate. Sonia, Sonia Marmeladov, the eternal victim so longas the world lasts. Have you taken the measure of your sacrifice, bothof you? Is it right? Can you bear it? Is it any use? Is there sense init? And let me tell you, Dounia, Sonia's life is no worse than life withMr. Luzhin. 'There can be no question of love,' mother writes. And whatif there can be no respect either, if on the contrary there is aversion,contempt, repulsion, what then? So you will have to 'keep up yourappearance,' too. Is not that so? Do you understand what that smartnessmeans? Do you understand that the Luzhin smartness is just the samething as Sonia's and may be worse, viler, baser, because in your case,Dounia, it's a bargain for luxuries, after all, but with Sonia it'ssimply a question of starvation. It has to be paid for, it has to bepaid for, Dounia, this smartness. And what if it's more than you canbear afterwards, if you regret it? The bitterness, the misery, thecurses, the tears hidden from all the world, for you are not a MarfaPetrovna. And how will your mother feel then? Even now she is uneasy,she is worried, but then, when she sees it all clearly? And I? Yes,indeed, what have you taken me for? I won't have your sacrifice, Dounia,I won't have it, mother! It shall not be, so long as I am alive, itshall not, it shall not! I won't accept it!"

  He suddenly paused in his reflection and stood still.

  "It shall not be? But what are you going to do to prevent it? You'llforbid it? And what right have you? What can you promise them on yourside to give you such a right? Your whole life, your whole future, youwill devote to them _when you have finished your studies and obtained apost_? Yes, we have heard all that before, and that's all _words_, butnow? Now something must be done, now, do you understand that? Andwhat are you doing now? You are living upon them. They borrow on theirhundred roubles pension. They borrow from the Svidrigailovs. How areyou going to save them from Svidrigailovs, from Afanasy IvanovitchVahrushin, oh, future millionaire Zeus who would arrange their lives forthem? In another ten years? In another ten years, mother will be blindwith knitting shawls, maybe with weeping too. She will be worn to ashadow with fasting; and my sister? Imagine for a moment what may havebecome of your sister in ten years? What may happen to her during thoseten years? Can you fancy?"

  So he tortured himself, fretting himself with such questions, andfinding a kind of enjoyment in it. And yet all these questions were notnew ones suddenly confronting him, they were old familiar aches. It waslong since they had first begun to grip and rend his heart. Long, longago his present anguish had its first beginnings; it had waxed andgathered strength, it had matured and concentrated, until it had takenthe form of a fearful, frenzied and fantastic question, which torturedhis heart and mind, clamouring insistently for an answer. Now hismother's letter had burst on him like a thunderclap. It was clearthat he must not now suffer passively, worrying himself over unsolvedquestions, but that he must do something, do it at once, and do itquickly. Anyway he must decide on something, or else...

  "Or throw up life altogether!" he cried suddenly, in a frenzy--"acceptone's lot humbly as it is, once for all and stifle everything inoneself, giving up all claim to activity, life and love!"

  "Do you understand, sir, do you understand what it means when you haveabsolutely nowhere to turn?" Marmeladov's question came suddenly intohis mind, "for every man must have somewhere to turn...."

  He gave a sudden start; another thought, that he had had yesterday,slipped back into his mind. But he did not start at the thoughtrecurring to him, for he knew, he had _felt beforehand_, that it mustcome back, he was expecting it; besides it was not only yesterday'sthought. The difference was that a month ago, yesterday even, thethought was a mere dream: but now... now it appeared not a dream at all,it had taken a new menacing and quite unfamiliar shape, and he suddenlybecame aware of this himself.... He felt a hammering in his head, andthere was a darkness before his eyes.

  He looked round hurriedly, he was searching for something. He wantedto sit down and was looking for a seat; he was walking along the K----Boulevard. There was a seat about a hundred paces in front of him. Hewalked towards it as fast he could; but on the way he met with a littleadventure which absorbed all his attention. Looking for the seat, he hadnoticed a woman walking some twenty paces in front of him, but at firsthe took no more notice of her than of other objects that crossed hispath. It had happened to him many times going home not to notice theroad by which he was going, and he was accustomed to walk like that. Butthere was at first sight something so strange about the woman in frontof him, that gradually his attention was riveted upon her, at firstreluctantly and, as it were, resentfully, and then more and moreintently. He felt a sudden desire to find out what it was that was sostrange about the woman. In the first place, she appeared to be a girlquite young, and she was walking in the great heat bareheaded and withno parasol or gloves, waving her arms about in an absurd way. She hadon a dress of some light silky material, but put on strangely awry, notproperly hooked up, and torn open at the top of the skirt, close to thewaist: a great piece was rent and hanging loose. A little kerchief wasflung about her bare throat, but lay slanting on one side. The girl waswalking unsteadily, too, stumbling and staggering from side to side. Shedrew Raskolnikov's whole attention at last. He overtook the girl at theseat, but, on reaching it, she dropped down on it, in the corner;she let her head sink on the back of the seat and closed her eyes,apparently in extreme exhaustion. Looking at her closely, he saw at oncethat she was completely drunk. It was a strange and shocking sight. Hecould hardly believe that he was not mistaken. He saw before him theface of a quite young, fair-haired girl--sixteen, perhaps not more thanfifteen, years old, pretty little face, but flushed and heavy lookingand, as it were, swollen. The girl seemed hardly to know what she wasdoing; she crossed one leg over the other, lifting it indecorously, andshowed every sign of being unconscious that she was in the street.

  Raskolnikov did not sit down, but he felt unwilling to leave her,and stood facing her in perplexity. This boulevard was never muchfrequented; and now, at two o'clock, in the stifling heat, it was quitedeserted. And yet on the further side of the boulevard, about fifteenpaces away, a gentleman was standing on the edge of the pavement. He,too, would apparently have liked to approach the girl with some objectof his own. He, too, had probably seen her in the distance and hadfollowed her, but found Raskolnikov in his way. He looked angrily athim, though he tried to escape his notice, and stood impatiently bidinghis time, till the unwelcome man in rags should have moved away. Hisintentions were unmistakable. The gentleman was a plump, thickly-setman, about thirty, fashionably dressed, with a high colour, red lips andmoustaches. Raskolnikov felt furious; he had a sudden longing to insultthis fat dandy in some way. He left the girl for a moment and walkedtowards the gentleman.

  "Hey! You Svidrigailov! What do you want here?" he shouted, clenchinghis fists and laughing, spluttering with rage.

  "What do you mean?" the gentleman asked sternly, scowling in haughtyastonishment.

  "Get away, that's what I mean."

  "How dare you, you low fellow!"

  He raised his cane. Raskolnikov rushed at him with his fists, withoutreflecting that the stout gentleman was a match for two men likehimself. But at that instant someone seized him from behind, and apolice constable stood between them.

  "That's enough, gentlemen, no fighting, please, in a public place. Whatdo you want? Who are you?" he asked Raskolnikov sternly, noticing hisrags.

  Raskolnikov looked at him intently. He had a straight-forward, sensible,soldierly face, with grey moustaches and whiskers.

  "You are just the man I want," Raskolnikov cried, catching at his arm."I am a student, Raskolnikov.... You may as well know that too," headded, addressing the gentleman, "come along, I have something to showyou."

  And taking the policeman by the hand he drew
him towards the seat.

  "Look here, hopelessly drunk, and she has just come down the boulevard.There is no telling who and what she is, she does not look like aprofessional. It's more likely she has been given drink and deceivedsomewhere... for the first time... you understand? and they've put herout into the street like that. Look at the way her dress is torn, andthe way it has been put on: she has been dressed by somebody, she hasnot dressed herself, and dressed by unpractised hands, by a man's hands;that's evident. And now look there: I don't know that dandy with whom Iwas going to fight, I see him for the first time, but he, too, has seenher on the road, just now, drunk, not knowing what she is doing, and nowhe is very eager to get hold of her, to get her away somewhere while sheis in this state... that's certain, believe me, I am not wrong. I sawhim myself watching her and following her, but I prevented him, and heis just waiting for me to go away. Now he has walked away a little, andis standing still, pretending to make a cigarette.... Think how can wekeep her out of his hands, and how are we to get her home?"

  The policeman saw it all in a flash. The stout gentleman was easy tounderstand, he turned to consider the girl. The policeman bent over toexamine her more closely, and his face worked with genuine compassion.

  "Ah, what a pity!" he said, shaking his head--"why, she is quite achild! She has been deceived, you can see that at once. Listen, lady,"he began addressing her, "where do you live?" The girl opened her wearyand sleepy-looking eyes, gazed blankly at the speaker and waved herhand.

  "Here," said Raskolnikov feeling in his pocket and finding twentycopecks, "here, call a cab and tell him to drive her to her address. Theonly thing is to find out her address!"

  "Missy, missy!" the policeman began again, taking the money. "I'll fetchyou a cab and take you home myself. Where shall I take you, eh? Where doyou live?"

  "Go away! They won't let me alone," the girl muttered, and once morewaved her hand.

  "Ach, ach, how shocking! It's shameful, missy, it's a shame!" He shookhis head again, shocked, sympathetic and indignant.

  "It's a difficult job," the policeman said to Raskolnikov, and as hedid so, he looked him up and down in a rapid glance. He, too, must haveseemed a strange figure to him: dressed in rags and handing him money!

  "Did you meet her far from here?" he asked him.

  "I tell you she was walking in front of me, staggering, just here, inthe boulevard. She only just reached the seat and sank down on it."

  "Ah, the shameful things that are done in the world nowadays, God havemercy on us! An innocent creature like that, drunk already! She has beendeceived, that's a sure thing. See how her dress has been torn too....Ah, the vice one sees nowadays! And as likely as not she belongs togentlefolk too, poor ones maybe.... There are many like that nowadays.She looks refined, too, as though she were a lady," and he bent over heronce more.

  Perhaps he had daughters growing up like that, "looking like ladies andrefined" with pretensions to gentility and smartness....

  "The chief thing is," Raskolnikov persisted, "to keep her out of thisscoundrel's hands! Why should he outrage her! It's as clear as day whathe is after; ah, the brute, he is not moving off!"

  Raskolnikov spoke aloud and pointed to him. The gentleman heard him,and seemed about to fly into a rage again, but thought better of it, andconfined himself to a contemptuous look. He then walked slowly anotherten paces away and again halted.

  "Keep her out of his hands we can," said the constable thoughtfully,"if only she'd tell us where to take her, but as it is.... Missy, hey,missy!" he bent over her once more.

  She opened her eyes fully all of a sudden, looked at him intently, asthough realising something, got up from the seat and walked away in thedirection from which she had come. "Oh shameful wretches, they won't letme alone!" she said, waving her hand again. She walked quickly, thoughstaggering as before. The dandy followed her, but along another avenue,keeping his eye on her.

  "Don't be anxious, I won't let him have her," the policeman saidresolutely, and he set off after them.

  "Ah, the vice one sees nowadays!" he repeated aloud, sighing.

  At that moment something seemed to sting Raskolnikov; in an instant acomplete revulsion of feeling came over him.

  "Hey, here!" he shouted after the policeman.

  The latter turned round.

  "Let them be! What is it to do with you? Let her go! Let him amusehimself." He pointed at the dandy, "What is it to do with you?"

  The policeman was bewildered, and stared at him open-eyed. Raskolnikovlaughed.

  "Well!" ejaculated the policeman, with a gesture of contempt, and hewalked after the dandy and the girl, probably taking Raskolnikov for amadman or something even worse.

  "He has carried off my twenty copecks," Raskolnikov murmured angrilywhen he was left alone. "Well, let him take as much from the otherfellow to allow him to have the girl and so let it end. And why did Iwant to interfere? Is it for me to help? Have I any right to help? Letthem devour each other alive--what is to me? How did I dare to give himtwenty copecks? Were they mine?"

  In spite of those strange words he felt very wretched. He sat down onthe deserted seat. His thoughts strayed aimlessly.... He found it hardto fix his mind on anything at that moment. He longed to forget himselfaltogether, to forget everything, and then to wake up and begin lifeanew....

  "Poor girl!" he said, looking at the empty corner where she hadsat--"She will come to herself and weep, and then her mother will findout.... She will give her a beating, a horrible, shameful beating andthen maybe, turn her out of doors.... And even if she does not, theDarya Frantsovnas will get wind of it, and the girl will soon beslipping out on the sly here and there. Then there will be the hospitaldirectly (that's always the luck of those girls with respectablemothers, who go wrong on the sly) and then... again the hospital...drink... the taverns... and more hospital, in two or three years--awreck, and her life over at eighteen or nineteen.... Have not I seencases like that? And how have they been brought to it? Why, they've allcome to it like that. Ugh! But what does it matter? That's as it shouldbe, they tell us. A certain percentage, they tell us, must every yeargo... that way... to the devil, I suppose, so that the rest may remainchaste, and not be interfered with. A percentage! What splendid wordsthey have; they are so scientific, so consolatory.... Once you've said'percentage' there's nothing more to worry about. If we had any otherword... maybe we might feel more uneasy.... But what if Dounia were oneof the percentage! Of another one if not that one?

  "But where am I going?" he thought suddenly. "Strange, I came out forsomething. As soon as I had read the letter I came out.... I was goingto Vassilyevsky Ostrov, to Razumihin. That's what it was... now Iremember. What for, though? And what put the idea of going to Razumihininto my head just now? That's curious."

  He wondered at himself. Razumihin was one of his old comrades at theuniversity. It was remarkable that Raskolnikov had hardly any friends atthe university; he kept aloof from everyone, went to see no one, and didnot welcome anyone who came to see him, and indeed everyone soon gavehim up. He took no part in the students' gatherings, amusements orconversations. He worked with great intensity without sparing himself,and he was respected for this, but no one liked him. He was very poor,and there was a sort of haughty pride and reserve about him, as thoughhe were keeping something to himself. He seemed to some of his comradesto look down upon them all as children, as though he were superior indevelopment, knowledge and convictions, as though their beliefs andinterests were beneath him.

  With Razumihin he had got on, or, at least, he was more unreserved andcommunicative with him. Indeed it was impossible to be on any otherterms with Razumihin. He was an exceptionally good-humoured and candidyouth, good-natured to the point of simplicity, though both depth anddignity lay concealed under that simplicity. The better of his comradesunderstood this, and all were fond of him. He was extremely intelligent,though he was certainly rather a simpleton at times. He was of strikingappearance--tall, thin, blackhaired and always badly shaved.
He wassometimes uproarious and was reputed to be of great physical strength.One night, when out in a festive company, he had with one blow laida gigantic policeman on his back. There was no limit to his drinkingpowers, but he could abstain from drink altogether; he sometimes wenttoo far in his pranks; but he could do without pranks altogether.Another thing striking about Razumihin, no failure distressed him, andit seemed as though no unfavourable circumstances could crush him. Hecould lodge anywhere, and bear the extremes of cold and hunger. He wasvery poor, and kept himself entirely on what he could earn by work ofone sort or another. He knew of no end of resources by which to earnmoney. He spent one whole winter without lighting his stove, and used todeclare that he liked it better, because one slept more soundly inthe cold. For the present he, too, had been obliged to give up theuniversity, but it was only for a time, and he was working with all hismight to save enough to return to his studies again. Raskolnikov hadnot been to see him for the last four months, and Razumihin did not evenknow his address. About two months before, they had met in the street,but Raskolnikov had turned away and even crossed to the other side thathe might not be observed. And though Razumihin noticed him, he passedhim by, as he did not want to annoy him.