His mother’s had been a to him, but as the chief
fact in it, he had not one moment’s hesitation, he was
reading the letter. The question was settled, and irrevocably
settled, in his mind: “Never such a marriage while I am alive and
Mr. Luzhin be damned!” “The thing is perfectly clear,” he muttered
to himself, with a the of his
decision. “No, mother, no, Dounia, you won’t me! and then they
apologise for not my and for taking the without
me! I say! They it is now and can’t be broken
off; but we will see it can or not! A excuse:
‘Pyotr Petrovitch is such a man that his wedding has to be in
post-haste, almost by express.’ No, Dounia, I see it all and I know what
you want to say to me; and I know too what you were about, when
you walked up and all night, and what your prayers were like before
the Holy Mother of Kazan who in mother’s bedroom. Bitter is
the to Golgotha.... Hm... so it is settled; you have
determined to a man, Avdotya Romanovna, one
who has a (has _already_ his fortune, that is so much
more solid and impressive), a man who two government and who
shares the ideas of our most generation, as mother writes, and
who _seems_ to be kind, as Dounia herself observes. That _seems_ beats
everything! And that very Dounia for that very ‘_seems_’ is marrying
him! Splendid! splendid!
“... But I should like to know why mother has to me about ‘our
most generation’? Simply as a touch, or with the idea
of me in of Mr. Luzhin? Oh, the of them!
I should like to know one thing more: how they were open with one
another that day and night and all this time since? Was it all put into
_words_, or did that they had the same thing at heart
and in their minds, so that there was no need to speak of it aloud, and
better not to speak of it. Most likely it was like that, from
mother’s it’s evident: he her as _a little_, and
mother in her took her to Dounia. And she was
sure to be and ‘answered her angrily.’ I should think so! Who
would not be when it was clear without any naïve questions
and when it was that it was to discuss it. And why
does she to me, ‘love Dounia, Rodya, and she loves you more than
herself’? Has she a conscience-prick at her daughter
to her son? ‘You are our one comfort, you are to us.’ Oh,
mother!”
His more and more intense, and if he had to
meet Mr. Luzhin at the moment, he might have him.
“Hm... yes, that’s true,” he continued, the ideas that
chased each other in his brain, “it is true that ‘it needs time and care
to to know a man,’ but there is no mistake about Mr. Luzhin. The
chief thing is he is ‘a man of and _seems_ kind,’ that was
something, wasn’t it, to send the and big box for them! A man,
no after that! But his _bride_ and her mother are to drive in a
peasant’s with (I know, I have been in
it). No matter! It is only ninety and then they can ‘travel very
comfortably, third class,’ for a thousand versts! Quite right, too. One
must cut one’s according to one’s cloth, but what about you, Mr.
Luzhin? She is your bride.... And you must be aware that her mother has
to money on her pension for the journey. To be sure it’s a matter
of business, a partnership for benefit, with equal and
expenses;--food and drink provided, but pay for your tobacco. The
business man has got the of them, too. The will cost less
than their and very likely go for nothing. How is it that they
don’t see all that, or is it that they don’t want to see? And
they are pleased, pleased! And to think that this is only the first
blossoming, and that the fruits are to come! But what really
matters is not the stinginess, is not the meanness, but the _tone_
of the whole thing. For that will be the after marriage, it’s a
foretaste of it. And mother too, why should she be so lavish? What will
she have by the time she to Petersburg? Three or
two ‘paper ones’ as _she_ says.... that old woman... hm. What does
she to live upon in Petersburg afterwards? She has her reasons
already for that she _could not_ live with Dounia after the
marriage, for the months. The good man has no let
slip something on that also, though mother would it: ‘I
shall refuse,’ says she. On is she then? Is she counting
on what is left of her hundred and twenty of pension when
Afanasy Ivanovitch’s is paid? She and
embroiders cuffs, her old eyes. And all her don’t add
more than twenty a year to her hundred and twenty, I know
that. So she is all her all the time on Mr. Luzhin’s
generosity; ‘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 these
Schilleresque hearts; till the last moment every is a swan
with them, till the last moment, they for the best and will see
nothing wrong, and although they have an of the other of
the picture, yet they won’t the truth till they are to; the
very of it makes them shiver; they the truth away with
both hands, until the man they out in false puts a fool’s
cap on them with his own hands. I should like to know Mr. Luzhin
has any orders of merit; I he has the Anna in his and
that he puts it on when he goes to with or merchants.
He will be sure to have it for his wedding, too! Enough of him, confound
him!
“Well,... mother I don’t wonder at, it’s like her, God her, but
how Dounia? Dounia darling, as though I did not know you! You were
nearly twenty when I saw you last: I you then. Mother writes
that ‘Dounia can put up with a great deal.’ I know that very well. I
knew that two years and a ago, and for the last two and a half
years I have been about it, of just that, that ‘Dounia
can put up with a great deal.’ If she put up with Mr. Svidrigaïlov
and all the of it, she can put up with a great deal. And
now mother and she have taken it into their that she can put up
with Mr. Luzhin, who the of the of
wives from and to their husband’s
bounty--who it, too, almost at the interview. Granted
that he ‘let it slip,’ though he is a man, (yet maybe it
was not a at all, but he meant to make himself clear as soon as
possible) but Dounia, Dounia? She the man, of course, but
she will have to live with the man. Why! she’d live on black bread
and water, she would not sell her soul, she would not her moral
freedom for comfort; she would not it for all Schleswig-Holstein,
much less Mr. Luzhin’s money. No, Dounia was not that when I knew
her and... she is still the same, of course! Yes, there’s no denying,
the Svidrigaïlovs are a pill! It’s a thing to one’s
life a in the for two hundred roubles, but I know
she would be a on a or a Lett with a German
master than her soul, and her dignity, by herself
for to a man she not respect and with she has
nothing in common--for her own advantage. And if Mr. Luzhin had been of
unalloyed gold, or one diamond, she would have to
become his legal concubine. Why is she then? What’s the
point of it? What’s the answer? It’s clear enough: for herself, for her
comfort, to save her life she would not sell herself, but for someone
else she is doing it! For one she loves, for one she adores, she will
sell herself! That’s what it all to; for her brother, for her
mother, she will sell herself! She will sell everything! In such cases,
‘we overcome our if necessary,’ freedom, peace, conscience
even, all, all are into the market. Let my life go, if only my
dear ones may be happy! More than that, we casuists, we learn
to be Jesuitical and for a time maybe we can ourselves, we can
persuade ourselves that it is one’s for a good object. That’s just
like us, it’s as clear as daylight. It’s clear that Rodion Romanovitch
Raskolnikov is the in the business, and no one else. Oh,
yes, she can his happiness, keep him in the university, make him
a partner in the office, make his whole secure; he may
even be a rich man later on, prosperous, respected, and may end his
life a famous man! But my mother? It’s all Rodya, Rodya, her
first born! For such a son who would not such a daughter! Oh,
loving, over-partial hearts! Why, for his we would not even
from Sonia’s fate. Sonia, Sonia Marmeladov, the so long
as the world lasts. Have you taken the measure of your sacrifice, both
of you? Is it right? Can you it? Is it any use? Is there in
it? And let me tell you, Dounia, Sonia’s life is no than life with
Mr. Luzhin. ‘There can be no question of love,’ mother writes. And what
if there can be no respect either, if on the there is aversion,
contempt, repulsion, what then? So you will have to ‘keep up your
appearance,’ too. Is not that so? Do you what that smartness
means? Do you that the Luzhin is just the same
thing as Sonia’s and may be worse, viler, baser, in your case,
Dounia, it’s a for luxuries, after all, but with Sonia it’s
simply a question of starvation. It has to be paid for, it has to be
paid for, Dounia, this smartness. And what if it’s more than you can
bear afterwards, if you it? The bitterness, the misery, the
curses, the from all the world, for you are not a Marfa
Petrovna. And how will your mother 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, it
shall not, it shall not! I won’t accept it!”
He paused in his and still.
“It shall not be? But what are you going to do to prevent it? You’ll
forbid it? And what right have you? What can you promise them on your
side to give you such a right? Your whole life, your whole future, you
will to them _when you have your and a
post_? Yes, we have all that before, and that’s all _words_, but
now? Now something must be done, now, do you that? And
what are you doing now? You are upon them. They borrow on their
hundred pension. They borrow from the Svidrigaïlovs. How are
you going to save them from Svidrigaïlovs, from Afanasy Ivanovitch
Vahrushin, oh, Zeus who would their for
them? In another ten years? In another ten years, mother will be blind
with shawls, maybe with too. She will be to a
shadow with fasting; and my sister? Imagine for a moment what may have
become of your sister in ten years? What may to her those
ten years? Can you fancy?”
So he himself, himself with such questions, and
finding a of in it. And yet all these questions were not
new ones him, they were old familiar aches. It was
long since they had to and his heart. Long, long
ago his present had its beginnings; it had and
gathered strength, it had and concentrated, until it had taken
the of a fearful, and question, which tortured
his and mind, for an answer. Now his
mother’s had on him like a thunderclap. It was clear
that he must not now passively, himself over unsolved
questions, but that he must do something, do it at once, and do it
quickly. Anyway he must decide on something, or else...
“Or up life altogether!” he suddenly, in a frenzy--“accept
one’s as it is, once for all and in
oneself, up all to activity, life and love!”
“Do you understand, sir, do you what it means when you have
absolutely to turn?” Marmeladov’s question came into
his mind, “for every man must have to turn....”
He gave a start; another thought, that he had had yesterday,
slipped into his mind. But he did not start at the thought
recurring to him, for he knew, he had _felt beforehand_, that it must
come back, he was it; it was not only yesterday’s
thought. The was that a month ago, yesterday even, the
thought was a dream: but now... now it appeared not a at all,
it had taken a new and shape, and he suddenly
became aware of this himself.... He a in his head, and
there was a his eyes.
He looked hurriedly, he was for something. He wanted
to and was looking for a seat; he was walking along the K----
Boulevard. There was a seat about a hundred in of him. He
walked it as fast he could; but on the way he met with a little
adventure which all his attention. Looking for the seat, he had
noticed a woman walking some twenty in of him, but at first
he took no more notice of her than of other objects that his
path. It had to him many times going home not to notice the
road by which he was going, and he was to walk like that. But
there was at something so about the woman in front
of him, that his attention was upon her, at first
reluctantly and, as it were, resentfully, and then more and more
intently. He a to out what it was that was so
strange about the woman. In the place, she appeared to be a girl
quite young, and she was walking in the great and with
no or gloves, her arms about in an way. She had
on a dress of some light material, but put on awry, not
properly up, and open at the top of the skirt, close to the
waist: a great piece was rent and loose. A little was
flung about her throat, but on one side. The girl was
walking unsteadily, too, and from to side. She
drew Raskolnikov’s whole attention at last. He the girl at the
seat, but, on it, she on it, in the corner;
she let her on the of the seat and closed her eyes,
apparently in exhaustion. Looking at her closely, he saw at once
that she was drunk. It was a and sight. He
could that he was not mistaken. He saw him the
face of a young, fair-haired girl--sixteen, not more than
fifteen, years old, little face, but and looking
and, as it were, swollen. The girl to know what she was
doing; she one leg over the other, it indecorously, and
showed every of being that she was in the street.
Raskolnikov did not down, but he to her,
and her in perplexity. This was much
frequented; and now, at two o’clock, in the heat, it was quite
deserted. And yet on the of the boulevard, about fifteen
paces away, a was on the of the pavement. He,
too, would have liked to approach the girl with some object
of his own. He, too, had her in the and had
followed her, but Raskolnikov in his way. He looked at
him, though he to his notice, and biding
his time, till the man in should have moved away. His
intentions were unmistakable. The was a plump, thickly-set
man, about thirty, dressed, with a high colour, red and
moustaches. Raskolnikov furious; he had a to insult
this in some way. He left the girl for a moment and walked
towards the gentleman.
“Hey! You Svidrigaïlov! What do you want here?” he shouted, clenching
his and laughing, with rage.
“What do you mean?” the asked sternly, in haughty
astonishment.
“Get away, that’s what I mean.”
“How you, you low fellow!”
He his cane. Raskolnikov at him with his fists, without
reflecting that the was a match for two men like
himself. But at that someone him from behind, and a
police them.
“That’s enough, gentlemen, no fighting, please, in a public place. What
do you want? Who are you?” he asked Raskolnikov sternly, noticing his
rags.
Raskolnikov looked at him intently. He had a straight-forward, sensible,
soldierly face, with and whiskers.
“You are just the man I want,” Raskolnikov cried, at his arm.
“I am a student, Raskolnikov.... You may as well know that too,” he
added, the gentleman, “come along, I have something to show
you.”
And taking the by the hand he him the seat.
“Look here, drunk, and she has just come the boulevard.
There is no telling who and what she is, she not look like a
professional. It’s more likely she has been drink and deceived
somewhere... for the time... you understand? and they’ve put her
out into the like that. Look at the way her dress is torn, and
the way it has been put on: she has been by somebody, she has
not herself, and by hands, by a man’s hands;
that’s evident. And now look there: I don’t know that with I
was going to fight, I see him for the time, but he, too, has seen
her on the road, just now, drunk, not what she is doing, and now
he is very to of her, to her away while she
is in this state... that’s certain, me, I am not wrong. I saw
him myself her and her, but I him, and he
is just waiting for me to go away. Now he has walked away a little, and
is still, to make a cigarette.... Think how can we
keep her out of his hands, and how are we to her home?”
The saw it all in a flash. The was easy to
understand, he to the girl. The over to
examine her more closely, and his with compassion.
“Ah, what a pity!” he said, his head--“why, she is a
child! She has been deceived, you can see that at once. Listen, lady,”
he her, “where do you live?” The girl opened her weary
and sleepy-looking eyes, at the and her
hand.
“Here,” said Raskolnikov in his pocket and twenty
copecks, “here, call a and tell him to drive her to her address. The
only thing is to out her address!”
“Missy, missy!” the again, taking the money. “I’ll fetch
you a and take you home myself. Where shall I take you, eh? Where do
you live?”
“Go away! They won’t let me alone,” the girl muttered, and once more
waved her hand.
“Ach, ach, how shocking! It’s shameful, missy, it’s a shame!” He shook
his again, shocked, and indignant.
“It’s a difficult job,” the said to Raskolnikov, and as he
did so, he looked him up and in a glance. He, too, must have
seemed a to him: in and him money!
“Did you meet her from here?” he asked him.
“I tell you she was walking in of me, staggering, just here, in
the boulevard. She only just the seat and on it.”
“Ah, the that are done in the world nowadays, God have
mercy on us! An like that, already! She has been
deceived, that’s a sure thing. See how her dress has been too....
Ah, the one sees nowadays! And as likely as not she to
gentlefolk too, ones maybe.... There are many like that nowadays.
She looks refined, too, as though she were a lady,” and he over her
once more.
Perhaps he had up like that, “looking like ladies and
refined” with to and smartness....
“The thing is,” Raskolnikov persisted, “to keep her out of this
scoundrel’s hands! Why should he her! It’s as clear as day what
he is after; ah, the brute, he is not moving off!”
Raskolnikov spoke and pointed to him. The him,
and about to into a again, but of it, and
confined himself to a look. He then walked slowly another
ten away and again halted.
“Keep her out of his hands we can,” said the thoughtfully,
“if only she’d tell us where to take her, but as it is.... Missy, hey,
missy!” he over her once more.
She opened her all of a sudden, looked at him intently, as
though something, got up from the seat and walked away in the
direction from which she had come. “Oh wretches, they won’t let
me alone!” she said, her hand again. She walked quickly, though
staggering as before. The her, but along another avenue,
keeping his on her.
“Don’t be anxious, I won’t let him have her,” the said
resolutely, and he set off after them.
“Ah, the one sees nowadays!” he aloud, sighing.
At that moment something to Raskolnikov; in an a
complete of came over him.
“Hey, here!” he after the policeman.
The round.
“Let them be! What is it to do with you? Let her go! Let him amuse
himself.” He pointed at the dandy, “What is it to do with you?”
The was bewildered, and at him open-eyed. Raskolnikov
laughed.
“Well!” the policeman, with a of contempt, and he
walked after the and the girl, taking Raskolnikov for a
madman or something worse.
“He has off my twenty copecks,” Raskolnikov angrily
when he was left alone. “Well, let him take as much from the other
fellow to allow him to have the girl and so let it end. And why did I
want to interfere? Is it for me to help? Have I any right to help? Let
them each other alive--what is it to me? How did I to give him
twenty copecks? Were they mine?”
In of those he very wretched. He sat on
the seat. His aimlessly.... He it hard
to his mind on anything at that moment. He to himself
altogether, to everything, and then to wake up and life
anew....
“Poor girl!” he said, looking at the empty where she had
sat--“She will come to herself and weep, and then her mother will find
out.... She will give her a beating, a horrible, and
then maybe, turn her out of doors.... And if she not, the
Darya Frantsovnas will wind of it, and the girl will soon be
slipping out on the here and there. Then there will be the hospital
directly (that’s always the luck of those girls with respectable
mothers, who go on the sly) and then... again the hospital...
drink... the taverns... and more hospital, in two or three years--a
wreck, and her life over at eighteen or nineteen.... Have not I seen
cases like that? And how have they been to it? Why, they’ve all
come to it like that. Ugh! But what it matter? That’s as it should
be, they tell us. A percentage, they tell us, must every year
go... that way... to the devil, I suppose, so that the may remain
chaste, and not be with. A percentage! What words
they have; they are so scientific, so consolatory.... Once you’ve said
‘percentage’ there’s nothing more to worry about. If we had any other
word... maybe we might more uneasy.... But what if Dounia were one
of the percentage! Of another one if not that one?
“But where am I going?” he suddenly. “Strange, I came out for
something. As soon as I had read the I came out.... I was going
to Vassilyevsky Ostrov, to Razumihin. That’s what it was... now I
remember. What for, though? And what put the idea of going to Razumihin
into my just now? That’s curious.”
He at himself. Razumihin was one of his old at the
university. It was that Raskolnikov had any friends at
the university; he from everyone, to see no one, and did
not welcome anyone who came to see him, and soon gave
him up. He took no part in the students’ gatherings, or
conversations. He with great without himself,
and he was for this, but no one liked him. He was very poor,
and there was a of and about him, as though
he were something to himself. He to some of his comrades
to look upon them all as children, as though he were in
development, knowledge and convictions, as though their and
interests were him.
With Razumihin he had got on, or, at least, he was more and
communicative with him. Indeed it was to be on any other
terms with Razumihin. He was an good-humoured and candid
youth, good-natured to the point of simplicity, though and
dignity under that simplicity. The of his comrades
understood this, and all were of him. He was intelligent,
though he was a at times. He was of striking
appearance--tall, thin, and always shaved. He was
sometimes and was to be of great physical strength.
One night, when out in a company, he had with one laid
a on his back. There was no limit to his drinking
powers, but he from drink altogether; he sometimes went
too in his pranks; but he do without altogether.
Another thing about Razumihin, no failure him, and
it as though no him. He
could anywhere, and the of cold and hunger. He was
very poor, and himself on what he earn by work of
one or another. He of no end of by which to earn
money. He one whole winter without his stove, and used to
declare that he liked it better, one slept more in
the cold. For the present he, too, had been to give up the
university, but it was only for a time, and he was with all his
might to save to return to his again. Raskolnikov had
not been to see him for the last four months, and Razumihin did not even
know his address. About two months before, they had met in the street,
but Raskolnikov had away and to the other that
he might not be observed. And though Razumihin noticed him, he passed
him by, as he did not want to him.
