CUSTOMS AND TRADITIONS OF GREAT BRITAIN 3 page

her mind, and, thinking that I was asleep, she got out of bed and was

walking up and down the room all night; at last she knelt down before

the ikon and prayed long and fervently and in the morning she told me

that she had decided.

"I have mentioned already that Pyotr Petrovitch is just setting off for

Petersburg, where he has a great deal of business, and he wants to open

a legal bureau. He has been occupied for many years in conducting civil

and commercial litigation, and only the other day he won an important

case. He has to be in Petersburg because he has an important case before

the Senate. So, Rodya dear, he may be of the greatest use to you, in

every way indeed, and Dounia and I have agreed that from this very day

you could definitely enter upon your career and might consider that

your future is marked out and assured for you. Oh, if only this comes to

pass! This would be such a benefit that we could only look upon it as a

providential blessing. Dounia is dreaming of nothing else. We have even

ventured already to drop a few words on the subject to Pyotr Petrovitch.

He was cautious in his answer, and said that, of course, as he could not

get on without a secretary, it would be better to be paying a salary to

a relation than to a stranger, if only the former were fitted for the

duties (as though there could be doubt of your being fitted!) but then

he expressed doubts whether your studies at the university would leave

you time for work at his office. The matter dropped for the time, but

Dounia is thinking of nothing else now. She has been in a sort of fever

for the last few days, and has already made a regular plan for

your becoming in the end an associate and even a partner in Pyotr

Petrovitch's business, which might well be, seeing that you are a

student of law. I am in complete agreement with her, Rodya, and share

all her plans and hopes, and think there is every probability of

realising them. And in spite of Pyotr Petrovitch's evasiveness, very

natural at present (since he does not know you), Dounia is firmly

persuaded that she will gain everything by her good influence over her

future husband; this she is reckoning upon. Of course we are careful

not to talk of any of these more remote plans to Pyotr Petrovitch,

especially of your becoming his partner. He is a practical man and might

take this very coldly, it might all seem to him simply a day-dream. Nor

has either Dounia or I breathed a word to him of the great hopes we have

of his helping us to pay for your university studies; we have not spoken

of it in the first place, because it will come to pass of itself,

later on, and he will no doubt without wasting words offer to do it of

himself, (as though he could refuse Dounia that) the more readily since

you may by your own efforts become his right hand in the office, and

receive this assistance not as a charity, but as a salary earned by your

own work. Dounia wants to arrange it all like this and I quite agree

with her. And we have not spoken of our plans for another reason, that

is, because I particularly wanted you to feel on an equal footing when

you first meet him. When Dounia spoke to him with enthusiasm about

you, he answered that one could never judge of a man without seeing

him close, for oneself, and that he looked forward to forming his own

opinion when he makes your acquaintance. Do you know, my precious

Rodya, I think that perhaps for some reasons (nothing to do with Pyotr

Petrovitch though, simply for my own personal, perhaps old-womanish,

fancies) I should do better to go on living by myself, apart, than with

them, after the wedding. I am convinced that he will be generous and

delicate enough to invite me and to urge me to remain with my daughter

for the future, and if he has said nothing about it hitherto, it is

simply because it has been taken for granted; but I shall refuse. I have

noticed more than once in my life that husbands don't quite get on with

their mothers-in-law, and I don't want to be the least bit in anyone's

way, and for my own sake, too, would rather be quite independent, so

long as I have a crust of bread of my own, and such children as you and

Dounia. If possible, I would settle somewhere near you, for the most

joyful piece of news, dear Rodya, I have kept for the end of my letter:

know then, my dear boy, that we may, perhaps, be all together in a

very short time and may embrace one another again after a separation of

almost three years! It is settled _for certain_ that Dounia and I are to

set off for Petersburg, exactly when I don't know, but very, very soon,

possibly in a week. It all depends on Pyotr Petrovitch who will let us

know when he has had time to look round him in Petersburg. To suit his

own arrangements he is anxious to have the ceremony as soon as possible,

even before the fast of Our Lady, if it could be managed, or if that is

too soon to be ready, immediately after. Oh, with what happiness I shall

press you to my heart! Dounia is all excitement at the joyful thought

of seeing you, she said one day in joke that she would be ready to marry

Pyotr Petrovitch for that alone. She is an angel! She is not writing

anything to you now, and has only told me to write that she has so much,

so much to tell you that she is not going to take up her pen now, for

a few lines would tell you nothing, and it would only mean upsetting

herself; she bids me send you her love and innumerable kisses. But

although we shall be meeting so soon, perhaps I shall send you as much

money as I can in a day or two. Now that everyone has heard that Dounia

is to marry Pyotr Petrovitch, my credit has suddenly improved and I know

that Afanasy Ivanovitch will trust me now even to seventy-five roubles

on the security of my pension, so that perhaps I shall be able to send

you twenty-five or even thirty roubles. I would send you more, but I am

uneasy about our travelling expenses; for though Pyotr Petrovitch has

been so kind as to undertake part of the expenses of the journey, that

is to say, he has taken upon himself the conveyance of our bags and big

trunk (which will be conveyed through some acquaintances of his), we

must reckon upon some expense on our arrival in Petersburg, where we

can't be left without a halfpenny, at least for the first few days. But

we have calculated it all, Dounia and I, to the last penny, and we see

that the journey will not cost very much. It is only ninety versts from

us to the railway and we have come to an agreement with a driver we

know, so as to be in readiness; and from there Dounia and I can travel

quite comfortably third class. So that I may very likely be able to send

to you not twenty-five, but thirty roubles. But enough; I have covered

two sheets already and there is no space left for more; our whole

history, but so many events have happened! And now, my precious Rodya,

I embrace you and send you a mother's blessing till we meet. Love Dounia

your sister, Rodya; love her as she loves you and understand that she

loves you beyond everything, more than herself. She is an angel and you,

Rodya, you are everything to us--our one hope, our one consolation. If

only you are happy, we shall be happy. Do you still say your prayers,

Rodya, and believe in the mercy of our Creator and our Redeemer? I am

afraid in my heart that you may have been visited by the new spirit of

infidelity that is abroad to-day; If it is so, I pray for you. Remember,

dear boy, how in your childhood, when your father was living, you used

to lisp your prayers at my knee, and how happy we all were in those

days. Good-bye, till we meet then--I embrace you warmly, warmly, with

many kisses.

"Yours till death,

"PULCHERIA RASKOLNIKOV."

Almost from the first, while he read the letter, Raskolnikov's face was

wet with tears; but when he finished it, his face was pale and distorted

and a bitter, wrathful and malignant smile was on his lips. He laid his

head down on his threadbare dirty pillow and pondered, pondered a long

time. His heart was beating violently, and his brain was in a turmoil.

At last he felt cramped and stifled in the little yellow room that was

like a cupboard or a box. His eyes and his mind craved for space. He

took up his hat and went out, this time without dread of meeting

anyone; he had forgotten his dread. He turned in the direction of the

Vassilyevsky Ostrov, walking along Vassilyevsky Prospect, as though

hastening on some business, but he walked, as his habit was, without

noticing his way, muttering and even speaking aloud to himself, to the

astonishment of the passers-by. Many of them took him to be drunk.

CHAPTER IV

His mother's letter had been a torture to him, but as regards the chief

fact in it, he had felt not one moment's hesitation, even whilst he was

reading the letter. The essential 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 malignant smile anticipating the triumph of his

decision. "No, mother, no, Dounia, you won't deceive me! and then they

apologise for not asking my advice and for taking the decision without

me! I dare say! They imagine it is arranged now and can't be broken

off; 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 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 thinking about, when

you walked up and down all night, and what your prayers were like before

the Holy Mother of Kazan who stands in mother's bedroom. Bitter is

the ascent to Golgotha.... Hm... so it is finally settled; you have

determined to marry a sensible business man, Avdotya Romanovna, one

who has a fortune (has _already_ made his fortune, that is so much

more solid and impressive) a man who holds two government posts and who

shares the ideas of our most rising 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 written to me about 'our

most rising generation'? Simply as a descriptive touch, or with the idea

of 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 one

another 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 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 partly like that, from

mother's letter it's evident: he struck her as rude _a little_, and

mother in her simplicity took her observations to Dounia. And she was

sure to be vexed and 'answered her angrily.' I should think so! Who

would not be angered when it was quite clear without any naive questions

and when it was understood that it was useless to discuss it. And why

does she write to me, 'love Dounia, Rodya, and she loves you more than

herself'? Has she a secret conscience-prick at sacrificing her daughter

to 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 to

meet Mr. Luzhin at the moment, he might have murdered him.

"Hm... yes, that's true," he continued, pursuing the whirling ideas that

chased each other in his brain, "it is true that 'it needs time and care

to get to know a man,' but there is no mistake about Mr. Luzhin. The

chief thing is he is 'a man of business and _seems_ kind,' that was

something, 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 a

peasant's cart covered with sacking (I know, I have been driven in

it). No matter! It is only ninety versts and then they can 'travel very

comfortably, third class,' for a thousand versts! Quite right, too. One

must 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 has

to raise money on her pension for the journey. To be sure it's a matter

of business, a partnership for mutual benefit, with equal shares and

expenses;--food and drink provided, but pay for your tobacco. The

business man has got the better of them, too. The luggage will cost less

than their fares and very likely go for nothing. How is it that they

don't both 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 real 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 tone 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 gets to Petersburg? Three silver roubles or

two 'paper ones' as _she_ says.... that old woman... hm. What does

she expect to live upon in Petersburg afterwards? She has her reasons

already for guessing that she _could not_ live with Dounia after the

marriage, even for the first few months. The good man has no doubt let

slip something on that subject also, though mother would deny it: 'I

shall refuse,' says she. On whom is she reckoning then? Is she counting

on what is left of her hundred and twenty roubles of pension when

Afanasy Ivanovitch's debt is paid? She knits woollen shawls and

embroiders cuffs, ruining her old eyes. And all her shawls don't add

more than twenty roubles a year to her hundred and twenty, I know

that. So she is building all her hopes 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 noble hearts; till the last moment every goose is a swan

with them, till the last moment, they hope for the best and will see

nothing wrong, and although they have an inkling of the other side of

the picture, yet they won't face the truth till they are forced to; the

very thought of it makes them shiver; they thrust the truth away with

both hands, until the man they deck out in false colours puts a fool's

cap on them with his own hands. I should like to know whether Mr. Luzhin

has any orders of merit; I bet he has the Anna in his buttonhole and

that 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, confound

him!

"Well,... mother I don't wonder at, it's like her, God bless her, but

how could Dounia? Dounia darling, as though I did not know you! You were

nearly twenty when I saw you last: I understood 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 half ago, and for the last two and a half

years I have been thinking about it, thinking of just that, that 'Dounia

can put up with a great deal.' If she could put up with Mr. Svidrigailov

and all the rest of it, she certainly can put up with a great deal. And

now mother and she have taken it into their heads that she can put up

with Mr. Luzhin, who propounds the theory of the superiority of

wives raised from destitution and owing everything to their husband's

bounty--who propounds it, too, almost at the first interview. Granted

that he 'let it slip,' though he is a sensible man, (yet maybe it

was not a slip at all, but he meant to make himself clear as soon as

possible) but Dounia, Dounia? She understands 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 barter her moral

freedom 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 knew

her 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's

life a governess in the provinces for two hundred roubles, but I know

she would rather be a nigger on a plantation or a Lett with a German

master than degrade her soul, and her moral dignity, by binding herself

for ever to a man whom she does not respect and with whom she has

nothing in common--for her own advantage. And if Mr. Luzhin had been of

unalloyed gold, or one huge diamond, she would never have consented to

become his legal concubine. Why is she consenting 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 amounts to; for her brother, for her

mother, she will sell herself! She will sell everything! In such cases,

'we overcome our moral feeling if necessary,' freedom, peace, conscience

even, all, all are brought into the market. Let my life go, if only my

dear ones may be happy! More than that, we become casuists, we learn

to be Jesuitical and for a time maybe we can soothe ourselves, we can

persuade ourselves that it is one's duty for a good object. That's just

like us, it's as clear as daylight. It's clear that Rodion Romanovitch

Raskolnikov is the central figure in the business, and no one else. Oh,

yes, she can ensure his happiness, keep him in the university, make him

a partner in the office, make his whole future secure; perhaps he may

even be a rich man later on, prosperous, respected, and may even end his

life a famous man! But my mother? It's all Rodya, precious Rodya, her

first 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 even

from Sonia's fate. Sonia, Sonia Marmeladov, the eternal victim so long

as the world lasts. Have you taken the measure of your sacrifice, both

of you? Is it right? Can you bear it? Is it any use? Is there sense in

it? And let me tell you, Dounia, Sonia's life is no worse 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 contrary there is aversion,

contempt, repulsion, what then? So you will have to 'keep up your

appearance,' too. Is not that so? Do you understand what that smartness

means? Do you understand that the Luzhin smartness is just the same

thing 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'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 regret it? The bitterness, the misery, the

curses, the tears hidden from all the world, for you are not a Marfa

Petrovna. 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, it

shall 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'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 devote to them _when you have finished your studies and obtained a

post_? Yes, we have heard all that before, and that's all _words_, but

now? Now something must be done, now, do you understand that? And

what are you doing now? You are living upon them. They borrow on their

hundred roubles pension. They borrow from the Svidrigailovs. How are

you going to save them from Svidrigailovs, from Afanasy Ivanovitch

Vahrushin, oh, future millionaire Zeus who would arrange their lives for

them? In another ten years? In another ten years, mother will be blind

with knitting shawls, maybe with weeping too. She will be worn to a

shadow with fasting; and my sister? Imagine for a moment what may have

become of your sister in ten years? What may happen to her during those

ten years? Can you fancy?"

So he tortured himself, fretting himself with such questions, and

finding a kind of enjoyment in it. And yet all these questions were not

new ones suddenly confronting him, they were old familiar aches. It was

long since they had first begun to grip and rend his heart. Long, long

ago his present anguish had its first beginnings; it had waxed and

gathered strength, it had matured and concentrated, until it had taken

the form of a fearful, frenzied and fantastic question, which tortured

his heart and mind, clamouring insistently for an answer. Now his

mother's letter had burst on him like a thunderclap. It was clear

that he must not now suffer passively, worrying 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 throw up life altogether!" he cried suddenly, in a frenzy--"accept

one's lot humbly as it is, once for all and stifle everything in

oneself, giving up all claim to activity, life and love!"

"Do you understand, sir, do you understand what it means when you have

absolutely nowhere to turn?" Marmeladov's question came suddenly into

his 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 thought

recurring to him, for he knew, he had _felt beforehand_, that it must

come back, he was expecting it; besides it was not only yesterday's

thought. The difference was that a month ago, yesterday even, the

thought 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 suddenly

became aware of this himself.... He felt a hammering in his head, and

there was a darkness before his eyes.

He looked round hurriedly, he was searching for something. He wanted

to 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. He

walked towards it as fast he could; but on the way he met with a little

adventure which absorbed all his attention. Looking for the seat, he had

noticed a woman walking some twenty paces in front of him, but at first

he took no more notice of her than of other objects that crossed his

path. It had happened to him many times going home not to notice the

road by which he was going, and he was accustomed to walk like that. But

there was at first sight something so strange about the woman in front

of him, that gradually his attention was riveted upon her, at first

reluctantly and, as it were, resentfully, and then more and more

intently. He felt a sudden desire to find out what it was that was so

strange about the woman. In the first place, she appeared to be a girl

quite young, and she was walking in the great heat bareheaded and with

no parasol or gloves, waving her arms about in an absurd way. She had

on a dress of some light silky material, but put on strangely awry, not

properly hooked up, and torn open at the top of the skirt, close to the

waist: a great piece was rent and hanging loose. A little kerchief was

flung about her bare throat, but lay slanting on one side. The girl was

walking unsteadily, too, stumbling and staggering from side to side. She

drew Raskolnikov's whole attention at last. He overtook the girl at the

seat, 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 once

that she was completely drunk. It was a strange and shocking sight. He

could hardly believe that he was not mistaken. He saw before him the

face of a quite young, fair-haired girl--sixteen, perhaps not more than

fifteen, years old, pretty little face, but flushed and heavy looking

and, as it were, swollen. The girl seemed hardly to know what she was

doing; she crossed one leg over the other, lifting it indecorously, and

showed 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 much

frequented; and now, at two o'clock, in the stifling heat, it was quite

deserted. And yet on the further side of the boulevard, about fifteen

paces away, a gentleman was standing on the edge of the pavement. He,

too, would apparently have liked to approach the girl with some object

of his own. He, too, had probably seen her in the distance and had

followed her, but found Raskolnikov in his way. He looked angrily at

him, though he tried to escape his notice, and stood impatiently biding

his time, till the unwelcome man in rags should have moved away. His

intentions were unmistakable. The gentleman was a plump, thickly-set

man, about thirty, fashionably dressed, with a high colour, red lips and

moustaches. Raskolnikov felt furious; he had a sudden longing to insult

this fat dandy in some way. He left the girl for a moment and walked

towards the gentleman.

"Hey! You Svidrigailov! What do you want here?" he shouted, clenching

his fists and laughing, spluttering with rage.

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

astonishment.

"Get away, that's what I mean."

"How dare you, you low fellow!"

He raised his cane. Raskolnikov rushed at him with his fists, without

reflecting that the stout gentleman was a match for two men like

himself. But at that instant someone seized him from behind, and a

police constable stood between 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 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," he

added, addressing the gentleman, "come along, I have something to show

Date: 2014-12-29; view: 784