CUSTOMS AND TRADITIONS OF GREAT BRITAIN 16 page

out?"

"He? Goodness only knows! Some friend of uncle's, I expect, or perhaps

he has come without being invited... I'll leave uncle with them, he

is an invaluable person, pity I can't introduce you to him now. But

confound them all now! They won't notice me, and I need a little fresh

air, for you've come just in the nick of time--another two minutes and I

should have come to blows! They are talking such a lot of wild stuff...

you simply can't imagine what men will say! Though why shouldn't you

imagine? Don't we talk nonsense ourselves? And let them... that's the

way to learn not to!... Wait a minute, I'll fetch Zossimov."

Zossimov pounced upon Raskolnikov almost greedily; he showed a special

interest in him; soon his face brightened.

"You must go to bed at once," he pronounced, examining the patient as

far as he could, "and take something for the night. Will you take it? I

got it ready some time ago... a powder."

"Two, if you like," answered Raskolnikov. The powder was taken at once.

"It's a good thing you are taking him home," observed Zossimov to

Razumihin--"we shall see how he is to-morrow, to-day he's not at all

amiss--a considerable change since the afternoon. Live and learn..."

"Do you know what Zossimov whispered to me when we were coming out?"

Razumihin blurted out, as soon as they were in the street. "I won't tell

you everything, brother, because they are such fools. Zossimov told me

to talk freely to you on the way and get you to talk freely to me, and

afterwards I am to tell him about it, for he's got a notion in his head

that you are... mad or close on it. Only fancy! In the first place,

you've three times the brains he has; in the second, if you are not mad,

you needn't care a hang that he has got such a wild idea; and thirdly,

that piece of beef whose specialty is surgery has gone mad on mental

diseases, and what's brought him to this conclusion about you was your

conversation to-day with Zametov."

"Zametov told you all about it?"

"Yes, and he did well. Now I understand what it all means and so does

Zametov.... Well, the fact is, Rodya... the point is... I am a little

drunk now.... But that's... no matter... the point is that this

idea... you understand? was just being hatched in their brains... you

understand? That is, no one ventured to say it aloud, because the idea

is too absurd and especially since the arrest of that painter, that

bubble's burst and gone for ever. But why are they such fools? I gave

Zametov a bit of a thrashing at the time--that's between ourselves,

brother; please don't let out a hint that you know of it; I've noticed

he is a ticklish subject; it was at Luise Ivanovna's. But to-day, to-day

it's all cleared up. That Ilya Petrovitch is at the bottom of it! He

took advantage of your fainting at the police station, but he is ashamed

of it himself now; I know that..."

Raskolnikov listened greedily. Razumihin was drunk enough to talk too

freely.

"I fainted then because it was so close and the smell of paint," said

Raskolnikov.

"No need to explain that! And it wasn't the paint only: the fever had

been coming on for a month; Zossimov testifies to that! But how crushed

that boy is now, you wouldn't believe! 'I am not worth his little

finger,' he says. Yours, he means. He has good feelings at times,

brother. But the lesson, the lesson you gave him to-day in the Palais

de Cristal, that was too good for anything! You frightened him at first,

you know, he nearly went into convulsions! You almost convinced

him again of the truth of all that hideous nonsense, and then you

suddenly--put out your tongue at him: 'There now, what do you make of

it?' It was perfect! He is crushed, annihilated now! It was masterly, by

Jove, it's what they deserve! Ah, that I wasn't there! He was hoping to

see you awfully. Porfiry, too, wants to make your acquaintance..."

"Ah!... he too... but why did they put me down as mad?"

"Oh, not mad. I must have said too much, brother.... What struck him,

you see, was that only that subject seemed to interest you; now it's

clear why it did interest you; knowing all the circumstances... and

how that irritated you and worked in with your illness... I am a little

drunk, brother, only, confound him, he has some idea of his own... I

tell you, he's mad on mental diseases. But don't you mind him..."

For half a minute both were silent.

"Listen, Razumihin," began Raskolnikov, "I want to tell you plainly:

I've just been at a death-bed, a clerk who died... I gave them all my

money... and besides I've just been kissed by someone who, if I had

killed anyone, would just the same... in fact I saw someone else

there... with a flame-coloured feather... but I am talking nonsense; I

am very weak, support me... we shall be at the stairs directly..."

"What's the matter? What's the matter with you?" Razumihin asked

anxiously.

"I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so sad...

like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!"

"What is it?"

"Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the crack..."

They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at the level

of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see from below that

there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret.

"Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin.

"She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long ago,

but... I don't care! Good-bye!"

"What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!"

"I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here and say

good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!"

"What's the matter with you, Rodya?"

"Nothing... come along... you shall be witness."

They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin that

perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset him with my

chatter!" he muttered to himself.

When they reached the door they heard voices in the room.

"What is it?" cried Razumihin. Raskolnikov was the first to open the

door; he flung it wide and stood still in the doorway, dumbfoundered.

His mother and sister were sitting on his sofa and had been waiting an

hour and a half for him. Why had he never expected, never thought of

them, though the news that they had started, were on their way and would

arrive immediately, had been repeated to him only that day? They had

spent that hour and a half plying Nastasya with questions. She was

standing before them and had told them everything by now. They were

beside themselves with alarm when they heard of his "running away"

to-day, ill and, as they understood from her story, delirious! "Good

Heavens, what had become of him?" Both had been weeping, both had been

in anguish for that hour and a half.

A cry of joy, of ecstasy, greeted Raskolnikov's entrance. Both rushed to

him. But he stood like one dead; a sudden intolerable sensation struck

him like a thunderbolt. He did not lift his arms to embrace them, he

could not. His mother and sister clasped him in their arms, kissed him,

laughed and cried. He took a step, tottered and fell to the ground,

fainting.

Anxiety, cries of horror, moans... Razumihin who was standing in the

doorway flew into the room, seized the sick man in his strong arms and

in a moment had him on the sofa.

"It's nothing, nothing!" he cried to the mother and sister--"it's only a

faint, a mere trifle! Only just now the doctor said he was much better,

that he is perfectly well! Water! See, he is coming to himself, he is

all right again!"

And seizing Dounia by the arm so that he almost dislocated it, he made

her bend down to see that "he is all right again." The mother and sister

looked on him with emotion and gratitude, as their Providence. They

had heard already from Nastasya all that had been done for their Rodya

during his illness, by this "very competent young man," as Pulcheria

Alexandrovna Raskolnikov called him that evening in conversation with

Dounia.

PART III

CHAPTER I

Raskolnikov got up, and sat down on the sofa. He waved his hand weakly

to Razumihin to cut short the flow of warm and incoherent consolations

he was addressing to his mother and sister, took them both by the hand

and for a minute or two gazed from one to the other without speaking.

His mother was alarmed by his expression. It revealed an emotion

agonisingly poignant, and at the same time something immovable, almost

insane. Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry.

Avdotya Romanovna was pale; her hand trembled in her brother's.

"Go home... with him," he said in a broken voice, pointing to Razumihin,

"good-bye till to-morrow; to-morrow everything... Is it long since you

arrived?"

"This evening, Rodya," answered Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "the train was

awfully late. But, Rodya, nothing would induce me to leave you now! I

will spend the night here, near you..."

"Don't torture me!" he said with a gesture of irritation.

"I will stay with him," cried Razumihin, "I won't leave him for a

moment. Bother all my visitors! Let them rage to their hearts' content!

My uncle is presiding there."

"How, how can I thank you!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna was beginning, once

more pressing Razumihin's hands, but Raskolnikov interrupted her again.

"I can't have it! I can't have it!" he repeated irritably, "don't worry

me! Enough, go away... I can't stand it!"

"Come, mamma, come out of the room at least for a minute," Dounia

whispered in dismay; "we are distressing him, that's evident."

"Mayn't I look at him after three years?" wept Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"Stay," he stopped them again, "you keep interrupting me, and my ideas

get muddled.... Have you seen Luzhin?"

"No, Rodya, but he knows already of our arrival. We have heard, Rodya,

that Pyotr Petrovitch was so kind as to visit you today," Pulcheria

Alexandrovna added somewhat timidly.

"Yes... he was so kind... Dounia, I promised Luzhin I'd throw him

downstairs and told him to go to hell...."

"Rodya, what are you saying! Surely, you don't mean to tell us..."

Pulcheria Alexandrovna began in alarm, but she stopped, looking at

Dounia.

Avdotya Romanovna was looking attentively at her brother, waiting

for what would come next. Both of them had heard of the quarrel from

Nastasya, so far as she had succeeded in understanding and reporting it,

and were in painful perplexity and suspense.

"Dounia," Raskolnikov continued with an effort, "I don't want that

marriage, so at the first opportunity to-morrow you must refuse Luzhin,

so that we may never hear his name again."

"Good Heavens!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"Brother, think what you are saying!" Avdotya Romanovna began

impetuously, but immediately checked herself. "You are not fit to talk

now, perhaps; you are tired," she added gently.

"You think I am delirious? No... You are marrying Luzhin for _my_

sake. But I won't accept the sacrifice. And so write a letter before

to-morrow, to refuse him... Let me read it in the morning and that will

be the end of it!"

"That I can't do!" the girl cried, offended, "what right have you..."

"Dounia, you are hasty, too, be quiet, to-morrow... Don't you see..."

the mother interposed in dismay. "Better come away!"

"He is raving," Razumihin cried tipsily, "or how would he dare!

To-morrow all this nonsense will be over... to-day he certainly did

drive him away. That was so. And Luzhin got angry, too.... He made

speeches here, wanted to show off his learning and he went out

crest-fallen...."

"Then it's true?" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"Good-bye till to-morrow, brother," said Dounia compassionately--"let us

go, mother... Good-bye, Rodya."

"Do you hear, sister," he repeated after them, making a last effort,

"I am not delirious; this marriage is--an infamy. Let me act like

a scoundrel, but you mustn't... one is enough... and though I am a

scoundrel, I wouldn't own such a sister. It's me or Luzhin! Go now...."

"But you're out of your mind! Despot!" roared Razumihin; but Raskolnikov

did not and perhaps could not answer. He lay down on the sofa, and

turned to the wall, utterly exhausted. Avdotya Romanovna looked with

interest at Razumihin; her black eyes flashed; Razumihin positively

started at her glance.

Pulcheria Alexandrovna stood overwhelmed.

"Nothing would induce me to go," she whispered in despair to Razumihin.

"I will stay somewhere here... escort Dounia home."

"You'll spoil everything," Razumihin answered in the same whisper,

losing patience--"come out on to the stairs, anyway. Nastasya, show a

light! I assure you," he went on in a half whisper on the stairs-"that

he was almost beating the doctor and me this afternoon! Do you

understand? The doctor himself! Even he gave way and left him, so as not

to irritate him. I remained downstairs on guard, but he dressed at once

and slipped off. And he will slip off again if you irritate him, at this

time of night, and will do himself some mischief...."

"What are you saying?"

"And Avdotya Romanovna can't possibly be left in those lodgings without

you. Just think where you are staying! That blackguard Pyotr Petrovitch

couldn't find you better lodgings... But you know I've had a little to

drink, and that's what makes me... swear; don't mind it...."

"But I'll go to the landlady here," Pulcheria Alexandrovna insisted,

"Ill beseech her to find some corner for Dounia and me for the night. I

can't leave him like that, I cannot!"

This conversation took place on the landing just before the landlady's

door. Nastasya lighted them from a step below. Razumihin was in

extraordinary excitement. Half an hour earlier, while he was bringing

Raskolnikov home, he had indeed talked too freely, but he was aware of

it himself, and his head was clear in spite of the vast quantities he

had imbibed. Now he was in a state bordering on ecstasy, and all that he

had drunk seemed to fly to his head with redoubled effect. He stood with

the two ladies, seizing both by their hands, persuading them, and giving

them reasons with astonishing plainness of speech, and at almost every

word he uttered, probably to emphasise his arguments, he squeezed their

hands painfully as in a vise. He stared at Avdotya Romanovna without the

least regard for good manners. They sometimes pulled their hands out of

his huge bony paws, but far from noticing what was the matter, he drew

them all the closer to him. If they'd told him to jump head foremost

from the staircase, he would have done it without thought or hesitation

in their service. Though Pulcheria Alexandrovna felt that the young man

was really too eccentric and pinched her hand too much, in her anxiety

over her Rodya she looked on his presence as providential, and was

unwilling to notice all his peculiarities. But though Avdotya Romanovna

shared her anxiety, and was not of timorous disposition, she could not

see the glowing light in his eyes without wonder and almost alarm. It

was only the unbounded confidence inspired by Nastasya's account of her

brother's queer friend, which prevented her from trying to run away from

him, and to persuade her mother to do the same. She realised, too,

that even running away was perhaps impossible now. Ten minutes later,

however, she was considerably reassured; it was characteristic of

Razumihin that he showed his true nature at once, whatever mood he might

be in, so that people quickly saw the sort of man they had to deal with.

"You can't go to the landlady, that's perfect nonsense!" he cried. "If

you stay, though you are his mother, you'll drive him to a frenzy, and

then goodness knows what will happen! Listen, I'll tell you what I'll

do: Nastasya will stay with him now, and I'll conduct you both home, you

can't be in the streets alone; Petersburg is an awful place in that

way.... But no matter! Then I'll run straight back here and a quarter of

an hour later, on my word of honour, I'll bring you news how he is,

whether he is asleep, and all that. Then, listen! Then I'll run home in

a twinkling--I've a lot of friends there, all drunk--I'll fetch

Zossimov--that's the doctor who is looking after him, he is there, too,

but he is not drunk; he is not drunk, he is never drunk! I'll drag him

to Rodya, and then to you, so that you'll get two reports in the

hour--from the doctor, you understand, from the doctor himself, that's a

very different thing from my account of him! If there's anything wrong,

I swear I'll bring you here myself, but, if it's all right, you go to

bed. And I'll spend the night here, in the passage, he won't hear me,

and I'll tell Zossimov to sleep at the landlady's, to be at hand. Which

is better for him: you or the doctor? So come home then! But the

landlady is out of the question; it's all right for me, but it's out of

the question for you: she wouldn't take you, for she's... for she's a

fool... She'd be jealous on my account of Avdotya Romanovna and of you,

too, if you want to know... of Avdotya Romanovna certainly. She is an

absolutely, absolutely unaccountable character! But I am a fool, too!...

No matter! Come along! Do you trust me? Come, do you trust me or not?"

"Let us go, mother," said Avdotya Romanovna, "he will certainly do what

he has promised. He has saved Rodya already, and if the doctor really

will consent to spend the night here, what could be better?"

"You see, you... you... understand me, because you are an angel!"

Razumihin cried in ecstasy, "let us go! Nastasya! Fly upstairs and sit

with him with a light; I'll come in a quarter of an hour."

Though Pulcheria Alexandrovna was not perfectly convinced, she made no

further resistance. Razumihin gave an arm to each and drew them down

the stairs. He still made her uneasy, as though he was competent and

good-natured, was he capable of carrying out his promise? He seemed in

such a condition....

"Ah, I see you think I am in such a condition!" Razumihin broke in upon

her thoughts, guessing them, as he strolled along the pavement with huge

steps, so that the two ladies could hardly keep up with him, a fact he

did not observe, however. "Nonsense! That is... I am drunk like a fool,

but that's not it; I am not drunk from wine. It's seeing you has turned

my head... But don't mind me! Don't take any notice: I am talking

nonsense, I am not worthy of you.... I am utterly unworthy of you! The

minute I've taken you home, I'll pour a couple of pailfuls of water over

my head in the gutter here, and then I shall be all right.... If only

you knew how I love you both! Don't laugh, and don't be angry! You may

be angry with anyone, but not with me! I am his friend, and therefore I

am your friend, too, I want to be... I had a presentiment... Last year

there was a moment... though it wasn't a presentiment really, for

you seem to have fallen from heaven. And I expect I shan't sleep all

night... Zossimov was afraid a little time ago that he would go mad...

that's why he mustn't be irritated."

"What do you say?" cried the mother.

"Did the doctor really say that?" asked Avdotya Romanovna, alarmed.

"Yes, but it's not so, not a bit of it. He gave him some medicine, a

powder, I saw it, and then your coming here.... Ah! It would have been

better if you had come to-morrow. It's a good thing we went away. And in

an hour Zossimov himself will report to you about everything. He is not

drunk! And I shan't be drunk.... And what made me get so tight? Because

they got me into an argument, damn them! I've sworn never to argue! They

talk such trash! I almost came to blows! I've left my uncle to preside.

Would you believe, they insist on complete absence of individualism

and that's just what they relish! Not to be themselves, to be as unlike

themselves as they can. That's what they regard as the highest point of

progress. If only their nonsense were their own, but as it is..."

"Listen!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna interrupted timidly, but it only added

fuel to the flames.

"What do you think?" shouted Razumihin, louder than ever, "you think I

am attacking them for talking nonsense? Not a bit! I like them to talk

nonsense. That's man's one privilege over all creation. Through error

you come to the truth! I am a man because I err! You never reach any

truth without making fourteen mistakes and very likely a hundred and

fourteen. And a fine thing, too, in its way; but we can't even make

mistakes on our own account! Talk nonsense, but talk your own nonsense,

and I'll kiss you for it. To go wrong in one's own way is better than

to go right in someone else's. In the first case you are a man, in the

second you're no better than a bird. Truth won't escape you, but life

can be cramped. There have been examples. And what are we doing now?

In science, development, thought, invention, ideals, aims, liberalism,

judgment, experience and everything, everything, everything, we are

still in the preparatory class at school. We prefer to live on other

people's ideas, it's what we are used to! Am I right, am I right?" cried

Razumihin, pressing and shaking the two ladies' hands.

"Oh, mercy, I do not know," cried poor Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"Yes, yes... though I don't agree with you in everything," added Avdotya

Romanovna earnestly and at once uttered a cry, for he squeezed her hand

so painfully.

"Yes, you say yes... well after that you... you..." he cried in

a transport, "you are a fount of goodness, purity, sense... and

perfection. Give me your hand... you give me yours, too! I want to kiss

your hands here at once, on my knees..." and he fell on his knees on the

pavement, fortunately at that time deserted.

"Leave off, I entreat you, what are you doing?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna

cried, greatly distressed.

"Get up, get up!" said Dounia laughing, though she, too, was upset.

"Not for anything till you let me kiss your hands! That's it! Enough! I

get up and we'll go on! I am a luckless fool, I am unworthy of you and

drunk... and I am ashamed.... I am not worthy to love you, but to do

homage to you is the duty of every man who is not a perfect beast! And

I've done homage.... Here are your lodgings, and for that alone Rodya

was right in driving your Pyotr Petrovitch away.... How dare he! how

dare he put you in such lodgings! It's a scandal! Do you know the

sort of people they take in here? And you his betrothed! You are

his betrothed? Yes? Well, then, I'll tell you, your _fiance_ is a

scoundrel."

"Excuse me, Mr. Razumihin, you are forgetting..." Pulcheria Alexandrovna

was beginning.

"Yes, yes, you are right, I did forget myself, I am ashamed of it,"

Razumihin made haste to apologise. "But... but you can't be angry with

me for speaking so! For I speak sincerely and not because... hm, hm!

That would be disgraceful; in fact not because I'm in... hm! Well,

anyway, I won't say why, I daren't.... But we all saw to-day when he

came in that that man is not of our sort. Not because he had his hair

curled at the barber's, not because he was in such a hurry to show his

wit, but because he is a spy, a speculator, because he is a skin-flint

and a buffoon. That's evident. Do you think him clever? No, he is a

fool, a fool. And is he a match for you? Good heavens! Do you see,

ladies?" he stopped suddenly on the way upstairs to their rooms, "though

all my friends there are drunk, yet they are all honest, and though we

do talk a lot of trash, and I do, too, yet we shall talk our way to the

truth at last, for we are on the right path, while Pyotr Petrovitch...

is not on the right path. Though I've been calling them all sorts of

names just now, I do respect them all... though I don't respect Zametov,

I like him, for he is a puppy, and that bullock Zossimov, because he

is an honest man and knows his work. But enough, it's all said and

forgiven. Is it forgiven? Well, then, let's go on. I know this corridor,

I've been here, there was a scandal here at Number 3.... Where are you

here? Which number? eight? Well, lock yourselves in for the night, then.

Don't let anybody in. In a quarter of an hour I'll come back with news,

and half an hour later I'll bring Zossimov, you'll see! Good-bye, I'll

run."

"Good heavens, Dounia, what is going to happen?" said Pulcheria

Alexandrovna, addressing her daughter with anxiety and dismay.

"Don't worry yourself, mother," said Dounia, taking off her hat and

cape. "God has sent this gentleman to our aid, though he has come from a

drinking party. We can depend on him, I assure you. And all that he has

done for Rodya...."

"Ah. Dounia, goodness knows whether he will come! How could I bring

myself to leave Rodya?... And how different, how different I had fancied

our meeting! How sullen he was, as though not pleased to see us...."

Tears came into her eyes.

Date: 2014-12-29; view: 663