"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 any one, 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
some one 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,
"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.
"No, it's not that, mother. You didn't see, you were crying all the time. He
is quite unhinged by serious illness– that's the reason."
"Ah, that illness! What will happen, what will happen? And how he talked to you,
Dounia!" said the mother, looking timidly at her daughter, trying to read her thoughts
and, already half consoled by Dounia's standing up for her brother, which meant
that she had already forgiven him. "I am sure he will think better of it to-morrow,"
she added, probing her further.
"And I am sure that he will say the same to-morrow… about that," Avdotya Romanovna
said finally. And, of course, there was no going beyond that, for this was a point
which Pulcheria Alexandrovna was afraid to discuss. Dounia went up and kissed her
mother. The latter warmly embraced her without speaking. Then she sat down to wait
anxiously for Razumihin's return, timidly watching her daughter who walked up and
down the room with her arms folded, lost in thought. This walking up and down when
she was thinking was a habit of Avdotya Romanovna's and the mother was always afraid
to break in on her daughter's mood at such moments.
Razumihin, of course, was ridiculous in his sudden drunken infatuation for Avdotya
Romanovna. Yet apart from his eccentric condition, many people would have thought
it justified if they had seen Avdotya Romanovna, especially at that moment when
she was walking to and fro with folded arms, pensive and melancholy. Avdotya Romanovna
was remarkably good looking; she was tall, strikingly well-proportioned, strong
and self-reliant– the latter quality was apparent in every gesture, though it did
not in the least detract from the grace and softness of her movements. In face she
resembled her brother, but she might be described as really beautiful. Her hair
was dark brown, a little lighter than her brother's; there was a proud light in
her almost black eyes and yet at times a look of extraordinary kindness. She was
pale, but it was a healthy pallor; her face was radiant with freshness and vigour.
Her mouth was rather small; the full red lower lip projected a little as did her
chin; it was the only irregularity in her beautiful face, but it gave it a peculiarly
individual and almost haughty expression. Her face was always more serious and thoughtful
than gay; but how well smiles, how well youthful, lighthearted, irresponsible, laughter
suited her face! It was natural enough that a warm, open, simple-hearted, honest
giant like Razumihin, who had never seen any one like her and was not quite sober
at the time, should lose his head immediately. Besides, as chance would have it,
he saw Dounia for the first time transfigured by her love for her brother and her
joy at meeting him. Afterwards he saw her lower lip quiver with indignation at her
brother's insolent, cruel and ungrateful words– and his fate was sealed.
He had spoken the truth, moreover, when he blurted out in his drunken talk on
the stairs that Praskovya Pavlovna, Raskolnikov's eccentric landlady, would be jealous
of Pulcheria Alexandrovna as well as of Avdotya Romanovna on his account. Although
Pulcheria Alexandrovna was forty-three, her face still retained traces of her former
beauty; she looked much younger than her age, indeed, which is almost always the
case with women who retain serenity of spirit, sensitiveness and pure sincere warmth
of heart to old age. We may add in parenthesis that to preserve all this is the
only means of retaining beauty to old age. Her hair had begun to grow grey and thin,
there had long been little crow's foot wrinkles round her eyes, her cheeks were
hollow and sunken from anxiety and grief, and yet it was a handsome face. She was
Dounia over again, twenty years older, but without the projecting underlip. Pulcheria
Alexandrovna was emotional, but not sentimental, timid and yielding, but only to
a certain point. She could give way and accept a great deal even of what was contrary
to her convictions, but there was a certain barrier fixed by honesty, principle
and the deepest convictions which nothing would induce her to cross.
Exactly twenty minutes after Razumihin's departure, there came two subdued but
hurried knocks at the door: he had come back.
"I won't come in, I haven't time," he hastened to say when the door was opened.
"He sleeps like a top, soundly, quietly, and God grant he may sleep ten hours. Nastasya's
with him; I told her not to leave till I came. Now I am fetching Zossimov, he will
report to you and then you'd better turn in; I can see you are too tired to do anything…."
And he ran off down the corridor.
"What a very competent and… devoted young man!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna
"He seems a splendid person!" Avdotya Romanovna replied with some warmth, resuming
her walk up and down the room.
It was nearly an hour later when they heard footsteps in the corridor and another
knock at the door. Both women waited this time completely relying on Razumihin's
promise; he actually had succeeded in bringing Zossimov. Zossimov had agreed at
once to desert the drinking party to go to Raskolnikov's, but he came reluctantly
and with the greatest suspicion to see the ladies, mistrusting Razumihin in his
exhilarated condition. But his vanity was at once reassured and flattered; he saw
that they were really expecting him as an oracle. He stayed just ten minutes and
succeeded in completely convincing and comforting Pulcheria Alexandrovna. He spoke
with marked sympathy, but with the reserve and extreme seriousness of a young doctor
at an important consultation. He did not utter a word on any other subject and did
not display the slightest desire to enter into more personal relations with the
two ladies. Remarking at his first entrance the dazzling beauty of Avdotya Romanovna,
he endeavoured not to notice her at all during his visit and addressed himself solely
to Pulcheria Alexandrovna. All this gave him extraordinary inward satisfaction.
He declared that he thought the invalid at this moment going on very satisfactorily.
According to his observations the patient's illness was due partly to his unfortunate
material surroundings during the last few months, but it had partly also a moral
origin, "was so to speak the product of several material and moral influences, anxieties,
apprehensions, troubles, certain ideas… and so on." Noticing stealthily that Avdotya
Romanovna was following his words with close attention, Zossimov allowed himself
to enlarge on this theme. On Pulcheria Alexandrovna's anxiously and timidly inquiring
as to "some suspicion of insanity," he replied with a composed and candid smile
that his words had been exaggerated; that certainly the patient had some fixed idea,
something approaching a monomania– he, Zossimov, was now particularly studying this
interesting branch of medicine– but that it must be recollected that until to-day
the patient had been in delirium and… and that no doubt the presence of his family
would have a favourable effect on his recovery and distract his mind, "if only all
fresh shocks can be avoided," he added significantly. Then he got up, took leave
with an impressive and affable bow, while blessings, warm gratitude, and entreaties
were showered upon him, and Avdotya Romanovna spontaneously offered her hand to
him. He went out exceedingly pleased with his visit and still more so with himself.