CHAPTER VII
The same day, about seven o'clock in the evening, Raskolnikov was onhis way to his mother's and sister's lodging--the lodging in Bakaleyev'shouse which Razumihin had found for them. The stairs went up fromthe street. Raskolnikov walked with lagging steps, as though stillhesitating whether to go or not. But nothing would have turned him back:his decision was taken.
"Besides, it doesn't matter, they still know nothing," he thought, "andthey are used to thinking of me as eccentric."
He was appallingly dressed: his clothes torn and dirty, soaked with anight's rain. His face was almost distorted from fatigue, exposure, theinward conflict that had lasted for twenty-four hours. He had spent allthe previous night alone, God knows where. But anyway he had reached adecision.
He knocked at the door which was opened by his mother. Dounia was notat home. Even the servant happened to be out. At first PulcheriaAlexandrovna was speechless with joy and surprise; then she took him bythe hand and drew him into the room.
"Here you are!" she began, faltering with joy. "Don't be angry withme, Rodya, for welcoming you so foolishly with tears: I am laughing notcrying. Did you think I was crying? No, I am delighted, but I've gotinto such a stupid habit of shedding tears. I've been like that eversince your father's death. I cry for anything. Sit down, dear boy, youmust be tired; I see you are. Ah, how muddy you are."
"I was in the rain yesterday, mother...." Raskolnikov began.
"No, no," Pulcheria Alexandrovna hurriedly interrupted, "you thought Iwas going to cross-question you in the womanish way I used to; don't beanxious, I understand, I understand it all: now I've learned the wayshere and truly I see for myself that they are better. I've made up mymind once for all: how could I understand your plans and expect you togive an account of them? God knows what concerns and plans you may have,or what ideas you are hatching; so it's not for me to keep nudging yourelbow, asking you what you are thinking about? But, my goodness! whyam I running to and fro as though I were crazy...? I am reading yourarticle in the magazine for the third time, Rodya. Dmitri Prokofitchbrought it to me. Directly I saw it I cried out to myself: 'There,foolish one,' I thought, 'that's what he is busy about; that's thesolution of the mystery! Learned people are always like that. He mayhave some new ideas in his head just now; he is thinking them over and Iworry him and upset him.' I read it, my dear, and of course there was agreat deal I did not understand; but that's only natural--how should I?"
"Show me, mother."
Raskolnikov took the magazine and glanced at his article. Incongruousas it was with his mood and his circumstances, he felt that strange andbitter sweet sensation that every author experiences the first time hesees himself in print; besides, he was only twenty-three. It lasted onlya moment. After reading a few lines he frowned and his heart throbbedwith anguish. He recalled all the inward conflict of the precedingmonths. He flung the article on the table with disgust and anger.
"But, however foolish I may be, Rodya, I can see for myself that youwill very soon be one of the leading--if not the leading man--in theworld of Russian thought. And they dared to think you were mad! Youdon't know, but they really thought that. Ah, the despicable creatures,how could they understand genius! And Dounia, Dounia was all butbelieving it--what do you say to that? Your father sent twice tomagazines--the first time poems (I've got the manuscript and will showyou) and the second time a whole novel (I begged him to let me copy itout) and how we prayed that they should be taken--they weren't! I wasbreaking my heart, Rodya, six or seven days ago over your food and yourclothes and the way you are living. But now I see again how foolishI was, for you can attain any position you like by your intellect andtalent. No doubt you don't care about that for the present and you areoccupied with much more important matters...."
"Dounia's not at home, mother?"
"No, Rodya. I often don't see her; she leaves me alone. DmitriProkofitch comes to see me, it's so good of him, and he always talksabout you. He loves you and respects you, my dear. I don't say thatDounia is very wanting in consideration. I am not complaining. She hasher ways and I have mine; she seems to have got some secrets of late andI never have any secrets from you two. Of course, I am sure that Douniahas far too much sense, and besides she loves you and me... but I don'tknow what it will all lead to. You've made me so happy by coming now,Rodya, but she has missed you by going out; when she comes in I'll tellher: 'Your brother came in while you were out. Where have you been allthis time?' You mustn't spoil me, Rodya, you know; come when you can,but if you can't, it doesn't matter, I can wait. I shall know, anyway,that you are fond of me, that will be enough for me. I shall read whatyou write, I shall hear about you from everyone, and sometimes you'llcome yourself to see me. What could be better? Here you've come now tocomfort your mother, I see that."
Here Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry.
"Here I am again! Don't mind my foolishness. My goodness, why am Isitting here?" she cried, jumping up. "There is coffee and I don't offeryou any. Ah, that's the selfishness of old age. I'll get it at once!"
"Mother, don't trouble, I am going at once. I haven't come for that.Please listen to me."
Pulcheria Alexandrovna went up to him timidly.
"Mother, whatever happens, whatever you hear about me, whatever you aretold about me, will you always love me as you do now?" he asked suddenlyfrom the fullness of his heart, as though not thinking of his words andnot weighing them.
"Rodya, Rodya, what is the matter? How can you ask me such a question?Why, who will tell me anything about you? Besides, I shouldn't believeanyone, I should refuse to listen."
"I've come to assure you that I've always loved you and I am gladthat we are alone, even glad Dounia is out," he went on with the sameimpulse. "I have come to tell you that though you will be unhappy, youmust believe that your son loves you now more than himself, and that allyou thought about me, that I was cruel and didn't care about you, wasall a mistake. I shall never cease to love you.... Well, that's enough:I thought I must do this and begin with this...."
Pulcheria Alexandrovna embraced him in silence, pressing him to herbosom and weeping gently.
"I don't know what is wrong with you, Rodya," she said at last. "I'vebeen thinking all this time that we were simply boring you and now I seethat there is a great sorrow in store for you, and that's why you aremiserable. I've foreseen it a long time, Rodya. Forgive me for speakingabout it. I keep thinking about it and lie awake at nights. Your sisterlay talking in her sleep all last night, talking of nothing but you. Icaught something, but I couldn't make it out. I felt all the morningas though I were going to be hanged, waiting for something, expectingsomething, and now it has come! Rodya, Rodya, where are you going? Youare going away somewhere?"
"Yes."
"That's what I thought! I can come with you, you know, if you needme. And Dounia, too; she loves you, she loves you dearly--and SofyaSemyonovna may come with us if you like. You see, I am glad to look uponher as a daughter even... Dmitri Prokofitch will help us to go together.But... where... are you going?"
"Good-bye, mother."
"What, to-day?" she cried, as though losing him for ever.
"I can't stay, I must go now...."
"And can't I come with you?"
"No, but kneel down and pray to God for me. Your prayer perhaps willreach Him."
"Let me bless you and sign you with the cross. That's right, that'sright. Oh, God, what are we doing?"
Yes, he was glad, he was very glad that there was no one there, thathe was alone with his mother. For the first time after all those awfulmonths his heart was softened. He fell down before her, he kissed herfeet and both wept, embracing. And she was not surprised and did notquestion him this time. For some days she had realised that somethingawful was happening to her son and that now some terrible minute hadcome for him.
"Rodya, my darling, my first born," she said sobbing, "now you are justas when you were little. You would run like this to me and hug me andkiss me. When your father was li
ving and we were poor, you comforted ussimply by being with us and when I buried your father, how often wewept together at his grave and embraced, as now. And if I've been cryinglately, it's that my mother's heart had a foreboding of trouble. Thefirst time I saw you, that evening, you remember, as soon as we arrivedhere, I guessed simply from your eyes. My heart sank at once, and to-daywhen I opened the door and looked at you, I thought the fatal hour hadcome. Rodya, Rodya, you are not going away to-day?"
"No!"
"You'll come again?"
"Yes... I'll come."
"Rodya, don't be angry, I don't dare to question you. I know I mustn't.Only say two words to me--is it far where you are going?"
"Very far."
"What is awaiting you there? Some post or career for you?"
"What God sends... only pray for me." Raskolnikov went to the door, butshe clutched him and gazed despairingly into his eyes. Her face workedwith terror.
"Enough, mother," said Raskolnikov, deeply regretting that he had come.
"Not for ever, it's not yet for ever? You'll come, you'll cometo-morrow?"
"I will, I will, good-bye." He tore himself away at last.
It was a warm, fresh, bright evening; it had cleared up in the morning.Raskolnikov went to his lodgings; he made haste. He wanted to finish allbefore sunset. He did not want to meet anyone till then. Going up thestairs he noticed that Nastasya rushed from the samovar to watch himintently. "Can anyone have come to see me?" he wondered. He had adisgusted vision of Porfiry. But opening his door he saw Dounia. Shewas sitting alone, plunged in deep thought, and looked as though she hadbeen waiting a long time. He stopped short in the doorway. She rose fromthe sofa in dismay and stood up facing him. Her eyes, fixed upon him,betrayed horror and infinite grief. And from those eyes alone he saw atonce that she knew.
"Am I to come in or go away?" he asked uncertainly.
"I've been all day with Sofya Semyonovna. We were both waiting for you.We thought that you would be sure to come there."
Raskolnikov went into the room and sank exhausted on a chair.
"I feel weak, Dounia, I am very tired; and I should have liked at thismoment to be able to control myself."
He glanced at her mistrustfully.
"Where were you all night?"
"I don't remember clearly. You see, sister, I wanted to make up my mindonce for all, and several times I walked by the Neva, I remember thatI wanted to end it all there, but... I couldn't make up my mind," hewhispered, looking at her mistrustfully again.
"Thank God! That was just what we were afraid of, Sofya Semyonovna andI. Then you still have faith in life? Thank God, thank God!"
Raskolnikov smiled bitterly.
"I haven't faith, but I have just been weeping in mother's arms; Ihaven't faith, but I have just asked her to pray for me. I don't knowhow it is, Dounia, I don't understand it."
"Have you been at mother's? Have you told her?" cried Dounia,horror-stricken. "Surely you haven't done that?"
"No, I didn't tell her... in words; but she understood a great deal.She heard you talking in your sleep. I am sure she half understands italready. Perhaps I did wrong in going to see her. I don't know why I didgo. I am a contemptible person, Dounia."
"A contemptible person, but ready to face suffering! You are, aren'tyou?"
"Yes, I am going. At once. Yes, to escape the disgrace I thought ofdrowning myself, Dounia, but as I looked into the water, I thought thatif I had considered myself strong till now I'd better not be afraid ofdisgrace," he said, hurrying on. "It's pride, Dounia."
"Pride, Rodya."
There was a gleam of fire in his lustreless eyes; he seemed to be gladto think that he was still proud.
"You don't think, sister, that I was simply afraid of the water?" heasked, looking into her face with a sinister smile.
"Oh, Rodya, hush!" cried Dounia bitterly. Silence lasted for twominutes. He sat with his eyes fixed on the floor; Dounia stood at theother end of the table and looked at him with anguish. Suddenly he gotup.
"It's late, it's time to go! I am going at once to give myself up. But Idon't know why I am going to give myself up."
Big tears fell down her cheeks.
"You are crying, sister, but can you hold out your hand to me?"
"You doubted it?"
She threw her arms round him.
"Aren't you half expiating your crime by facing the suffering?" shecried, holding him close and kissing him.
"Crime? What crime?" he cried in sudden fury. "That I killed a vilenoxious insect, an old pawnbroker woman, of use to no one!... Killingher was atonement for forty sins. She was sucking the life out of poorpeople. Was that a crime? I am not thinking of it and I am not thinkingof expiating it, and why are you all rubbing it in on all sides? 'Acrime! a crime!' Only now I see clearly the imbecility of my cowardice,now that I have decided to face this superfluous disgrace. It's simplybecause I am contemptible and have nothing in me that I have decided to,perhaps too for my advantage, as that... Porfiry... suggested!"
"Brother, brother, what are you saying? Why, you have shed blood?" criedDounia in despair.
"Which all men shed," he put in almost frantically, "which flows and hasalways flowed in streams, which is spilt like champagne, and for whichmen are crowned in the Capitol and are called afterwards benefactors ofmankind. Look into it more carefully and understand it! I too wanted todo good to men and would have done hundreds, thousands of good deedsto make up for that one piece of stupidity, not stupidity even, simplyclumsiness, for the idea was by no means so stupid as it seems nowthat it has failed.... (Everything seems stupid when it fails.) By thatstupidity I only wanted to put myself into an independent position, totake the first step, to obtain means, and then everything would havebeen smoothed over by benefits immeasurable in comparison.... But I...I couldn't carry out even the first step, because I am contemptible,that's what's the matter! And yet I won't look at it as you do. If I hadsucceeded I should have been crowned with glory, but now I'm trapped."
"But that's not so, not so! Brother, what are you saying?"
"Ah, it's not picturesque, not aesthetically attractive! I fail tounderstand why bombarding people by regular siege is more honourable.The fear of appearances is the first symptom of impotence. I've never,never recognised this more clearly than now, and I am further than everfrom seeing that what I did was a crime. I've never, never been strongerand more convinced than now."
The colour had rushed into his pale exhausted face, but as he utteredhis last explanation, he happened to meet Dounia's eyes and he saw suchanguish in them that he could not help being checked. He felt that hehad, anyway, made these two poor women miserable, that he was, anyway,the cause...
"Dounia darling, if I am guilty forgive me (though I cannot be forgivenif I am guilty). Good-bye! We won't dispute. It's time, high time to go.Don't follow me, I beseech you, I have somewhere else to go.... But yougo at once and sit with mother. I entreat you to! It's my last requestof you. Don't leave her at all; I left her in a state of anxiety, thatshe is not fit to bear; she will die or go out of her mind. Be withher! Razumihin will be with you. I've been talking to him.... Don't cryabout me: I'll try to be honest and manly all my life, even if I am amurderer. Perhaps I shall some day make a name. I won't disgrace you,you will see; I'll still show.... Now good-bye for the present," heconcluded hurriedly, noticing again a strange expression in Dounia'seyes at his last words and promises. "Why are you crying? Don't cry,don't cry: we are not parting for ever! Ah, yes! Wait a minute, I'dforgotten!"
He went to the table, took up a thick dusty book, opened it and tookfrom between the pages a little water-colour portrait on ivory. It wasthe portrait of his landlady's daughter, who had died of fever, thatstrange girl who had wanted to be a nun. For a minute he gazed at thedelicate expressive face of his betrothed, kissed the portrait and gaveit to Dounia.
"I used to talk a great deal about it to her, only to her," he saidthoughtfully. "To her heart I confided much of what has sinc
e been sohideously realised. Don't be uneasy," he returned to Dounia, "she wasas much opposed to it as you, and I am glad that she is gone. The greatpoint is that everything now is going to be different, is going tobe broken in two," he cried, suddenly returning to his dejection."Everything, everything, and am I prepared for it? Do I want it myself?They say it is necessary for me to suffer! What's the object of thesesenseless sufferings? shall I know any better what they are for, when Iam crushed by hardships and idiocy, and weak as an old man after twentyyears' penal servitude? And what shall I have to live for then? Why am Iconsenting to that life now? Oh, I knew I was contemptible when I stoodlooking at the Neva at daybreak to-day!"
At last they both went out. It was hard for Dounia, but she loved him.She walked away, but after going fifty paces she turned round to lookat him again. He was still in sight. At the corner he too turned and forthe last time their eyes met; but noticing that she was looking at him,he motioned her away with impatience and even vexation, and turned thecorner abruptly.
"I am wicked, I see that," he thought to himself, feeling ashamed amoment later of his angry gesture to Dounia. "But why are they so fondof me if I don't deserve it? Oh, if only I were alone and no one lovedme and I too had never loved anyone! _Nothing of all this would havehappened._ But I wonder shall I in those fifteen or twenty years grow someek that I shall humble myself before people and whimper at every wordthat I am a criminal? Yes, that's it, that's it, that's what they aresending me there for, that's what they want. Look at them running to andfro about the streets, every one of them a scoundrel and a criminal atheart and, worse still, an idiot. But try to get me off and they'd bewild with righteous indignation. Oh, how I hate them all!"
He fell to musing by what process it could come to pass, that he couldbe humbled before all of them, indiscriminately--humbled by conviction.And yet why not? It must be so. Would not twenty years of continualbondage crush him utterly? Water wears out a stone. And why, why shouldhe live after that? Why should he go now when he knew that it would beso? It was the hundredth time perhaps that he had asked himself thatquestion since the previous evening, but still he went.