Crime and Punishment (11 page)

Dunya herself has told me that she has faith in herself, that there is no reason to worry and that she will be able to put up with a great deal just as long as their future relationship is an honest and fair one. I also found him a bit hard-mannered at first; but I mean it could just be that he's a straightforward sort of man, and I'm sure that's what it is. For example, on his second visit, when he'd had Dunya's consent, he said during the course of the conversation that even in the days before he had met Dunya he had decided to marry an honest girl, but one without a dowry, and she must be the kind of girl who already knew what poverty was like; because, as he explained, a husband must in no way be beholden to his wife, and it's always far better if the wife views the husband as her benefactor. I should add that he put it in terms that were somewhat gentler and more affectionate than the ones I have used, I'm afraid I've forgotten his actual words and remember only the general sense; what's more, he didn't say it in any carefully thought-out sort of way, it was obviously something he blurted out in the heat of the conversation, as afterwards he even tried to correct and soften what he'd said; but even so, it did sound a bit on the harsh side to me, and I said so to Dunya later on. But Dunya came back at me with a fair amount of irritation, saying that ‘words aren't deeds’, which is, of course, true. During the night before she made up her mind, Dunya suffered from insomnia, and, assuming me to be already asleep, got up from her bed and spent the hours walking up and down the room; at last, she got down on her knees and prayed fervently in front of the icon. In the morning she told me that she'd taken her decision.

I have already mentioned that Pyotr Petrovich is now on his way to St Petersburg. He has an important case to attend to there, and he wants to open a public lawyer's office in the capital. For a long time now he's been engaged in the pursuance of various actions and lawsuits, and only the other day he actually won an important suit. It is essential for him to go to St Petersburg now, as he has an important case in the Senate Court. So, dear Rodya, he may be extremely useful to you, in all sorts of ways, and in fact Dunya and I have already come to the conclusion that it would be perfectly possible for you,
starting this very day, to begin putting a career together for yourself, and that you could consider your future already clearly marked out. Oh, just think if that were really to be so! That would be such a wonderful thing that we should have to consider it as nothing less than a direct act of charity to us from the Almighty. Dunya dreams of nothing else. We've already taken the risk of saying a few words about it to Pyotr Petrovich. He expressed himself cautiously and said that, naturally, since he won't be able to do without a secretary, it would of course make more sense to pay the salary to a relative rather than a stranger, as long as he turns out to have an aptitude for the post (as though in your case there could be any doubt of that!), but then he voiced some doubts as to whether your university studies would leave you time to keep office hours with him. That was as far as the matter went on that occasion, but now Dunya can't keep her mind on anything else. For several days now she's simply been in a kind of fever and she's already dreamed up a whole scheme whereby you'll eventually become Pyotr Petrovich's friend and even his partner in his legal business, especially since you're in the Faculty of Law. I must say, Rodya, that I'm completely in agreement with her, and share all her hopes and plans, as they seem to be perfectly capable of realization; and in spite of Pyotr Petrovich's present unwillingness to be pinned down (which stems from the fact that he doesn't know you yet), Dunya is firmly convinced that she'll achieve it all by the good influence that she'll have on her future husband, and of that there is no dissuading her. Of course we have been careful not to say anything to Pyotr Petrovich about any of these long-term dreams of ours, particularly the one about you becoming his partner. He's a positive man and I think he would take it rather amiss, as it would all seem to him just a lot of fancies. By the same lights, neither Dunya nor I have as yet said so much as a word to him on the subject of our fervent hope that he'll help us to supply you with money while you're still in university; we didn't mention it in the first place because it's something that will come of its own accord later on, and he'll probably offer something of the kind himself without being asked (I'd like to see him refuse Dunya that), all the more so
because you yourself may be able to become his right-hand man in the office, and receive this assistance not as charity, but as the salary that you have earned. That's the way Dunya wants to arrange it, and I'm in complete agreement with her. In the second place, we didn't say anything about it because when you meet him now I particularly want to set you off on an equal footing with him. When Dunya spoke of you to him with warm enthusiasm, he replied that in order to be able to judge someone it's necessary to examine him for oneself, and at close quarters, and that he would reserve the privilege of forming an opinion about you until he had had a chance of getting to know you a bit. Do you know, my precious Rodya, I think that, for various reasons (which, I hasten to add, have nothing whatsoever to do with Pyotr Petrovich, but are just a result of my own personal and possibly even old-womanish, female whims) – I think that I may possibly do better if after the marriage I continue to live on my own, as I do at present, and not together with them. I'm quite certain that he'll have the decency and sensitivity to invite me to live with them, and propose that I not be parted from my daughter any more, and that, even though he hasn't said anything about it so far, that's just because I'm supposed to take it for granted without being asked; but I shall refuse. Several times in my life I have noticed that mothers-in-law are not much to men's liking, and not only do I not want to be even the least little bit of a burden to anyone – I want to be completely independent for as long as I have my own crust of bread to eat and children such as Dunya and yourself. If I can, I'll find somewhere to live that's not too far from you both, because, Rodya, I've been saving the best bit of my letter for the end: let me tell you, my dear friend, that soon, possibly very soon indeed, we shall all meet again and put our arms round one another, all three of us, not having seen one another for three years! It's quite
definitely
been decided that Dunya and I are to travel to St Petersburg – exactly when, I don't know, but at any rate it will be very, very soon, even possibly within the week. Everything depends on the instructions we receive from Pyotr Petrovich, who will let us know as soon as he's had a chance to get his bearings in St Petersburg. Because of certain special
considerations, he wants to get the wedding ceremony over with as soon as possible, and hold the reception in the days remaining before Shrovetide, or if that should not prove to be possible, as time is so short, then immediately after the
gospozhinki
.
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Oh, with what happiness I shall press you to my heart! Dunya is wild with excitement and joy about the prospect of seeing you again, and she once said in jest that that alone made it worthwhile to marry Pyotr Petrovich. She's an angel! She isn't writing you anything for the moment, but she's told me to write and say that there are many things she wants to talk about with you, so many things that her hand won't lift to grasp the pen, because one can't write everything in a few lines, and just ends by upsetting oneself; she told me to send you a big hug and kisses without number. But, in spite of the fact that we may very soon be meeting face to face, I shall still send you as much money as I can in a few days' time. Now that everyone knows that Dunya is going to marry Pyotr Petrovich my credit has suddenly shot up, and I know for a fact that Afanasy Ivanovich will now let me have as much as seventy-five roubles on account of my pension, so I may be able to send you twenty-five or even thirty. I would have sent even more, but I'm afraid of how much our travel costs may come to; and although Pyotr Petrovich was so kind as to fund a part of the expenses for our journey to the capital out of his own pocket, and has in fact offered to forward our luggage and big trunk for us (they'll be sent via some friends of his), but even so we'll still have to keep enough for our arrival in St Petersburg, where one can't show one's face if one is penniless, not in the early days, at least. Actually, however, Dunya and I have already worked it all out exactly, and it seems that in fact the journey itself won't cost very much. Where we live is only ninety versts from the railway, and we've already come to an arrangement with a muzhik waggon-driver we know, just in case; and when we get to the train, Dunya and I will be quite happy to travel third class. So perhaps I'll manage to send you thirty roubles, not twenty-five – in fact, I'm sure I will. But that's enough; I've covered both sides of two whole sheets with writing, and there's no room left for any more; there you have our whole story; goodness, what a lot of things to happen at
once! And now, my precious Rodya, I embrace you until our imminent meeting, and send you my maternal blessing. Rodya, love Dunya, that sister of yours; love her as she loves you, and realize that she loves you infinitely, more than she does herself. She's an angel, and you, Rodya, you're everything to us – all our hopes and aspirations rolled into one. If only you were happy, so should we be. Do you say your prayers, Rodya, the way you used to, and do you believe in the mercy of the Creator and Our Redeemer? I fear in my heart that you may have been affected by this latest fashion of unbelief. If that's the case, then I pray for you. Remember, my darling, how when you were still only a child, in the days when your father was still alive, you used to babble your prayers on my knees, and how happy we all were then! Goodbye, or, rather,
until we meet
! I hug you tight as tight, and send you kisses without number.

Yours to the tomb

Pulkheria Raskolnikova

For almost the whole time it took him to read the letter, right from its very beginning, Raskolnikov's face was wet with tears; but when he had finished, it was pale and distorted with a nervous twitch, and a nasty, lugubrious, jaundiced smile snaked across his lips. He put his head on his thin, threadbare pillow and thought and thought for a long time. His heart was beating violently, and his thoughts were violently agitated. At last he began to feel suffocated and claustrophobic in this little yellow room that was more like a cupboard or a trunk. His eyes and his brain craved space. He grabbed his hat and went out, this time without fear of running into anyone on the stairs; he had forgotten about that. His path lay in the direction of Vasily Island by way of V— Prospect,
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and he looked as though he were hurrying there on business; he walked, however, in his customary manner, without noticing where he was going, whispering to himself and even talking aloud to himself, something that was a great source of wonder to passers-by. Many of them thought he was drunk.

His mother's letter had exhausted him. With regard to its principal, capital point, however, he had not been in a moment's doubt, not even as he read the letter. The principal essence of the matter had been resolved within his head, and resolved decisively: ‘That marriage will not take place while I am alive, and to hell with Mr Luzhin!

‘Because the whole thing's perfectly clear,’ he muttered to himself with a little smirk, maliciously exulting over the victory of his decision in advance. ‘No, mother, no, Dunya, you won't fool me!… And they even apologize for not having asked my advice and for having decided the matter in my absence! I should hope so! They think it's too late to undo it now, but we shall see about that! What a capital excuse: it's as if they were saying that Pyotr Petrovich is such a busy man that he can only get married in a post-chaise, or on the train, practically. No, Dunechka, I see it all and I know what the “many things” are that you want to discuss with me; I know, too, what you thought about all night as you walked up and down your room, and what you were praying about in front of the Kazan Virgin that stands in mother's bedroom. It's hard work, the ascent to Golgotha. Hm… So, then, it's finally been decided: you're going to marry a man of business and reason, Avdotya Romanovna, one who has capital of his own (who
already
has capital of his own – that's more solid and impressive-sounding), who has two positions and who, “
it would appear
, is kind”, as Dunechka herself observes. That
it would appear
is the most wonderful bit of all! It's because of that that Dunechka,
it would appear
, is going to get married!… Wonderful! Wonderful!…

‘…I'm intrigued though, as to why mother should have written me that bit about “our most recent generations”. Was it simply a character reference, or did she have some ulterior motive: to coax me into taking a favourable view of Mr Luzhin? Oh, those cunning women! I'm curious to have some light shed on another matter, too: to what extent were they both frank with each other that day and night and during all the time that
followed? Did they put it all straight into
words
, or did they both realize that they had the same thing in their hearts and minds, so that there was no point in saying it all out loud and needlessly letting the cat out of the bag? There was probably an element of that; it's clear from her letter: mother thought he seemed
a bit
harsh-mannered at first, and poor, naïve mother went trotting off to Dunya with her comments and observations. And Dunya, of course, lost her temper and “came back at her with a fair amount of irritation”. I'm not surprised! Who wouldn't get frantic when the whole matter was perfectly clear without naïve questions, and when it had already been decided that even to talk about it was spurious? And what's this she writes to me? “Rodya, love Dunya, she loves you more than she does herself”; isn't that her conscience secretly giving her trouble for having agreed to sacrifice her daughter for the sake of her son? “You're all our hopes and aspirations rolled into one, you're our everything!” Oh, mother!…’ Malice was boiling up inside him more and more violently, and if he had happened to meet Mr Luzhin at that moment he would probably have murdered him!