CHAPTER II

It was nearly eight o’clock. The two young men hurried to Bakaleyev’s,

to arrive before Luzhin.

“Why, who was that?” asked Razumihin, as soon as they were in the

street.

“It was Svidrigaïlov, that landowner in whose house my sister was

insulted when she was their governess. Through his persecuting her with

his attentions, she was turned out by his wife, Marfa Petrovna. This

Marfa Petrovna begged Dounia’s forgiveness afterwards, and she’s just

died suddenly. It was of her we were talking this morning. I don’t

know why I’m afraid of that man. He came here at once after his wife’s

funeral. He is very strange, and is determined on doing something.... We

must guard Dounia from him... that’s what I wanted to tell you, do you

hear?”

“Guard her! What can he do to harm Avdotya Romanovna? Thank you, Rodya,

for speaking to me like that.... We will, we will guard her. Where does

he live?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you ask? What a pity! I’ll find out, though.”

“Did you see him?” asked Raskolnikov after a pause.

“Yes, I noticed him, I noticed him well.”

“You did really see him? You saw him clearly?” Raskolnikov insisted.

“Yes, I remember him perfectly, I should know him in a thousand; I have

a good memory for faces.”

They were silent again.

“Hm!... that’s all right,” muttered Raskolnikov. “Do you know, I

fancied... I keep thinking that it may have been an hallucination.”

“What do you mean? I don’t understand you.”

“Well, you all say,” Raskolnikov went on, twisting his mouth into a

smile, “that I am mad. I thought just now that perhaps I really am mad,

and have only seen a phantom.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, who can tell? Perhaps I am really mad, and perhaps everything that

happened all these days may be only imagination.”

“Ach, Rodya, you have been upset again!... But what did he say, what did

he come for?”

Raskolnikov did not answer. Razumihin thought a minute.

“Now let me tell you my story,” he began, “I came to you, you were

asleep. Then we had dinner and then I went to Porfiry’s, Zametov was

still with him. I tried to begin, but it was no use. I couldn’t speak in

the right way. They don’t seem to understand and can’t understand, but

are not a bit ashamed. I drew Porfiry to the window, and began talking

to him, but it was still no use. He looked away and I looked away. At

last I shook my fist in his ugly face, and told him as a cousin I’d

brain him. He merely looked at me, I cursed and came away. That was

all. It was very stupid. To Zametov I didn’t say a word. But, you see, I

thought I’d made a mess of it, but as I went downstairs a brilliant idea

struck me: why should we trouble? Of course if you were in any danger

or anything, but why need you care? You needn’t care a hang for them. We

shall have a laugh at them afterwards, and if I were in your place I’d

mystify them more than ever. How ashamed they’ll be afterwards! Hang

them! We can thrash them afterwards, but let’s laugh at them now!”

“To be sure,” answered Raskolnikov. “But what will you say to-morrow?”

he thought to himself. Strange to say, till that moment it had never

occurred to him to wonder what Razumihin would think when he knew. As he

thought it, Raskolnikov looked at him. Razumihin’s account of his visit

to Porfiry had very little interest for him, so much had come and gone

since then.

In the corridor they came upon Luzhin; he had arrived punctually

at eight, and was looking for the number, so that all three went in

together without greeting or looking at one another. The young men

walked in first, while Pyotr Petrovitch, for good manners, lingered a

little in the passage, taking off his coat. Pulcheria Alexandrovna came

forward at once to greet him in the doorway, Dounia was welcoming her

brother. Pyotr Petrovitch walked in and quite amiably, though with

redoubled dignity, bowed to the ladies. He looked, however, as though

he were a little put out and could not yet recover himself. Pulcheria

Alexandrovna, who seemed also a little embarrassed, hastened to make

them all sit down at the round table where a samovar was boiling. Dounia

and Luzhin were facing one another on opposite sides of the table.

Razumihin and Raskolnikov were facing Pulcheria Alexandrovna, Razumihin

was next to Luzhin and Raskolnikov was beside his sister.

A moment’s silence followed. Pyotr Petrovitch deliberately drew out a

cambric handkerchief reeking of scent and blew his nose with an air of

a benevolent man who felt himself slighted, and was firmly resolved to

insist on an explanation. In the passage the idea had occurred to him to

keep on his overcoat and walk away, and so give the two ladies a sharp

and emphatic lesson and make them feel the gravity of the position.

But he could not bring himself to do this. Besides, he could not endure

uncertainty, and he wanted an explanation: if his request had been so

openly disobeyed, there was something behind it, and in that case it was

better to find it out beforehand; it rested with him to punish them and

there would always be time for that.

“I trust you had a favourable journey,” he inquired officially of

Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

“Oh, very, Pyotr Petrovitch.”

“I am gratified to hear it. And Avdotya Romanovna is not over-fatigued

either?”

“I am young and strong, I don’t get tired, but it was a great strain for

mother,” answered Dounia.

“That’s unavoidable! our national railways are of terrible length.

‘Mother Russia,’ as they say, is a vast country.... In spite of all my

desire to do so, I was unable to meet you yesterday. But I trust all

passed off without inconvenience?”

“Oh, no, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was all terribly disheartening,” Pulcheria

Alexandrovna hastened to declare with peculiar intonation, “and if

Dmitri Prokofitch had not been sent us, I really believe by God Himself,

we should have been utterly lost. Here, he is! Dmitri Prokofitch

Razumihin,” she added, introducing him to Luzhin.

“I had the pleasure... yesterday,” muttered Pyotr Petrovitch with a

hostile glance sidelong at Razumihin; then he scowled and was silent.

Pyotr Petrovitch belonged to that class of persons, on the surface very

polite in society, who make a great point of punctiliousness, but who,

directly they are crossed in anything, are completely disconcerted, and

become more like sacks of flour than elegant and lively men of society.

Again all was silent; Raskolnikov was obstinately mute, Avdotya

Romanovna was unwilling to open the conversation too soon. Razumihin had

nothing to say, so Pulcheria Alexandrovna was anxious again.

“Marfa Petrovna is dead, have you heard?” she began having recourse to

her leading item of conversation.

“To be sure, I heard so. I was immediately informed, and I have come to

make you acquainted with the fact that Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigaïlov

set off in haste for Petersburg immediately after his wife’s funeral. So

at least I have excellent authority for believing.”

“To Petersburg? here?” Dounia asked in alarm and looked at her mother.

“Yes, indeed, and doubtless not without some design, having in view the

rapidity of his departure, and all the circumstances preceding it.”

“Good heavens! won’t he leave Dounia in peace even here?” cried

Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

“I imagine that neither you nor Avdotya Romanovna have any grounds for

uneasiness, unless, of course, you are yourselves desirous of getting

into communication with him. For my part I am on my guard, and am now

discovering where he is lodging.”

“Oh, Pyotr Petrovitch, you would not believe what a fright you have

given me,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna went on: “I’ve only seen him twice,

but I thought him terrible, terrible! I am convinced that he was the

cause of Marfa Petrovna’s death.”

“It’s impossible to be certain about that. I have precise information. I

do not dispute that he may have contributed to accelerate the course of

events by the moral influence, so to say, of the affront; but as to the

general conduct and moral characteristics of that personage, I am

in agreement with you. I do not know whether he is well off now, and

precisely what Marfa Petrovna left him; this will be known to me within

a very short period; but no doubt here in Petersburg, if he has any

pecuniary resources, he will relapse at once into his old ways. He is

the most depraved, and abjectly vicious specimen of that class of men.

I have considerable reason to believe that Marfa Petrovna, who was so

unfortunate as to fall in love with him and to pay his debts eight years

ago, was of service to him also in another way. Solely by her exertions

and sacrifices, a criminal charge, involving an element of fantastic

and homicidal brutality for which he might well have been sentenced to

Siberia, was hushed up. That’s the sort of man he is, if you care to

know.”

“Good heavens!” cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Raskolnikov listened

attentively.

“Are you speaking the truth when you say that you have good evidence of

this?” Dounia asked sternly and emphatically.

“I only repeat what I was told in secret by Marfa Petrovna. I must

observe that from the legal point of view the case was far from clear.

There was, and I believe still is, living here a woman called Resslich,

a foreigner, who lent small sums of money at interest, and did other

commissions, and with this woman Svidrigaïlov had for a long while close

and mysterious relations. She had a relation, a niece I believe, living

with her, a deaf and dumb girl of fifteen, or perhaps not more than

fourteen. Resslich hated this girl, and grudged her every crust; she

used to beat her mercilessly. One day the girl was found hanging in

the garret. At the inquest the verdict was suicide. After the usual

proceedings the matter ended, but, later on, information was given that

the child had been... cruelly outraged by Svidrigaïlov. It is true, this

was not clearly established, the information was given by another German

woman of loose character whose word could not be trusted; no statement

was actually made to the police, thanks to Marfa Petrovna’s money and

exertions; it did not get beyond gossip. And yet the story is a very

significant one. You heard, no doubt, Avdotya Romanovna, when you were

with them the story of the servant Philip who died of ill treatment he

received six years ago, before the abolition of serfdom.”

“I heard, on the contrary, that this Philip hanged himself.”

“Quite so, but what drove him, or rather perhaps disposed him,

to suicide was the systematic persecution and severity of Mr.

Svidrigaïlov.”

“I don’t know that,” answered Dounia, dryly. “I only heard a queer story

that Philip was a sort of hypochondriac, a sort of domestic philosopher,

the servants used to say, ‘he read himself silly,’ and that he hanged

himself partly on account of Mr. Svidrigaïlov’s mockery of him and not

his blows. When I was there he behaved well to the servants, and they

were actually fond of him, though they certainly did blame him for

Philip’s death.”

“I perceive, Avdotya Romanovna, that you seem disposed to undertake his

defence all of a sudden,” Luzhin observed, twisting his lips into

an ambiguous smile, “there’s no doubt that he is an astute man, and

insinuating where ladies are concerned, of which Marfa Petrovna, who has

died so strangely, is a terrible instance. My only desire has been to be

of service to you and your mother with my advice, in view of the renewed

efforts which may certainly be anticipated from him. For my part it’s

my firm conviction, that he will end in a debtor’s prison again.

Marfa Petrovna had not the slightest intention of settling anything

substantial on him, having regard for his children’s interests, and,

if she left him anything, it would only be the merest sufficiency,

something insignificant and ephemeral, which would not last a year for a

man of his habits.”

“Pyotr Petrovitch, I beg you,” said Dounia, “say no more of Mr.

Svidrigaïlov. It makes me miserable.”

“He has just been to see me,” said Raskolnikov, breaking his silence for

the first time.

There were exclamations from all, and they all turned to him. Even Pyotr

Petrovitch was roused.

“An hour and a half ago, he came in when I was asleep, waked me, and

introduced himself,” Raskolnikov continued. “He was fairly cheerful

and at ease, and quite hopes that we shall become friends. He is

particularly anxious, by the way, Dounia, for an interview with you, at

which he asked me to assist. He has a proposition to make to you, and

he told me about it. He told me, too, that a week before her death Marfa

Petrovna left you three thousand roubles in her will, Dounia, and that

you can receive the money very shortly.”

“Thank God!” cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, crossing herself. “Pray for

her soul, Dounia!”

“It’s a fact!” broke from Luzhin.

“Tell us, what more?” Dounia urged Raskolnikov.

“Then he said that he wasn’t rich and all the estate was left to his

children who are now with an aunt, then that he was staying somewhere

not far from me, but where, I don’t know, I didn’t ask....”

“But what, what does he want to propose to Dounia?” cried Pulcheria

Alexandrovna in a fright. “Did he tell you?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

“I’ll tell you afterwards.”

Raskolnikov ceased speaking and turned his attention to his tea.

Pyotr Petrovitch looked at his watch.

“I am compelled to keep a business engagement, and so I shall not be in

your way,” he added with an air of some pique and he began getting up.

“Don’t go, Pyotr Petrovitch,” said Dounia, “you intended to spend

the evening. Besides, you wrote yourself that you wanted to have an

explanation with mother.”

“Precisely so, Avdotya Romanovna,” Pyotr Petrovitch answered

impressively, sitting down again, but still holding his hat. “I

certainly desired an explanation with you and your honoured mother upon

a very important point indeed. But as your brother cannot speak openly

in my presence of some proposals of Mr. Svidrigaïlov, I, too, do not

desire and am not able to speak openly... in the presence of others...

of certain matters of the greatest gravity. Moreover, my most weighty

and urgent request has been disregarded....”

Assuming an aggrieved air, Luzhin relapsed into dignified silence.

“Your request that my brother should not be present at our meeting was

disregarded solely at my insistence,” said Dounia. “You wrote that you

had been insulted by my brother; I think that this must be explained at

once, and you must be reconciled. And if Rodya really has insulted you,

then he _should_ and _will_ apologise.”

Pyotr Petrovitch took a stronger line.

“There are insults, Avdotya Romanovna, which no goodwill can make us

forget. There is a line in everything which it is dangerous to overstep;

and when it has been overstepped, there is no return.”

“That wasn’t what I was speaking of exactly, Pyotr Petrovitch,” Dounia

interrupted with some impatience. “Please understand that our whole

future depends now on whether all this is explained and set right as

soon as possible. I tell you frankly at the start that I cannot look at

it in any other light, and if you have the least regard for me, all this

business must be ended to-day, however hard that may be. I repeat that

if my brother is to blame he will ask your forgiveness.”

“I am surprised at your putting the question like that,” said Luzhin,

getting more and more irritated. “Esteeming, and so to say, adoring you,

I may at the same time, very well indeed, be able to dislike some member

of your family. Though I lay claim to the happiness of your hand, I

cannot accept duties incompatible with...”

“Ah, don’t be so ready to take offence, Pyotr Petrovitch,” Dounia

interrupted with feeling, “and be the sensible and generous man I have

always considered, and wish to consider, you to be. I’ve given you a

great promise, I am your betrothed. Trust me in this matter and, believe

me, I shall be capable of judging impartially. My assuming the part of

judge is as much a surprise for my brother as for you. When I insisted

on his coming to our interview to-day after your letter, I told

him nothing of what I meant to do. Understand that, if you are not

reconciled, I must choose between you--it must be either you or he. That

is how the question rests on your side and on his. I don’t want to be

mistaken in my choice, and I must not be. For your sake I must break off

with my brother, for my brother’s sake I must break off with you. I can

find out for certain now whether he is a brother to me, and I want to

know it; and of you, whether I am dear to you, whether you esteem me,

whether you are the husband for me.”

“Avdotya Romanovna,” Luzhin declared huffily, “your words are of too

much consequence to me; I will say more, they are offensive in view

of the position I have the honour to occupy in relation to you. To say

nothing of your strange and offensive setting me on a level with an

impertinent boy, you admit the possibility of breaking your promise to

me. You say ‘you or he,’ showing thereby of how little consequence I

am in your eyes... I cannot let this pass considering the relationship

and... the obligations existing between us.”

“What!” cried Dounia, flushing. “I set your interest beside all that has

hitherto been most precious in my life, what has made up the _whole_ of

my life, and here you are offended at my making too _little_ account of

you.”

Raskolnikov smiled sarcastically, Razumihin fidgeted, but Pyotr

Petrovitch did not accept the reproof; on the contrary, at every word he

became more persistent and irritable, as though he relished it.

“Love for the future partner of your life, for your husband, ought to

outweigh your love for your brother,” he pronounced sententiously, “and

in any case I cannot be put on the same level.... Although I said so

emphatically that I would not speak openly in your brother’s presence,

nevertheless, I intend now to ask your honoured mother for a necessary

explanation on a point of great importance closely affecting my dignity.

Your son,” he turned to Pulcheria Alexandrovna, “yesterday in the

presence of Mr. Razsudkin (or... I think that’s it? excuse me, I have

forgotten your surname”) (he bowed politely to Razumihin), “insulted me

by misrepresenting the idea I expressed to you in a private

conversation, drinking coffee, that is, that marriage with a poor girl

who has had experience of trouble is more advantageous from the conjugal

point of view than with one who has lived in luxury, since it is more

profitable for the moral character. Your son intentionally exaggerated

the significance of my words and made them ridiculous, accusing me of

malicious intentions, and, as far as I could see, relied upon your

correspondence with him. I shall consider myself happy, Pulcheria

Alexandrovna, if it is possible for you to convince me of an opposite

conclusion, and thereby considerately reassure me. Kindly let me know

in what terms precisely you repeated my words in your letter to Rodion

Romanovitch.”

“I don’t remember,” faltered Pulcheria Alexandrovna. “I repeated them as

I understood them. I don’t know how Rodya repeated them to you, perhaps

he exaggerated.”

“He could not have exaggerated them, except at your instigation.”

“Pyotr Petrovitch,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna declared with dignity, “the

proof that Dounia and I did not take your words in a very bad sense is

the fact that we are here.”

“Good, mother,” said Dounia approvingly.

“Then this is my fault again,” said Luzhin, aggrieved.

“Well, Pyotr Petrovitch, you keep blaming Rodion, but you yourself have

just written what was false about him,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna added,

gaining courage.

“I don’t remember writing anything false.”

“You wrote,” Raskolnikov said sharply, not turning to Luzhin, “that I

gave money yesterday not to the widow of the man who was killed, as was

the fact, but to his daughter (whom I had never seen till yesterday).

You wrote this to make dissension between me and my family, and for that

object added coarse expressions about the conduct of a girl whom you

don’t know. All that is mean slander.”

“Excuse me, sir,” said Luzhin, quivering with fury. “I enlarged upon

your qualities and conduct in my letter solely in response to your

sister’s and mother’s inquiries, how I found you, and what impression

you made on me. As for what you’ve alluded to in my letter, be so good

as to point out one word of falsehood, show, that is, that you didn’t

throw away your money, and that there are not worthless persons in that

family, however unfortunate.”

“To my thinking, you, with all your virtues, are not worth the little

finger of that unfortunate girl at whom you throw stones.”

“Would you go so far then as to let her associate with your mother and

sister?”

“I have done so already, if you care to know. I made her sit down to-day

with mother and Dounia.”

“Rodya!” cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Dounia crimsoned, Razumihin

knitted his brows. Luzhin smiled with lofty sarcasm.

“You may see for yourself, Avdotya Romanovna,” he said, “whether it is

possible for us to agree. I hope now that this question is at an end,

once and for all. I will withdraw, that I may not hinder the pleasures

of family intimacy, and the discussion of secrets.” He got up from his

chair and took his hat. “But in withdrawing, I venture to request

that for the future I may be spared similar meetings, and, so to

say, compromises. I appeal particularly to you, honoured Pulcheria

Alexandrovna, on this subject, the more as my letter was addressed to

you and to no one else.”

Pulcheria Alexandrovna was a little offended.

“You seem to think we are completely under your authority, Pyotr

Petrovitch. Dounia has told you the reason your desire was disregarded,

she had the best intentions. And indeed you write as though you were

laying commands upon me. Are we to consider every desire of yours as

a command? Let me tell you on the contrary that you ought to show

particular delicacy and consideration for us now, because we have thrown

up everything, and have come here relying on you, and so we are in any

case in a sense in your hands.”

“That is not quite true, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, especially at the

present moment, when the news has come of Marfa Petrovna’s legacy, which

seems indeed very apropos, judging from the new tone you take to me,” he

added sarcastically.

“Judging from that remark, we may certainly presume that you were

reckoning on our helplessness,” Dounia observed irritably.

“But now in any case I cannot reckon on it, and I particularly desire

not to hinder your discussion of the secret proposals of Arkady

Ivanovitch Svidrigaïlov, which he has entrusted to your brother and

which have, I perceive, a great and possibly a very agreeable interest

for you.”

“Good heavens!” cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

Razumihin could not sit still on his chair.

“Aren’t you ashamed now, sister?” asked Raskolnikov.

“I am ashamed, Rodya,” said Dounia. “Pyotr Petrovitch, go away,” she

turned to him, white with anger.

Pyotr Petrovitch had apparently not at all expected such a conclusion.

He had too much confidence in himself, in his power and in the

helplessness of his victims. He could not believe it even now. He turned

pale, and his lips quivered.

“Avdotya Romanovna, if I go out of this door now, after such a

dismissal, then, you may reckon on it, I will never come back. Consider

what you are doing. My word is not to be shaken.”

“What insolence!” cried Dounia, springing up from her seat. “I don’t

want you to come back again.”

“What! So that’s how it stands!” cried Luzhin, utterly unable to the

last moment to believe in the rupture and so completely thrown out of

his reckoning now. “So that’s how it stands! But do you know, Avdotya

Romanovna, that I might protest?”

“What right have you to speak to her like that?” Pulcheria Alexandrovna

intervened hotly. “And what can you protest about? What rights have you?

Am I to give my Dounia to a man like you? Go away, leave us altogether!

We are to blame for having agreed to a wrong action, and I above

all....”

“But you have bound me, Pulcheria Alexandrovna,” Luzhin stormed in a

frenzy, “by your promise, and now you deny it and... besides... I have

been led on account of that into expenses....”

This last complaint was so characteristic of Pyotr Petrovitch, that

Raskolnikov, pale with anger and with the effort of restraining it,

could not help breaking into laughter. But Pulcheria Alexandrovna was

furious.

“Expenses? What expenses? Are you speaking of our trunk? But the

conductor brought it for nothing for you. Mercy on us, we have bound

you! What are you thinking about, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was you bound us,

hand and foot, not we!”

“Enough, mother, no more please,” Avdotya Romanovna implored. “Pyotr

Petrovitch, do be kind and go!”

“I am going, but one last word,” he said, quite unable to control

himself. “Your mamma seems to have entirely forgotten that I made up my

mind to take you, so to speak, after the gossip of the town had spread

all over the district in regard to your reputation. Disregarding public

opinion for your sake and reinstating your reputation, I certainly

might very well reckon on a fitting return, and might indeed look for

gratitude on your part. And my eyes have only now been opened! I see

myself that I may have acted very, very recklessly in disregarding the

universal verdict....”

“Does the fellow want his head smashed?” cried Razumihin, jumping up.

“You are a mean and spiteful man!” cried Dounia.

“Not a word! Not a movement!” cried Raskolnikov, holding Razumihin back;

then going close up to Luzhin, “Kindly leave the room!” he said quietly

and distinctly, “and not a word more or...”

Pyotr Petrovitch gazed at him for some seconds with a pale face that

worked with anger, then he turned, went out, and rarely has any man

carried away in his heart such vindictive hatred as he felt against

Raskolnikov. Him, and him alone, he blamed for everything. It is

noteworthy that as he went downstairs he still imagined that his case

was perhaps not utterly lost, and that, so far as the ladies were

concerned, all might “very well indeed” be set right again.