Chapter 2

Razumihin waked up next morning at eight o’clock, troubled and serious. He found himself confronted with many new and unlooked-for perplexities. He had never expected that he would ever wake up feeling like that. He remembered every detail of the previous day and he knew that a perfectly novel experience had befallen him, that he had received an impression unlike anything he had known before. At the same time he recognised clearly that the dream which had fired his imagination was hopelessly unattainable—so unattainable that he felt positively ashamed of it, and he hastened to pass to the other more practical cares and difficulties bequeathed him by that “thrice accursed yesterday.”

Razumihin woke at eight the next morning, troubled and serious. He faced many new and unexpected problems. He had never expected to wake up feeling that way. He remembered every detail of the previous day. He knew he had undergone a completely new experience, one unlike anything he had known before. At the same time, he saw clearly that the dream that had fired his imagination was hopelessly out of reach. It was so far out of reach that he felt positively ashamed of it. He hurried to turn his thoughts to the other, more practical worries and difficulties left by that “thrice cursed yesterday.”

The most awful recollection of the previous day was the way he had shown himself “base and mean,” not only because he had been drunk, but because he had taken advantage of the young girl’s position to abuse her fiancé in his stupid jealousy, knowing nothing of their mutual relations and obligations and next to nothing of the man himself. And what right had he to criticise him in that hasty and unguarded manner? Who had asked for his opinion? Was it thinkable that such a creature as Avdotya Romanovna would be marrying an unworthy man for money? So there must be something in him. The lodgings? But after all how could he know the character of the lodgings? He was furnishing a flat... Foo! how despicable it all was! And what justification was it that he was drunk? Such a stupid excuse was even more degrading! In wine is truth, and the truth had all come out, “that is, all the uncleanness of his coarse and envious heart”! And would such a dream ever be permissible to him, Razumihin? What was he beside such a girl—he, the drunken noisy braggart of last night? “Was it possible to imagine so absurd and cynical a juxtaposition?” Razumihin blushed desperately at the very idea and suddenly the recollection forced itself vividly upon him of how he had said last night on the stairs that the landlady would be jealous of Avdotya Romanovna... that was simply intolerable. He brought his fist down heavily on the kitchen stove, hurt his hand and sent one of the bricks flying.

His worst memory of the previous day was how “base and mean” he had been. It was not just that he had been drunk. In his stupid jealousy, he had taken advantage of the young woman’s situation to insult her fiancé. He knew nothing about the couple’s relationship and obligations to each other, and almost nothing about the man himself. What right had he to criticize him so hastily and recklessly? Who had asked for his opinion? Could anyone imagine that a woman like Avdotya Romanovna would marry an unworthy man for money? So the man must have something to recommend him. What about the lodgings? But how could he know what the lodgings were like? The man was furnishing an apartment... Ugh! How despicable it all was! And what excuse was it that he had been drunk? Such a stupid excuse was even more degrading! Wine brings out the truth, and the whole truth had come out, “that is, all the filth of his coarse and envious heart”! And could he, Razumihin, ever be allowed such a dream? What was he compared with such a woman? He was last night’s drunken, noisy braggart. “Could anyone imagine such an absurd and shameless pairing?” Razumihin blushed deeply at the very thought. Suddenly, he vividly recalled what he had said on the stairs the night before. He had said the landlady would be jealous of Avdotya Romanovna... That was simply unbearable. He brought his fist down hard on the kitchen stove, hurt his hand and sent one of the bricks flying.

“Of course,” he muttered to himself a minute later with a feeling of self-abasement, “of course, all these infamies can never be wiped out or smoothed over... and so it’s useless even to think of it, and I must go to them in silence and do my duty... in silence, too... and not ask forgiveness, and say nothing... for all is lost now!”

“Of course,” he muttered to himself a minute later, feeling ashamed. “Of course, all these terrible things can never be erased or made right... So it’s useless even to think about it. I must go to them in silence and do my duty... in silence, too... without asking for forgiveness or saying anything... for all is lost now!”

And yet as he dressed he examined his attire more carefully than usual. He hadn’t another suit—if he had had, perhaps he wouldn’t have put it on. “I would have made a point of not putting it on.” But in any case he could not remain a cynic and a dirty sloven; he had no right to offend the feelings of others, especially when they were in need of his assistance and asking him to see them. He brushed his clothes carefully. His linen was always decent; in that respect he was especially clean.

Even so, as he dressed, he looked over his clothes more carefully than usual. He didn’t have another suit. If he had, perhaps he wouldn’t have worn it. “I would have made a point of not wearing it.” But in any case, he couldn’t remain a cynic and a dirty slob. He had no right to offend other people’s feelings, especially when they needed his help and had asked to see him. He brushed his clothes carefully. His linen was always presentable. In that respect, he was especially clean.

He washed that morning scrupulously—he got some soap from Nastasya—he washed his hair, his neck and especially his hands. When it came to the question whether to shave his stubbly chin or not (Praskovya Pavlovna had capital razors that had been left by her late husband), the question was angrily answered in the negative. “Let it stay as it is! What if they think that I shaved on purpose to...? They certainly would think so! Not on any account!”

He washed thoroughly that morning, using soap he got from Nastasya. He washed his hair, his neck, and especially his hands. Then he wondered whether to shave his stubbly chin. (Praskovya Pavlovna had excellent razors that her late husband had left behind.) He angrily decided not to shave. “Let it stay as it is! What if they think I shaved on purpose to...? They certainly would think so! No way!”

“And... the worst of it was he was so coarse, so dirty, he had the manners of a pothouse; and... and even admitting that he knew he had some of the essentials of a gentleman... what was there in that to be proud of? Everyone ought to be a gentleman and more than that... and all the same (he remembered) he, too, had done little things... not exactly dishonest, and yet.... And what thoughts he sometimes had; hm... and to set all that beside Avdotya Romanovna! Confound it! So be it! Well, he’d make a point then of being dirty, greasy, pothouse in his manners and he wouldn’t care! He’d be worse!”

“And... worst of all, he was so crude, so dirty. He had the manners of a tavern drunk. And... even if he knew he had some of the qualities of a gentleman, what was there to be proud of? Everyone ought to be a gentleman and more than that... And all the same, he remembered, he too had done little things. They weren’t exactly dishonest, and yet.... And the thoughts he sometimes had, hm... and to compare all that with Avdotya Romanovna! Damn it! So be it! Well, he’d make a point of being dirty and greasy, with the manners of a tavern drunk. And he wouldn’t care! He’d be even worse!”

He was engaged in such monologues when Zossimov, who had spent the night in Praskovya Pavlovna’s parlour, came in.

He was talking to himself like this when Zossimov came in. Zossimov had spent the night in Praskovya Pavlovna’s sitting room.

He was going home and was in a hurry to look at the invalid first. Razumihin informed him that Raskolnikov was sleeping like a dormouse. Zossimov gave orders that they shouldn’t wake him and promised to see him again about eleven.

He was on his way home and hurried to check on the patient first. Razumihin told him that Raskolnikov was sleeping soundly. Zossimov ordered them not to wake him and promised to see him again around eleven.

“If he is still at home,” he added. “Damn it all! If one can’t control one’s patients, how is one to cure them? Do you know whether he will go to them, or whether they are coming here?”

“If he’s still at home,” he added. “Damn it all! If you can’t control your patients, how can you cure them? Do you know if he will go to them, or if they are coming here?”

“They are coming, I think,” said Razumihin, understanding the object of the question, “and they will discuss their family affairs, no doubt. I’ll be off. You, as the doctor, have more right to be here than I.”

“I think they’re coming,” said Razumihin, understanding why he had asked. “They’ll no doubt discuss family matters. I’ll leave. As the doctor, you have more right to be here than I do.”

“But I am not a father confessor; I shall come and go away; I’ve plenty to do besides looking after them.”

“But I’m not a confessor. I’ll come and go. I have plenty to do besides looking after them.”

“One thing worries me,” interposed Razumihin, frowning. “On the way home I talked a lot of drunken nonsense to him... all sorts of things... and amongst them that you were afraid that he... might become insane.”

“One thing worries me,” Razumihin interrupted, frowning. “On the way home, I talked a lot of drunken nonsense to him... all sorts of things... including that you were afraid he... might go insane.”

“You told the ladies so, too.”

“You told the ladies that, too.”

“I know it was stupid! You may beat me if you like! Did you think so seriously?”

“I know it was stupid! You can beat me if you want! Did you really think so?”

“That’s nonsense, I tell you, how could I think it seriously? You, yourself, described him as a monomaniac when you fetched me to him... and we added fuel to the fire yesterday, you did, that is, with your story about the painter; it was a nice conversation, when he was, perhaps, mad on that very point! If only I’d known what happened then at the police station and that some wretch... had insulted him with this suspicion! Hm... I would not have allowed that conversation yesterday. These monomaniacs will make a mountain out of a mole-hill... and see their fancies as solid realities.... As far as I remember, it was Zametov’s story that cleared up half the mystery, to my mind. Why, I know one case in which a hypochondriac, a man of forty, cut the throat of a little boy of eight, because he couldn’t endure the jokes he made every day at table! And in this case his rags, the insolent police officer, the fever and this suspicion! All that working upon a man half frantic with hypochondria, and with his morbid exceptional vanity! That may well have been the starting-point of illness. Well, bother it all!... And, by the way, that Zametov certainly is a nice fellow, but hm... he shouldn’t have told all that last night. He is an awful chatterbox!”

“That’s nonsense, I tell you. How could I have seriously thought that? You called him a monomaniac yourself when you brought me to him... And yesterday we added fuel to the fire. You did, I mean, with your story about the painter. What a conversation to have when he was perhaps obsessed with that very thing! If only I’d known what happened at the police station, and that some wretch... had insulted him with that suspicion! Hm... I wouldn’t have allowed that conversation yesterday. These monomaniacs make mountains out of molehills... and see their fantasies as real things.... As I recall, it was Zametov’s story that cleared up half the mystery for me. Why, I know of a case where a hypochondriac of forty cut the throat of an eight-year-old boy. He did it because he couldn’t stand the jokes the boy made at the table every day! And in this case there were his rags, the rude police officer, the fever, and this suspicion! All of that was working on a man half frantic with hypochondria and full of unhealthy, extraordinary vanity! That may well have been what started his illness. Well, to hell with it all!... And by the way, Zametov is certainly a nice fellow, but hm... he shouldn’t have told us all that last night. He’s a terrible chatterbox!”

“But whom did he tell it to? You and me?”

“But who did he tell? You and me?”

“And Porfiry.”

“And Porfiry.”

“What does that matter?”

“What does that matter?”

“And, by the way, have you any influence on them, his mother and sister? Tell them to be more careful with him to-day....”

“And by the way, do you have any influence over his mother and sister? Tell them to be more careful with him today....”

“They’ll get on all right!” Razumihin answered reluctantly.

“They’ll be all right!” Razumihin replied reluctantly.

“Why is he so set against this Luzhin? A man with money and she doesn’t seem to dislike him... and they haven’t a farthing, I suppose? eh?”

“Why is he so against this Luzhin? The man has money, and she doesn’t seem to dislike him... and they don’t have a penny, I suppose? Right?”

“But what business is it of yours?” Razumihin cried with annoyance. “How can I tell whether they’ve a farthing? Ask them yourself and perhaps you’ll find out....”

“But what business is it of yours?” Razumihin cried, annoyed. “How should I know if they have any money? Ask them yourself, and perhaps you’ll find out....”

“Foo! what an ass you are sometimes! Last night’s wine has not gone off yet.... Good-bye; thank your Praskovya Pavlovna from me for my night’s lodging. She locked herself in, made no reply to my bonjour through the door; she was up at seven o’clock, the samovar was taken into her from the kitchen. I was not vouchsafed a personal interview....”

“Ugh! You can be such an ass sometimes! Last night’s wine still hasn’t worn off.... Goodbye. Thank your Praskovya Pavlovna for letting me stay the night. She locked herself in and didn’t answer when I said bonjour through the door. She was up at seven, and someone brought her the samovar from the kitchen. I wasn’t granted a face-to-face meeting....”

At nine o’clock precisely Razumihin reached the lodgings at Bakaleyev’s house. Both ladies were waiting for him with nervous impatience. They had risen at seven o’clock or earlier. He entered looking as black as night, bowed awkwardly and was at once furious with himself for it. He had reckoned without his host: Pulcheria Alexandrovna fairly rushed at him, seized him by both hands and was almost kissing them. He glanced timidly at Avdotya Romanovna, but her proud countenance wore at that moment an expression of such gratitude and friendliness, such complete and unlooked-for respect (in place of the sneering looks and ill-disguised contempt he had expected), that it threw him into greater confusion than if he had been met with abuse. Fortunately there was a subject for conversation, and he made haste to snatch at it.

At exactly nine o’clock, Razumihin arrived at the lodgings in Bakaleyev’s house. Both ladies were waiting for him, nervous and impatient. They had gotten up at seven or earlier. He entered looking as gloomy as night, bowed awkwardly, and was immediately furious with himself for it. He had not expected their reception. Pulcheria Alexandrovna practically rushed at him, took both his hands, and almost kissed them. He glanced timidly at Avdotya Romanovna. Her proud face showed such gratitude and friendliness, and such complete and unexpected respect, that he became even more flustered. He had expected sneers and barely disguised contempt. Even abuse would have confused him less. Fortunately, there was something to talk about, and he hurried to seize on it.

Hearing that everything was going well and that Rodya had not yet waked, Pulcheria Alexandrovna declared that she was glad to hear it, because “she had something which it was very, very necessary to talk over beforehand.” Then followed an inquiry about breakfast and an invitation to have it with them; they had waited to have it with him. Avdotya Romanovna rang the bell: it was answered by a ragged dirty waiter, and they asked him to bring tea which was served at last, but in such a dirty and disorderly way that the ladies were ashamed. Razumihin vigorously attacked the lodgings, but, remembering Luzhin, stopped in embarrassment and was greatly relieved by Pulcheria Alexandrovna’s questions, which showered in a continual stream upon him.

When Pulcheria Alexandrovna heard that everything was going well and Rodya had not yet woken up, she said she was glad. She had “something very, very important to discuss beforehand.” The women then asked Razumihin about breakfast and invited him to join them. They had waited to eat with him. Avdotya Romanovna rang the bell, and a ragged, dirty waiter answered. They asked him to bring tea. He finally served it, but everything was so dirty and disordered that the ladies were ashamed. Razumihin strongly criticized the lodgings, but stopped in embarrassment when he remembered Luzhin. He was greatly relieved when Pulcheria Alexandrovna began showering him with a steady stream of questions.

He talked for three quarters of an hour, being constantly interrupted by their questions, and succeeded in describing to them all the most important facts he knew of the last year of Raskolnikov’s life, concluding with a circumstantial account of his illness. He omitted, however, many things, which were better omitted, including the scene at the police station with all its consequences. They listened eagerly to his story, and, when he thought he had finished and satisfied his listeners, he found that they considered he had hardly begun.

He talked for forty-five minutes, constantly interrupted by their questions. He told them all the most important facts he knew about the last year of Raskolnikov’s life. He ended with a detailed account of his illness. However, he left out many things that were better left unsaid, including the scene at the police station and everything that followed. They listened eagerly to his story. When he thought he had finished and satisfied them, he found that they thought he had hardly begun.

“Tell me, tell me! What do you think...? Excuse me, I still don’t know your name!” Pulcheria Alexandrovna put in hastily.

“Tell me, tell me! What do you think...? Sorry, I still don’t know your name!” Pulcheria Alexandrovna interrupted hastily.

“Dmitri Prokofitch.”

“Dmitri Prokofitch.”

“I should like very, very much to know, Dmitri Prokofitch... how he looks... on things in general now, that is, how can I explain, what are his likes and dislikes? Is he always so irritable? Tell me, if you can, what are his hopes and, so to say, his dreams? Under what influences is he now? In a word, I should like...”

“I'd really, really like to know, Dmitri Prokofitch... how he sees things in general now. How can I explain it? What does he like and dislike? Is he always so irritable? Tell me, if you can, what are his hopes and, so to speak, his dreams? Who or what is influencing him now? In short, I'd like to know...”

“Ah, mother, how can he answer all that at once?” observed Dounia.

“Mother, how can he answer all that at once?” Dounia said.

“Good heavens, I had not expected to find him in the least like this, Dmitri Prokofitch!”

“Good heavens, Dmitri Prokofitch, I didn't expect him to be like this at all!”

“Naturally,” answered Razumihin. “I have no mother, but my uncle comes every year and almost every time he can scarcely recognise me, even in appearance, though he is a clever man; and your three years’ separation means a great deal. What am I to tell you? I have known Rodion for a year and a half; he is morose, gloomy, proud and haughty, and of late—and perhaps for a long time before—he has been suspicious and fanciful. He has a noble nature and a kind heart. He does not like showing his feelings and would rather do a cruel thing than open his heart freely. Sometimes, though, he is not at all morbid, but simply cold and inhumanly callous; it’s as though he were alternating between two characters. Sometimes he is fearfully reserved! He says he is so busy that everything is a hindrance, and yet he lies in bed doing nothing. He doesn’t jeer at things, not because he hasn’t the wit, but as though he hadn’t time to waste on such trifles. He never listens to what is said to him. He is never interested in what interests other people at any given moment. He thinks very highly of himself and perhaps he is right. Well, what more? I think your arrival will have a most beneficial influence upon him.”

“Of course,” answered Razumihin. “I have no mother, but my uncle visits every year. Almost every time, he can barely recognize me, even by my appearance, though he is a clever man. And three years apart makes a great difference. What can I tell you? I’ve known Rodion for a year and a half. He is sullen, gloomy, proud, and arrogant. Lately, and perhaps for a long time before, he has been suspicious and prone to strange ideas. He has a noble nature and a kind heart. He doesn’t like showing his feelings and would rather do something cruel than open his heart freely. Sometimes, though, he isn’t troubled at all, just cold and inhumanly indifferent. It’s as if he switches between two personalities. Sometimes he is terribly guarded! He says he’s so busy that everything gets in his way, yet he lies in bed doing nothing. He doesn’t mock things, not because he lacks the wit, but as if he has no time to waste on such trifles. He never listens to what people say to him. He is never interested in whatever interests other people at the moment. He thinks very highly of himself, and perhaps he’s right. Well, what else? I think your arrival will do him a great deal of good.”

“God grant it may,” cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, distressed by Razumihin’s account of her Rodya.

“God grant it may,” cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna, distressed by what Razumihin had told her about her Rodya.

And Razumihin ventured to look more boldly at Avdotya Romanovna at last. He glanced at her often while he was talking, but only for a moment and looked away again at once. Avdotya Romanovna sat at the table, listening attentively, then got up again and began walking to and fro with her arms folded and her lips compressed, occasionally putting in a question, without stopping her walk. She had the same habit of not listening to what was said. She was wearing a dress of thin dark stuff and she had a white transparent scarf round her neck. Razumihin soon detected signs of extreme poverty in their belongings. Had Avdotya Romanovna been dressed like a queen, he felt that he would not be afraid of her, but perhaps just because she was poorly dressed and that he noticed all the misery of her surroundings, his heart was filled with dread and he began to be afraid of every word he uttered, every gesture he made, which was very trying for a man who already felt diffident.

At last, Razumihin dared to look more boldly at Avdotya Romanovna. He glanced at her often as he talked, but only for a moment before looking away again. Avdotya Romanovna sat at the table, listening attentively. Then she got up again and began pacing with her arms folded and her lips pressed together. Now and then she asked a question without stopping. She had the same habit of not listening to what was said. She wore a dress made of thin, dark fabric and a sheer white scarf around her neck. Razumihin soon noticed signs of extreme poverty in their belongings. He felt that if Avdotya Romanovna had been dressed like a queen, he would not have feared her. But perhaps it was because she was poorly dressed, and he noticed all the misery around her, that his heart filled with dread. He grew afraid of every word he said and every gesture he made. This was very trying for a man who already felt unsure of himself.

“You’ve told us a great deal that is interesting about my brother’s character... and have told it impartially. I am glad. I thought that you were too uncritically devoted to him,” observed Avdotya Romanovna with a smile. “I think you are right that he needs a woman’s care,” she added thoughtfully.

“You’ve told us a lot of interesting things about my brother’s character... and you’ve been fair. I’m glad. I thought you were too devoted to him to see his faults,” Avdotya Romanovna said with a smile. “I think you’re right that he needs a woman’s care,” she added thoughtfully.

“I didn’t say so; but I daresay you are right, only...”

“I didn’t say that, but I suppose you’re right. Only...”

“What?”

“What?”

“He loves no one and perhaps he never will,” Razumihin declared decisively.

“He loves no one, and perhaps he never will,” Razumihin said firmly.

“You mean he is not capable of love?”

“You mean he can't love?”

“Do you know, Avdotya Romanovna, you are awfully like your brother, in everything, indeed!” he blurted out suddenly to his own surprise, but remembering at once what he had just before said of her brother, he turned as red as a crab and was overcome with confusion. Avdotya Romanovna couldn’t help laughing when she looked at him.

“Do you know, Avdotya Romanovna, you’re so much like your brother, in every way!” he blurted out, surprising himself. But he immediately remembered what he had just said about her brother. He turned as red as a crab and was overwhelmed with embarrassment. When Avdotya Romanovna looked at him, she couldn’t help laughing.

“You may both be mistaken about Rodya,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna remarked, slightly piqued. “I am not talking of our present difficulty, Dounia. What Pyotr Petrovitch writes in this letter and what you and I have supposed may be mistaken, but you can’t imagine, Dmitri Prokofitch, how moody and, so to say, capricious he is. I never could depend on what he would do when he was only fifteen. And I am sure that he might do something now that nobody else would think of doing... Well, for instance, do you know how a year and a half ago he astounded me and gave me a shock that nearly killed me, when he had the idea of marrying that girl—what was her name—his landlady’s daughter?”

“You may both be wrong about Rodya,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna said, slightly annoyed. “I’m not talking about our present difficulty, Dounia. What Pyotr Petrovitch writes in this letter may be wrong, and so may what you and I have assumed. But you can’t imagine how moody and unpredictable he is, Dmitri Prokofitch. Even when he was only fifteen, I could never count on what he would do. And I’m sure he might now do something nobody else would think of doing... Well, let me give you an example. Do you know how he surprised me a year and a half ago? He gave me a shock that nearly killed me when he decided to marry that girl. What was her name? She was his landlady’s daughter.”

“Did you hear about that affair?” asked Avdotya Romanovna.

“Did you hear about that incident?” asked Avdotya Romanovna.

“Do you suppose——” Pulcheria Alexandrovna continued warmly. “Do you suppose that my tears, my entreaties, my illness, my possible death from grief, our poverty would have made him pause? No, he would calmly have disregarded all obstacles. And yet it isn’t that he doesn’t love us!”

“Do you think...” Pulcheria Alexandrovna continued warmly. “Do you think my tears, my pleading, my illness, or even my possible death from grief would have stopped him? Or our poverty? No, he would have calmly ignored every obstacle. And yet it isn’t that he doesn’t love us!”

“He has never spoken a word of that affair to me,” Razumihin answered cautiously. “But I did hear something from Praskovya Pavlovna herself, though she is by no means a gossip. And what I heard certainly was rather strange.”

“He has never said a word to me about that affair,” Razumihin replied cautiously. “But I did hear something from Praskovya Pavlovna herself, although she is certainly not a gossip. And what I heard was certainly rather strange.”

“And what did you hear?” both the ladies asked at once.

“And what did you hear?” both women asked at once.

“Well, nothing very special. I only learned that the marriage, which only failed to take place through the girl’s death, was not at all to Praskovya Pavlovna’s liking. They say, too, the girl was not at all pretty, in fact I am told positively ugly... and such an invalid... and queer. But she seems to have had some good qualities. She must have had some good qualities or it’s quite inexplicable.... She had no money either and he wouldn’t have considered her money.... But it’s always difficult to judge in such matters.”

“Well, nothing very special. I only learned that Praskovya Pavlovna didn’t like the idea of the marriage at all. It was only the girl’s death that prevented it. They also say the girl wasn’t pretty at all. In fact, I’m told she was positively ugly... and so sickly... and strange. But she seems to have had some good qualities. She must have had some good qualities, or it’s quite inexplicable.... She had no money either, and he wouldn’t have cared about her money.... But it’s always difficult to judge such matters.”

“I am sure she was a good girl,” Avdotya Romanovna observed briefly.

“I’m sure she was a good girl,” Avdotya Romanovna said briefly.

“God forgive me, I simply rejoiced at her death. Though I don’t know which of them would have caused most misery to the other—he to her or she to him,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna concluded. Then she began tentatively questioning him about the scene on the previous day with Luzhin, hesitating and continually glancing at Dounia, obviously to the latter’s annoyance. This incident more than all the rest evidently caused her uneasiness, even consternation. Razumihin described it in detail again, but this time he added his own conclusions: he openly blamed Raskolnikov for intentionally insulting Pyotr Petrovitch, not seeking to excuse him on the score of his illness.

“God forgive me, I was simply glad she died. Though I don’t know which would have made the other more miserable, he or she,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna concluded. Then she began cautiously asking him about the previous day’s scene with Luzhin. She hesitated and kept glancing at Dounia, who was clearly annoyed. More than anything else, the incident seemed to make her uneasy, even horrified. Razumihin described it again in detail, but this time he added his own conclusions. He openly blamed Raskolnikov for deliberately insulting Pyotr Petrovitch. He did not try to excuse Raskolnikov because of his illness.

“He had planned it before his illness,” he added.

“He had planned it before he got sick,” he added.

“I think so, too,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna agreed with a dejected air. But she was very much surprised at hearing Razumihin express himself so carefully and even with a certain respect about Pyotr Petrovitch. Avdotya Romanovna, too, was struck by it.

“I think so, too,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna agreed sadly. But she was very surprised by how carefully Razumihin spoke about Pyotr Petrovitch, even showing him a certain respect. Avdotya Romanovna was struck by this, too.

“So this is your opinion of Pyotr Petrovitch?” Pulcheria Alexandrovna could not resist asking.

“So this is what you think of Pyotr Petrovitch?” Pulcheria Alexandrovna could not resist asking.

“I can have no other opinion of your daughter’s future husband,” Razumihin answered firmly and with warmth, “and I don’t say it simply from vulgar politeness, but because... simply because Avdotya Romanovna has of her own free will deigned to accept this man. If I spoke so rudely of him last night, it was because I was disgustingly drunk and... mad besides; yes, mad, crazy, I lost my head completely... and this morning I am ashamed of it.”

“I can have no other opinion of your daughter’s future husband,” Razumihin answered firmly and warmly. “I’m not saying this just to be polite. It’s because... simply because Avdotya Romanovna chose to accept him of her own free will. If I spoke so rudely about him last night, it was because I was disgustingly drunk and... mad too. Yes, mad, crazy. I completely lost my head... and this morning I’m ashamed of it.”

He crimsoned and ceased speaking. Avdotya Romanovna flushed, but did not break the silence. She had not uttered a word from the moment they began to speak of Luzhin.

He turned red and stopped speaking. Avdotya Romanovna blushed, but remained silent. She had not said a word since they began talking about Luzhin.

Without her support Pulcheria Alexandrovna obviously did not know what to do. At last, faltering and continually glancing at her daughter, she confessed that she was exceedingly worried by one circumstance.

Without her support, Pulcheria Alexandrovna clearly did not know what to do. At last, she hesitantly admitted that one thing was worrying her greatly. As she spoke, she kept glancing at her daughter.

“You see, Dmitri Prokofitch,” she began. “I’ll be perfectly open with Dmitri Prokofitch, Dounia?”

“You see, Dmitri Prokofitch,” she began. “I’ll be completely honest with Dmitri Prokofitch, Dounia?”

“Of course, mother,” said Avdotya Romanovna emphatically.

“Of course, Mom,” said Avdotya Romanovna emphatically.

“This is what it is,” she began in haste, as though the permission to speak of her trouble lifted a weight off her mind. “Very early this morning we got a note from Pyotr Petrovitch in reply to our letter announcing our arrival. He promised to meet us at the station, you know; instead of that he sent a servant to bring us the address of these lodgings and to show us the way; and he sent a message that he would be here himself this morning. But this morning this note came from him. You’d better read it yourself; there is one point in it which worries me very much... you will soon see what that is, and... tell me your candid opinion, Dmitri Prokofitch! You know Rodya’s character better than anyone and no one can advise us better than you can. Dounia, I must tell you, made her decision at once, but I still don’t feel sure how to act and I... I’ve been waiting for your opinion.”

“Here’s what happened,” she began quickly, as though being allowed to speak about her trouble had lifted a weight from her mind. “Very early this morning, we got a note from Pyotr Petrovitch. It was a reply to our letter telling him we had arrived. You know, he promised to meet us at the station. Instead, he sent a servant with the address of these lodgings to show us the way. He also sent a message saying he would come here himself this morning. But this morning, his note arrived. You’d better read it yourself. There’s one point in it that worries me very much... You’ll soon see what it is, and... tell me your honest opinion, Dmitri Prokofitch! You know Rodya’s character better than anyone, and no one can advise us better than you can. I must tell you, Dounia made her decision at once. But I’m still not sure what to do, and I... I’ve been waiting for your opinion.”

Razumihin opened the note which was dated the previous evening and read as follows:

Razumihin opened the note, which was dated the previous evening. It read:

“Dear Madam, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, I have the honour to inform you that owing to unforeseen obstacles I was rendered unable to meet you at the railway station; I sent a very competent person with the same object in view. I likewise shall be deprived of the honour of an interview with you to-morrow morning by business in the Senate that does not admit of delay, and also that I may not intrude on your family circle while you are meeting your son, and Avdotya Romanovna her brother. I shall have the honour of visiting you and paying you my respects at your lodgings not later than to-morrow evening at eight o’clock precisely, and herewith I venture to present my earnest and, I may add, imperative request that Rodion Romanovitch may not be present at our interview—as he offered me a gross and unprecedented affront on the occasion of my visit to him in his illness yesterday, and, moreover, since I desire from you personally an indispensable and circumstantial explanation upon a certain point, in regard to which I wish to learn your own interpretation. I have the honour to inform you, in anticipation, that if, in spite of my request, I meet Rodion Romanovitch, I shall be compelled to withdraw immediately and then you have only yourself to blame. I write on the assumption that Rodion Romanovitch who appeared so ill at my visit, suddenly recovered two hours later and so, being able to leave the house, may visit you also. I was confirmed in that belief by the testimony of my own eyes in the lodging of a drunken man who was run over and has since died, to whose daughter, a young woman of notorious behaviour, he gave twenty-five roubles on the pretext of the funeral, which gravely surprised me knowing what pains you were at to raise that sum. Herewith expressing my special respect to your estimable daughter, Avdotya Romanovna, I beg you to accept the respectful homage of

“Dear Madam, Pulcheria Alexandrovna, I regret to inform you that unforeseen obstacles prevented me from meeting you at the railway station. I sent a very competent person to meet you instead. Urgent business in the Senate will also prevent me from seeing you tomorrow morning. Besides, I do not wish to intrude on your family while you meet your son and Avdotya Romanovna meets her brother. I will visit you at your lodgings to pay my respects tomorrow evening, no later than eight o’clock precisely. I must earnestly and, I may add, insistently request that Rodion Romanovitch not be present at our meeting. He insulted me grossly and in an unprecedented way when I visited him during his illness yesterday. Moreover, I need a full explanation from you personally on a certain point. I wish to know your own interpretation of it. I must warn you that if I meet Rodion Romanovitch despite my request, I will have to leave immediately. You will then have only yourself to blame. I assume that Rodion Romanovitch, who seemed so ill when I visited, suddenly recovered two hours later. Since he was then able to leave the house, he may also be able to visit you. I saw for myself that he had left the house when I found him at the lodgings of a drunken man. The man had been run over and has since died. Rodion Romanovitch gave the man’s daughter, a young woman of notorious behavior, twenty-five roubles, supposedly for the funeral. This greatly surprised me, knowing how much trouble you went to in raising that sum. Please convey my special respects to your esteemed daughter, Avdotya Romanovna. I ask you to accept the respectful regards of

“Your humble servant,

“Yours respectfully,

“P. LUZHIN.”

“P. LUZHIN.”

“What am I to do now, Dmitri Prokofitch?” began Pulcheria Alexandrovna, almost weeping. “How can I ask Rodya not to come? Yesterday he insisted so earnestly on our refusing Pyotr Petrovitch and now we are ordered not to receive Rodya! He will come on purpose if he knows, and... what will happen then?”

“What am I supposed to do now, Dmitri Prokofitch?” Pulcheria Alexandrovna began, almost in tears. “How can I ask Rodya not to come? Yesterday he insisted so strongly that we refuse to see Pyotr Petrovitch. And now we’re ordered not to receive Rodya! If he knows, he’ll come on purpose, and... what will happen then?”

“Act on Avdotya Romanovna’s decision,” Razumihin answered calmly at once.

“Follow Avdotya Romanovna’s decision,” Razumihin replied calmly at once.

“Oh, dear me! She says... goodness knows what she says, she doesn’t explain her object! She says that it would be best, at least, not that it would be best, but that it’s absolutely necessary that Rodya should make a point of being here at eight o’clock and that they must meet.... I didn’t want even to show him the letter, but to prevent him from coming by some stratagem with your help... because he is so irritable.... Besides I don’t understand about that drunkard who died and that daughter, and how he could have given the daughter all the money... which...”

“Oh, dear! She says... goodness knows what she says. She doesn’t explain what she wants! She says it would be best, or rather, it’s absolutely necessary for Rodya to be here at eight o’clock. And they must meet.... I didn’t even want to show him the letter. I wanted to find some way, with your help, to keep him from coming... because he’s so irritable.... Besides, I don’t understand about that drunk who died and his daughter. And how could he have given the daughter all the money... which...”

“Which cost you such sacrifice, mother,” put in Avdotya Romanovna.

“Which cost you so much, Mother,” Avdotya Romanovna interrupted.

“He was not himself yesterday,” Razumihin said thoughtfully, “if you only knew what he was up to in a restaurant yesterday, though there was sense in it too.... Hm! He did say something, as we were going home yesterday evening, about a dead man and a girl, but I didn’t understand a word.... But last night, I myself...”

“He wasn’t himself yesterday,” Razumihin said thoughtfully. “If only you knew what he was up to at a restaurant yesterday. Though there was some sense in it too.... Hm! He did say something about a dead man and a girl as we were going home yesterday evening. But I didn’t understand a word.... But last night, I myself...”

“The best thing, mother, will be for us to go to him ourselves and there I assure you we shall see at once what’s to be done. Besides, it’s getting late—good heavens, it’s past ten,” she cried looking at a splendid gold enamelled watch which hung round her neck on a thin Venetian chain, and looked entirely out of keeping with the rest of her dress. “A present from her fiancé,” thought Razumihin.

“The best thing, mother, is for us to go to him ourselves. I assure you, once we’re there, we’ll see at once what to do. Besides, it’s getting late. Good heavens, it’s past ten,” she cried, looking at a splendid gold watch decorated with enamel. It hung around her neck on a thin Venetian chain and looked completely out of place with the rest of her clothes. “A present from her fiancé,” thought Razumihin.

“We must start, Dounia, we must start,” her mother cried in a flutter. “He will be thinking we are still angry after yesterday, from our coming so late. Merciful heavens!”

“We have to go, Dounia, we have to go,” her mother cried anxiously. “We’re so late that he’ll think we’re still angry about yesterday. Good heavens!”

While she said this she was hurriedly putting on her hat and mantle; Dounia, too, put on her things. Her gloves, as Razumihin noticed, were not merely shabby but had holes in them, and yet this evident poverty gave the two ladies an air of special dignity, which is always found in people who know how to wear poor clothes. Razumihin looked reverently at Dounia and felt proud of escorting her. “The queen who mended her stockings in prison,” he thought, “must have looked then every inch a queen and even more a queen than at sumptuous banquets and levées.”

As she spoke, she hurriedly put on her hat and cloak. Dounia put on her things too. Razumihin noticed that her gloves were not just shabby. They had holes in them. Yet their obvious poverty gave the two women a special dignity. People who know how to wear poor clothes always have that dignity. Razumihin looked at Dounia with reverence and felt proud to escort her. “The queen who mended her stockings in prison,” he thought, “must have looked every bit a queen then. She must have looked even more like a queen than at lavish banquets and formal receptions.”

“My God!” exclaimed Pulcheria Alexandrovna, “little did I think that I should ever fear seeing my son, my darling, darling Rodya! I am afraid, Dmitri Prokofitch,” she added, glancing at him timidly.

“My God!” exclaimed Pulcheria Alexandrovna. “I never thought I would be afraid to see my son, my darling, darling Rodya! I am afraid, Dmitri Prokofitch,” she added, glancing at him timidly.

“Don’t be afraid, mother,” said Dounia, kissing her, “better have faith in him.”

“Don’t be afraid, mother,” Dounia said, kissing her. “Have faith in him instead.”

“Oh, dear, I have faith in him, but I haven’t slept all night,” exclaimed the poor woman.

“Oh, dear, I have faith in him, but I haven’t slept all night,” the poor woman exclaimed.

They came out into the street.

They came out onto the street.

“Do you know, Dounia, when I dozed a little this morning I dreamed of Marfa Petrovna... she was all in white... she came up to me, took my hand, and shook her head at me, but so sternly as though she were blaming me.... Is that a good omen? Oh, dear me! You don’t know, Dmitri Prokofitch, that Marfa Petrovna’s dead!”

“Do you know, Dounia, I dreamed of Marfa Petrovna when I dozed off for a little while this morning... She was dressed all in white... She came up to me, took my hand, and shook her head. She looked so stern, as if she were blaming me.... Is that a good omen? Oh, dear! You don’t know that Marfa Petrovna is dead, Dmitri Prokofitch!”

“No, I didn’t know; who is Marfa Petrovna?”

“No, I didn’t know. Who is Marfa Petrovna?”

“She died suddenly; and only fancy...”

“She died suddenly, and just imagine...”

“Afterwards, mamma,” put in Dounia. “He doesn’t know who Marfa Petrovna is.”

“Later, Mom,” Dounia interrupted. “He doesn’t know who Marfa Petrovna is.”

“Ah, you don’t know? And I was thinking that you knew all about us. Forgive me, Dmitri Prokofitch, I don’t know what I am thinking about these last few days. I look upon you really as a providence for us, and so I took it for granted that you knew all about us. I look on you as a relation.... Don’t be angry with me for saying so. Dear me, what’s the matter with your right hand? Have you knocked it?”

“Ah, you don’t know? I thought you knew all about us. Forgive me, Dmitri Prokofitch. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking these last few days. I really see you as a godsend, so I assumed you knew all about us. I think of you as family.... Don’t be angry with me for saying so. Oh dear, what’s wrong with your right hand? Did you hurt it?”

“Yes, I bruised it,” muttered Razumihin overjoyed.

“Yes, I bruised it,” Razumihin muttered, overjoyed.

“I sometimes speak too much from the heart, so that Dounia finds fault with me.... But, dear me, what a cupboard he lives in! I wonder whether he is awake? Does this woman, his landlady, consider it a room? Listen, you say he does not like to show his feelings, so perhaps I shall annoy him with my... weaknesses? Do advise me, Dmitri Prokofitch, how am I to treat him? I feel quite distracted, you know.”

“I sometimes speak too much from the heart, and Dounia criticizes me for it.... But goodness, he lives in a cupboard! I wonder if he’s awake? Does his landlady call this a room? Listen, you say he doesn’t like to show his feelings. So perhaps I’ll annoy him with my... weaknesses? Please advise me, Dmitri Prokofitch. How should I treat him? I feel quite beside myself, you know.”

“Don’t question him too much about anything if you see him frown; don’t ask him too much about his health; he doesn’t like that.”

“Don’t ask him too many questions if you see him frown. Don’t ask too much about his health. He doesn’t like that.”

“Ah, Dmitri Prokofitch, how hard it is to be a mother! But here are the stairs.... What an awful staircase!”

“Oh, Dmitri Prokofitch, how hard it is to be a mother! But here are the stairs.... What an awful staircase!”

“Mother, you are quite pale, don’t distress yourself, darling,” said Dounia caressing her, then with flashing eyes she added: “He ought to be happy at seeing you, and you are tormenting yourself so.”

“Mother, you’re so pale. Don’t upset yourself, darling,” Dounia said, caressing her. Then, her eyes flashing, she added: “He should be happy to see you, and you’re making yourself so miserable.”

“Wait, I’ll peep in and see whether he has waked up.”

“Wait, I’ll peek in and see if he’s awake.”

The ladies slowly followed Razumihin, who went on before, and when they reached the landlady’s door on the fourth storey, they noticed that her door was a tiny crack open and that two keen black eyes were watching them from the darkness within. When their eyes met, the door was suddenly shut with such a slam that Pulcheria Alexandrovna almost cried out.

The ladies slowly followed Razumihin up the stairs. When they reached the landlady’s door on the fourth floor, they noticed it was open just a crack. Two sharp black eyes watched them from the darkness inside. When their eyes met, the door suddenly slammed shut. The slam was so loud that Pulcheria Alexandrovna almost cried out.