CHAPTER VII

<h2><a id="link2HCH0038"/>
  CHAPTER VII
</h2>
<p>
  The same day, about seven o’clock in the evening, Raskolnikov was on his
  way to his mother’s and sister’s lodging—the lodging in Bakaleyev’s
  house which Razumihin had found for them. The stairs went up from the
  street. Raskolnikov walked with lagging steps, as though still hesitating
  whether to go or not. But nothing would have turned him back: his decision
  was taken.
</p>
<p>
  “Besides, it doesn’t matter, they still know nothing,” he thought, “and
  they are used to thinking of me as eccentric.”
 </p>
<p>
  He was appallingly dressed: his clothes torn and dirty, soaked with a
  night’s rain. His face was almost distorted from fatigue, exposure, the
  inward conflict that had lasted for twenty-four hours. He had spent all
  the previous night alone, God knows where. But anyway he had reached a
  decision.
</p>
<p>
  He knocked at the door which was opened by his mother. Dounia was not at
  home. Even the servant happened to be out. At first Pulcheria Alexandrovna
  was speechless with joy and surprise; then she took him by the hand and
  drew him into the room.
</p>
<p>
  “Here you are!” she began, faltering with joy. “Don’t be angry with me,
  Rodya, for welcoming you so foolishly with tears: I am laughing not
  crying. Did you think I was crying? No, I am delighted, but I’ve got into
  such a stupid habit of shedding tears. I’ve been like that ever since your
  father’s death. I cry for anything. Sit down, dear boy, you must be tired;
  I see you are. Ah, how muddy you are.”
 </p>
<p>
  “I was in the rain yesterday, mother....” Raskolnikov began.
</p>
<p>
  “No, no,” Pulcheria Alexandrovna hurriedly interrupted, “you thought I was
  going to cross-question you in the womanish way I used to; don’t be
  anxious, I understand, I understand it all: now I’ve learned the ways here
  and truly I see for myself that they are better. I’ve made up my mind once
  for all: how could I understand your plans and expect you to give 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 your elbow,
  asking you what you are thinking about? But, my goodness! why am I running
  to and fro as though I were crazy...? I am reading your article in the
  magazine for the third time, Rodya. Dmitri Prokofitch brought 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 the solution of the mystery! Learned
  people are always like that. He may have some new ideas in his head just
  now; he is thinking them over and I worry him and upset him.’ I read it,
  my dear, and of course there was a great deal I did not understand; but
  that’s only natural—how should I?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Show me, mother.”
 </p>
<p>
  Raskolnikov took the magazine and glanced at his article. Incongruous as
  it was with his mood and his circumstances, he felt that strange and
  bitter sweet sensation that every author experiences the first time he
  sees himself in print; besides, he was only twenty-three. It lasted only a
  moment. After reading a few lines he frowned and his heart throbbed with
  anguish. He recalled all the inward conflict of the preceding months. He
  flung the article on the table with disgust and anger.
</p>
<p>
  “But, however foolish I may be, Rodya, I can see for myself that you will
  very soon be one of the leading—if not the leading man—in the
  world of Russian thought. And they dared to think you were mad! You don’t
  know, but they really thought that. Ah, the despicable creatures, how
  could they understand genius! And Dounia, Dounia was all but believing it—what
  do you say to that? Your father sent twice to magazines—the first
  time poems (I’ve got the manuscript and will show you) and the second time
  a whole novel (I begged him to let me copy it out) and how we prayed that
  they should be taken—they weren’t! I was breaking my heart, Rodya,
  six or seven days ago over your food and your clothes and the way you are
  living. But now I see again how foolish I was, for you can attain any
  position you like by your intellect and talent. No doubt you don’t care
  about that for the present and you are occupied with much more important
  matters....”
 </p>
<p>
  “Dounia’s not at home, mother?”
 </p>
<p>
  “No, Rodya. I often don’t see her; she leaves me alone. Dmitri Prokofitch
  comes to see me, it’s so good of him, and he always talks about you. He
  loves you and respects you, my dear. I don’t say that Dounia is very
  wanting in consideration. I am not complaining. She has her ways and I
  have mine; she seems to have got some secrets of late and I never have any
  secrets from you two. Of course, I am sure that Dounia has far too much
  sense, and besides she loves you and me... but I don’t know 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 tell her: ‘Your brother
  came in while you were out. Where have you been all this 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 what you write, I shall hear
  about you from everyone, and sometimes you’ll come yourself to see me.
  What could be better? Here you’ve come now to comfort your mother, I see
  that.”
 </p>
<p>
  Here Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry.
</p>
<p>
  “Here I am again! Don’t mind my foolishness. My goodness, why am I sitting
  here?” she cried, jumping up. “There is coffee and I don’t offer you any.
  Ah, that’s the selfishness of old age. I’ll get it at once!”
 </p>
<p>
  “Mother, don’t trouble, I am going at once. I haven’t come for that.
  Please listen to me.”
 </p>
<p>
  Pulcheria Alexandrovna went up to him timidly.
</p>
<p>
  “Mother, whatever happens, whatever you hear about me, whatever you are
  told about me, will you always love me as you do now?” he asked suddenly
  from the fullness of his heart, as though not thinking of his words and
  not weighing them.
</p>
<p>
  “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 believe
  anyone, I should refuse to listen.”
 </p>
<p>
  “I’ve come to assure you that I’ve always loved you and I am glad that we
  are alone, even glad Dounia is out,” he went on with the same impulse. “I
  have come to tell you that though you will be unhappy, you must believe
  that your son loves you now more than himself, and that all you thought
  about me, that I was cruel and didn’t care about you, was all a mistake. I
  shall never cease to love you.... Well, that’s enough: I thought I must do
  this and begin with this....”
 </p>
<p>
  Pulcheria Alexandrovna embraced him in silence, pressing him to her bosom
  and weeping gently.
</p>
<p>
  “I don’t know what is wrong with you, Rodya,” she said at last. “I’ve been
  thinking all this time that we were simply boring you and now I see that
  there is a great sorrow in store for you, and that’s why you are
  miserable. I’ve foreseen it a long time, Rodya. Forgive me for speaking
  about it. I keep thinking about it and lie awake at nights. Your sister
  lay talking in her sleep all last night, talking of nothing but you. I
  caught something, but I couldn’t make it out. I felt all the morning as
  though I were going to be hanged, waiting for something, expecting
  something, and now it has come! Rodya, Rodya, where are you going? You are
  going away somewhere?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Yes.”
 </p>
<p>
  “That’s what I thought! I can come with you, you know, if you need me. And
  Dounia, too; she loves you, she loves you dearly—and Sofya
  Semyonovna may come with us if you like. You see, I am glad to look upon
  her as a daughter even... Dmitri Prokofitch will help us to go together.
  But... where... are you going?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Good-bye, mother.”
 </p>
<p>
  “What, to-day?” she cried, as though losing him for ever.
</p>
<p>
  “I can’t stay, I must go now....”
 </p>
<p>
  “And can’t I come with you?”
 </p>
<p>
  “No, but kneel down and pray to God for me. Your prayer perhaps will reach
  Him.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Let me bless you and sign you with the cross. That’s right, that’s right.
  Oh, God, what are we doing?”
 </p>
<p>
  Yes, he was glad, he was very glad that there was no one there, that he
  was alone with his mother. For the first time after all those awful months
  his heart was softened. He fell down before her, he kissed her feet and
  both wept, embracing. And she was not surprised and did not question him
  this time. For some days she had realised that something awful was
  happening to her son and that now some terrible minute had come for him.
</p>
<p>
  “Rodya, my darling, my first born,” she said sobbing, “now you are just as
  when you were little. You would run like this to me and hug me and kiss
  me. When your father was living and we were poor, you comforted us simply
  by being with us and when I buried your father, how often we wept together
  at his grave and embraced, as now. And if I’ve been crying lately, it’s
  that my mother’s heart had a foreboding of trouble. The first time I saw
  you, that evening, you remember, as soon as we arrived here, I guessed
  simply from your eyes. My heart sank at once, and to-day when I opened the
  door and looked at you, I thought the fatal hour had come. Rodya, Rodya,
  you are not going away to-day?”
 </p>
<p>
  “No!”
 </p>
<p>
  “You’ll come again?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Yes... I’ll come.”
 </p>
<p>
  “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?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Very far.”
 </p>
<p>
  “What is awaiting you there? Some post or career for you?”
 </p>
<p>
  “What God sends... only pray for me.” Raskolnikov went to the door, but
  she clutched him and gazed despairingly into his eyes. Her face worked
  with terror.
</p>
<p>
  “Enough, mother,” said Raskolnikov, deeply regretting that he had come.
</p>
<p>
  “Not for ever, it’s not yet for ever? You’ll come, you’ll come to-morrow?”
 </p>
<p>
  “I will, I will, good-bye.” He tore himself away at last.
</p>
<p>
  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 all
  before sunset. He did not want to meet anyone till then. Going up the
  stairs he noticed that Nastasya rushed from the samovar to watch him
  intently. “Can anyone have come to see me?” he wondered. He had a
  disgusted vision of Porfiry. But opening his door he saw Dounia. She was
  sitting alone, plunged in deep thought, and looked as though she had been
  waiting a long time. He stopped short in the doorway. She rose from the
  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 at once that
  she knew.
</p>
<p>
  “Am I to come in or go away?” he asked uncertainly.
</p>
<p>
  “I’ve been all day with Sofya Semyonovna. We were both waiting for you. We
  thought that you would be sure to come there.”
 </p>
<p>
  Raskolnikov went into the room and sank exhausted on a chair.
</p>
<p>
  “I feel weak, Dounia, I am very tired; and I should have liked at this
  moment to be able to control myself.”
 </p>
<p>
  He glanced at her mistrustfully.
</p>
<p>
  “Where were you all night?”
 </p>
<p>
  “I don’t remember clearly. You see, sister, I wanted to make up my mind
  once for all, and several times I walked by the Neva, I remember that I
  wanted to end it all there, but... I couldn’t make up my mind,” he
  whispered, looking at her mistrustfully again.
</p>
<p>
  “Thank God! That was just what we were afraid of, Sofya Semyonovna and I.
  Then you still have faith in life? Thank God, thank God!”
 </p>
<p>
  Raskolnikov smiled bitterly.
</p>
<p>
  “I haven’t faith, but I have just been weeping in mother’s arms; I haven’t
  faith, but I have just asked her to pray for me. I don’t know how it is,
  Dounia, I don’t understand it.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Have you been at mother’s? Have you told her?” cried Dounia,
  horror-stricken. “Surely you haven’t done that?”
 </p>
<p>
  “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 it
  already. Perhaps I did wrong in going to see her. I don’t know why I did
  go. I am a contemptible person, Dounia.”
 </p>
<p>
  “A contemptible person, but ready to face suffering! You are, aren’t you?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Yes, I am going. At once. Yes, to escape the disgrace I thought of
  drowning myself, Dounia, but as I looked into the water, I thought that if
  I had considered myself strong till now I’d better not be afraid of
  disgrace,” he said, hurrying on. “It’s pride, Dounia.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Pride, Rodya.”
 </p>
<p>
  There was a gleam of fire in his lustreless eyes; he seemed to be glad to
  think that he was still proud.
</p>
<p>
  “You don’t think, sister, that I was simply afraid of the water?” he
  asked, looking into her face with a sinister smile.
</p>
<p>
  “Oh, Rodya, hush!” cried Dounia bitterly. Silence lasted for two minutes.
  He sat with his eyes fixed on the floor; Dounia stood at the other end of
  the table and looked at him with anguish. Suddenly he got up.
</p>
<p>
  “It’s late, it’s time to go! I am going at once to give myself up. But I
  don’t know why I am going to give myself up.”
 </p>
<p>
  Big tears fell down her cheeks.
</p>
<p>
  “You are crying, sister, but can you hold out your hand to me?”
 </p>
<p>
  “You doubted it?”
 </p>
<p>
  She threw her arms round him.
</p>
<p>
  “Aren’t you half expiating your crime by facing the suffering?” she cried,
  holding him close and kissing him.
</p>
<p>
  “Crime? What crime?” he cried in sudden fury. “That I killed a vile
  noxious insect, an old pawnbroker woman, of use to no one!... Killing her
  was atonement for forty sins. She was sucking the life out of poor people.
  Was that a crime? I am not thinking of it and I am not thinking of
  expiating it, and why are you all rubbing it in on all sides? ‘A crime! a
  crime!’ Only now I see clearly the imbecility of my cowardice, now that I
  have decided to face this superfluous disgrace. It’s simply because I am
  contemptible and have nothing in me that I have decided to, perhaps too
  for my advantage, as that... Porfiry... suggested!”
 </p>
<p>
  “Brother, brother, what are you saying? Why, you have shed blood?” cried
  Dounia in despair.
</p>
<p>
  “Which all men shed,” he put in almost frantically, “which flows and has
  always flowed in streams, which is spilt like champagne, and for which men
  are crowned in the Capitol and are called afterwards benefactors of
  mankind. Look into it more carefully and understand it! I too wanted to do
  good to men and would have done hundreds, thousands of good deeds to make
  up for that one piece of stupidity, not stupidity even, simply clumsiness,
  for the idea was by no means so stupid as it seems now that it has
  failed.... (Everything seems stupid when it fails.) By that stupidity I
  only wanted to put myself into an independent position, to take the first
  step, to obtain means, and then everything would have been 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 had succeeded I should have
  been crowned with glory, but now I’m trapped.”
 </p>
<p>
  “But that’s not so, not so! Brother, what are you saying?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Ah, it’s not picturesque, not æsthetically attractive! I fail to
  understand 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 ever from
  seeing that what I did was a crime. I’ve never, never been stronger and
  more convinced than now.”
 </p>
<p>
  The colour had rushed into his pale exhausted face, but as he uttered his
  last explanation, he happened to meet Dounia’s eyes and he saw such
  anguish in them that he could not help being checked. He felt that he had,
  anyway, made these two poor women miserable, that he was, anyway, the
  cause...
</p>
<p>
  “Dounia darling, if I am guilty forgive me (though I cannot be forgiven if
  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 you go
  at once and sit with mother. I entreat you to! It’s my last request of
  you. Don’t leave her at all; I left her in a state of anxiety, that she is
  not fit to bear; she will die or go out of her mind. Be with her!
  Razumihin will be with you. I’ve been talking to him.... Don’t cry about
  me: I’ll try to be honest and manly all my life, even if I am a murderer.
  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,” he concluded hurriedly,
  noticing again a strange expression in Dounia’s eyes 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’d forgotten!”
 </p>
<p>
  He went to the table, took up a thick dusty book, opened it and took from
  between the pages a little water-colour portrait on ivory. It was the
  portrait of his landlady’s daughter, who had died of fever, that strange
  girl who had wanted to be a nun. For a minute he gazed at the delicate
  expressive face of his betrothed, kissed the portrait and gave it to
  Dounia.
</p>
<p>
  “I used to talk a great deal about it to her, only to her,” he said
  thoughtfully. “To her heart I confided much of what has since been so
  hideously realised. Don’t be uneasy,” he returned to Dounia, “she was as
  much opposed to it as you, and I am glad that she is gone. The great point
  is that everything now is going to be different, is going to be 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 these senseless
  sufferings? shall I know any better what they are for, when I am crushed
  by hardships and idiocy, and weak as an old man after twenty years’ penal
  servitude? And what shall I have to live for then? Why am I consenting to
  that life now? Oh, I knew I was contemptible when I stood looking at the
  Neva at daybreak to-day!”
 </p>
<p>
  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 look at him
  again. He was still in sight. At the corner he too turned and for the last
  time their eyes met; but noticing that she was looking at him, he motioned
  her away with impatience and even vexation, and turned the corner
  abruptly.
</p>
<p>
  “I am wicked, I see that,” he thought to himself, feeling ashamed a moment
  later of his angry gesture to Dounia. “But why are they so fond of me if I
  don’t deserve it? Oh, if only I were alone and no one loved me and I too
  had never loved anyone! <i>Nothing of all this would have happened.</i>
  But I wonder shall I in those fifteen or twenty years grow so meek that I
  shall humble myself before people and whimper at every word that I am a
  criminal? Yes, that’s it, that’s it, that’s what they are sending me there
  for, that’s what they want. Look at them running to and fro about the
  streets, every one of them a scoundrel and a criminal at heart and, worse
  still, an idiot. But try to get me off and they’d be wild with righteous
  indignation. Oh, how I hate them all!”
 </p>
<p>
  He fell to musing by what process it could come to pass, that he could be
  humbled before all of them, indiscriminately—humbled by conviction.
  And yet why not? It must be so. Would not twenty years of continual
  bondage crush him utterly? Water wears out a stone. And why, why should he
  live after that? Why should he go now when he knew that it would be so? It
  was the hundredth time perhaps that he had asked himself that question
  since the previous evening, but still he went.
</p>