CHAPTER III

<h2><a id="link2HCH0003"/>
  CHAPTER III
</h2>
<p>
  He waked up late next day after a broken sleep. But his sleep had not
  refreshed him; he waked up bilious, irritable, ill-tempered, and looked
  with hatred at his room. It was a tiny cupboard of a room about six paces
  in length. It had a poverty-stricken appearance with its dusty yellow
  paper peeling off the walls, and it was so low-pitched that a man of more
  than average height was ill at ease in it and felt every moment that he
  would knock his head against the ceiling. The furniture was in keeping
  with the room: there were three old chairs, rather rickety; a painted
  table in the corner on which lay a few manuscripts and books; the dust
  that lay thick upon them showed that they had been long untouched. A big
  clumsy sofa occupied almost the whole of one wall and half the floor space
  of the room; it was once covered with chintz, but was now in rags and
  served Raskolnikov as a bed. Often he went to sleep on it, as he was,
  without undressing, without sheets, wrapped in his old student’s overcoat,
  with his head on one little pillow, under which he heaped up all the linen
  he had, clean and dirty, by way of a bolster. A little table stood in
  front of the sofa.
</p>
<p>
  It would have been difficult to sink to a lower ebb of disorder, but to
  Raskolnikov in his present state of mind this was positively agreeable. He
  had got completely away from everyone, like a tortoise in its shell, and
  even the sight of a servant girl who had to wait upon him and looked
  sometimes into his room made him writhe with nervous irritation. He was in
  the condition that overtakes some monomaniacs entirely concentrated upon
  one thing. His landlady had for the last fortnight given up sending him in
  meals, and he had not yet thought of expostulating with her, though he
  went without his dinner. Nastasya, the cook and only servant, was rather
  pleased at the lodger’s mood and had entirely given up sweeping and doing
  his room, only once a week or so she would stray into his room with a
  broom. She waked him up that day.
</p>
<p>
  “Get up, why are you asleep?” she called to him. “It’s past nine, I have
  brought you some tea; will you have a cup? I should think you’re fairly
  starving?”
 </p>
<p>
  Raskolnikov opened his eyes, started and recognised Nastasya.
</p>
<p>
  “From the landlady, eh?” he asked, slowly and with a sickly face sitting
  up on the sofa.
</p>
<p>
  “From the landlady, indeed!”
 </p>
<p>
  She set before him her own cracked teapot full of weak and stale tea and
  laid two yellow lumps of sugar by the side of it.
</p>
<p>
  “Here, Nastasya, take it please,” he said, fumbling in his pocket (for he
  had slept in his clothes) and taking out a handful of coppers—“run
  and buy me a loaf. And get me a little sausage, the cheapest, at the
  pork-butcher’s.”
 </p>
<p>
  “The loaf I’ll fetch you this very minute, but wouldn’t you rather have
  some cabbage soup instead of sausage? It’s capital soup, yesterday’s. I
  saved it for you yesterday, but you came in late. It’s fine soup.”
 </p>
<p>
  When the soup had been brought, and he had begun upon it, Nastasya sat
  down beside him on the sofa and began chatting. She was a country
  peasant-woman and a very talkative one.
</p>
<p>
  “Praskovya Pavlovna means to complain to the police about you,” she said.
</p>
<p>
  He scowled.
</p>
<p>
  “To the police? What does she want?”
 </p>
<p>
  “You don’t pay her money and you won’t turn out of the room. That’s what
  she wants, to be sure.”
 </p>
<p>
  “The devil, that’s the last straw,” he muttered, grinding his teeth, “no,
  that would not suit me... just now. She is a fool,” he added aloud. “I’ll
  go and talk to her to-day.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Fool she is and no mistake, just as I am. But why, if you are so clever,
  do you lie here like a sack and have nothing to show for it? One time you
  used to go out, you say, to teach children. But why is it you do nothing
  now?”
 </p>
<p>
  “I am doing...” Raskolnikov began sullenly and reluctantly.
</p>
<p>
  “What are you doing?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Work...”
 </p>
<p>
  “What sort of work?”
 </p>
<p>
  “I am thinking,” he answered seriously after a pause.
</p>
<p>
  Nastasya was overcome with a fit of laughter. She was given to laughter
  and when anything amused her, she laughed inaudibly, quivering and shaking
  all over till she felt ill.
</p>
<p>
  “And have you made much money by your thinking?” she managed to articulate
  at last.
</p>
<p>
  “One can’t go out to give lessons without boots. And I’m sick of it.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Don’t quarrel with your bread and butter.”
 </p>
<p>
  “They pay so little for lessons. What’s the use of a few coppers?” he
  answered, reluctantly, as though replying to his own thought.
</p>
<p>
  “And you want to get a fortune all at once?”
 </p>
<p>
  He looked at her strangely.
</p>
<p>
  “Yes, I want a fortune,” he answered firmly, after a brief pause.
</p>
<p>
  “Don’t be in such a hurry, you quite frighten me! Shall I get you the loaf
  or not?”
 </p>
<p>
  “As you please.”
 </p>
<p>
  “Ah, I forgot! A letter came for you yesterday when you were out.”
 </p>
<p>
  “A letter? for me! from whom?”
 </p>
<p>
  “I can’t say. I gave three copecks of my own to the postman for it. Will
  you pay me back?”
 </p>
<p>
  “Then bring it to me, for God’s sake, bring it,” cried Raskolnikov greatly
  excited—“good God!”
 </p>
<p>
  A minute later the letter was brought him. That was it: from his mother,
  from the province of R——. He turned pale when he took it. It
  was a long while since he had received a letter, but another feeling also
  suddenly stabbed his heart.
</p>
<p>
  “Nastasya, leave me alone, for goodness’ sake; here are your three
  copecks, but for goodness’ sake, make haste and go!”
 </p>
<p>
  The letter was quivering in his hand; he did not want to open it in her
  presence; he wanted to be left <i>alone</i> with this letter. When
  Nastasya had gone out, he lifted it quickly to his lips and kissed it;
  then he gazed intently at the address, the small, sloping handwriting, so
  dear and familiar, of the mother who had once taught him to read and
  write. He delayed; he seemed almost afraid of something. At last he opened
  it; it was a thick heavy letter, weighing over two ounces, two large
  sheets of note paper were covered with very small handwriting.
</p>
<p>
  “My dear Rodya,” wrote his mother—“it’s two months since I last had
  a talk with you by letter which has distressed me and even kept me awake
  at night, thinking. But I am sure you will not blame me for my inevitable
  silence. You know how I love you; you are all we have to look to, Dounia
  and I, you are our all, our one hope, our one stay. What a grief it was to
  me when I heard that you had given up the university some months ago, for
  want of means to keep yourself and that you had lost your lessons and your
  other work! How could I help you out of my hundred and twenty roubles a
  year pension? The fifteen roubles I sent you four months ago I borrowed,
  as you know, on security of my pension, from Vassily Ivanovitch Vahrushin
  a merchant of this town. He is a kind-hearted man and was a friend of your
  father’s too. But having given him the right to receive the pension, I had
  to wait till the debt was paid off and that is only just done, so that
  I’ve been unable to send you anything all this time. But now, thank God, I
  believe I shall be able to send you something more and in fact we may
  congratulate ourselves on our good fortune now, of which I hasten to
  inform you. In the first place, would you have guessed, dear Rodya, that
  your sister has been living with me for the last six weeks and we shall
  not be separated in the future. Thank God, her sufferings are over, but I
  will tell you everything in order, so that you may know just how
  everything has happened and all that we have hitherto concealed from you.
  When you wrote to me two months ago that you had heard that Dounia had a
  great deal to put up with in the Svidrigaïlovs’ house, when you wrote
  that and asked me to tell you all about it—what could I write in
  answer to you? If I had written the whole truth to you, I dare say you
  would have thrown up everything and have come to us, even if you had to
  walk all the way, for I know your character and your feelings, and you
  would not let your sister be insulted. I was in despair myself, but what
  could I do? And, besides, I did not know the whole truth myself then. What
  made it all so difficult was that Dounia received a hundred roubles in
  advance when she took the place as governess in their family, on condition
  of part of her salary being deducted every month, and so it was impossible
  to throw up the situation without repaying the debt. This sum (now I can
  explain it all to you, my precious Rodya) she took chiefly in order to
  send you sixty roubles, which you needed so terribly then and which you
  received from us last year. We deceived you then, writing that this money
  came from Dounia’s savings, but that was not so, and now I tell you all
  about it, because, thank God, things have suddenly changed for the better,
  and that you may know how Dounia loves you and what a heart she has. At
  first indeed Mr. Svidrigaïlov treated her very rudely and used to make
  disrespectful and jeering remarks at table.... But I don’t want to go into
  all those painful details, so as not to worry you for nothing when it is
  now all over. In short, in spite of the kind and generous behaviour of
  Marfa Petrovna, Mr. Svidrigaïlov’s wife, and all the rest of the
  household, Dounia had a very hard time, especially when Mr. Svidrigaïlov,
  relapsing into his old regimental habits, was under the influence of
  Bacchus. And how do you think it was all explained later on? Would you
  believe that the crazy fellow had conceived a passion for Dounia from the
  beginning, but had concealed it under a show of rudeness and contempt.
  Possibly he was ashamed and horrified himself at his own flighty hopes,
  considering his years and his being the father of a family; and that made
  him angry with Dounia. And possibly, too, he hoped by his rude and
  sneering behaviour to hide the truth from others. But at last he lost all
  control and had the face to make Dounia an open and shameful proposal,
  promising her all sorts of inducements and offering, besides, to throw up
  everything and take her to another estate of his, or even abroad. You can
  imagine all she went through! To leave her situation at once was
  impossible not only on account of the money debt, but also to spare the
  feelings of Marfa Petrovna, whose suspicions would have been aroused: and
  then Dounia would have been the cause of a rupture in the family. And it
  would have meant a terrible scandal for Dounia too; that would have been
  inevitable. There were various other reasons owing to which Dounia could
  not hope to escape from that awful house for another six weeks. You know
  Dounia, of course; you know how clever she is and what a strong will she
  has. Dounia can endure a great deal and even in the most difficult cases
  she has the fortitude to maintain her firmness. She did not even write to
  me about everything for fear of upsetting me, although we were constantly
  in communication. It all ended very unexpectedly. Marfa Petrovna
  accidentally overheard her husband imploring Dounia in the garden, and,
  putting quite a wrong interpretation on the position, threw the blame upon
  her, believing her to be the cause of it all. An awful scene took place
  between them on the spot in the garden; Marfa Petrovna went so far as to
  strike Dounia, refused to hear anything and was shouting at her for a
  whole hour and then gave orders that Dounia should be packed off at once
  to me in a plain peasant’s cart, into which they flung all her things, her
  linen and her clothes, all pell-mell, without folding it up and packing
  it. And a heavy shower of rain came on, too, and Dounia, insulted and put
  to shame, had to drive with a peasant in an open cart all the seventeen
  versts into town. Only think now what answer could I have sent to the
  letter I received from you two months ago and what could I have written? I
  was in despair; I dared not write to you the truth because you would have
  been very unhappy, mortified and indignant, and yet what could you do? You
  could only perhaps ruin yourself, and, besides, Dounia would not allow it;
  and fill up my letter with trifles when my heart was so full of sorrow, I
  could not. For a whole month the town was full of gossip about this
  scandal, and it came to such a pass that Dounia and I dared not even go to
  church on account of the contemptuous looks, whispers, and even remarks
  made aloud about us. All our acquaintances avoided us, nobody even bowed
  to us in the street, and I learnt that some shopmen and clerks were
  intending to insult us in a shameful way, smearing the gates of our house
  with pitch, so that the landlord began to tell us we must leave. All this
  was set going by Marfa Petrovna who managed to slander Dounia and throw
  dirt at her in every family. She knows everyone in the neighbourhood, and
  that month she was continually coming into the town, and as she is rather
  talkative and fond of gossiping about her family affairs and particularly
  of complaining to all and each of her husband—which is not at all
  right—so in a short time she had spread her story not only in the
  town, but over the whole surrounding district. It made me ill, but Dounia
  bore it better than I did, and if only you could have seen how she endured
  it all and tried to comfort me and cheer me up! She is an angel! But by
  God’s mercy, our sufferings were cut short: Mr. Svidrigaïlov returned to
  his senses and repented and, probably feeling sorry for Dounia, he laid
  before Marfa Petrovna a complete and unmistakable proof of Dounia’s
  innocence, in the form of a letter Dounia had been forced to write and
  give to him, before Marfa Petrovna came upon them in the garden. This
  letter, which remained in Mr. Svidrigaïlov’s hands after her departure,
  she had written to refuse personal explanations and secret interviews, for
  which he was entreating her. In that letter she reproached him with great
  heat and indignation for the baseness of his behaviour in regard to Marfa
  Petrovna, reminding him that he was the father and head of a family and
  telling him how infamous it was of him to torment and make unhappy a
  defenceless girl, unhappy enough already. Indeed, dear Rodya, the letter
  was so nobly and touchingly written that I sobbed when I read it and to
  this day I cannot read it without tears. Moreover, the evidence of the
  servants, too, cleared Dounia’s reputation; they had seen and known a
  great deal more than Mr. Svidrigaïlov had himself supposed—as indeed
  is always the case with servants. Marfa Petrovna was completely taken
  aback, and ‘again crushed’ as she said herself to us, but she was
  completely convinced of Dounia’s innocence. The very next day, being
  Sunday, she went straight to the Cathedral, knelt down and prayed with
  tears to Our Lady to give her strength to bear this new trial and to do
  her duty. Then she came straight from the Cathedral to us, told us the
  whole story, wept bitterly and, fully penitent, she embraced Dounia and
  besought her to forgive her. The same morning without any delay, she went
  round to all the houses in the town and everywhere, shedding tears, she
  asserted in the most flattering terms Dounia’s innocence and the nobility
  of her feelings and her behavior. What was more, she showed and read to
  everyone the letter in Dounia’s own handwriting to Mr. Svidrigaïlov and
  even allowed them to take copies of it—which I must say I think was
  superfluous. In this way she was busy for several days in driving about
  the whole town, because some people had taken offence through precedence
  having been given to others. And therefore they had to take turns, so that
  in every house she was expected before she arrived, and everyone knew that
  on such and such a day Marfa Petrovna would be reading the letter in such
  and such a place and people assembled for every reading of it, even many
  who had heard it several times already both in their own houses and in
  other people’s. In my opinion a great deal, a very great deal of all this
  was unnecessary; but that’s Marfa Petrovna’s character. Anyway she
  succeeded in completely re-establishing Dounia’s reputation and the whole
  ignominy of this affair rested as an indelible disgrace upon her husband,
  as the only person to blame, so that I really began to feel sorry for him;
  it was really treating the crazy fellow too harshly. Dounia was at once
  asked to give lessons in several families, but she refused. All of a
  sudden everyone began to treat her with marked respect and all this did
  much to bring about the event by which, one may say, our whole fortunes
  are now transformed. You must know, dear Rodya, that Dounia has a suitor
  and that she has already consented to marry him. I hasten to tell you all
  about the matter, and though it has been arranged without asking your
  consent, I think you will not be aggrieved with me or with your sister on
  that account, for you will see that we could not wait and put off our
  decision till we heard from you. And you could not have judged all the
  facts without being on the spot. This was how it happened. He is already
  of the rank of a counsellor, Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin, and is distantly
  related to Marfa Petrovna, who has been very active in bringing the match
  about. It began with his expressing through her his desire to make our
  acquaintance. He was properly received, drank coffee with us and the very
  next day he sent us a letter in which he very courteously made an offer
  and begged for a speedy and decided answer. He is a very busy man and is
  in a great hurry to get to Petersburg, so that every moment is precious to
  him. At first, of course, we were greatly surprised, as it had all
  happened so quickly and unexpectedly. We thought and talked it over the
  whole day. He is a well-to-do man, to be depended upon, he has two posts
  in the government and has already made his fortune. It is true that he is
  forty-five years old, but he is of a fairly prepossessing appearance and
  might still be thought attractive by women, and he is altogether a very
  respectable and presentable man, only he seems a little morose and
  somewhat conceited. But possibly that may only be the impression he makes
  at first sight. And beware, dear Rodya, when he comes to Petersburg, as he
  shortly will do, beware of judging him too hastily and severely, as your
  way is, if there is anything you do not like in him at first sight. I give
  you this warning, although I feel sure that he will make a favourable
  impression upon you. Moreover, in order to understand any man one must be
  deliberate and careful to avoid forming prejudices and mistaken ideas,
  which are very difficult to correct and get over afterwards. And Pyotr
  Petrovitch, judging by many indications, is a thoroughly estimable man. At
  his first visit, indeed, he told us that he was a practical man, but still
  he shares, as he expressed it, many of the convictions ‘of our most rising
  generation’ and he is an opponent of all prejudices. He said a good deal
  more, for he seems a little conceited and likes to be listened to, but
  this is scarcely a vice. I, of course, understood very little of it, but
  Dounia explained to me that, though he is not a man of great education, he
  is clever and seems to be good-natured. You know your sister’s character,
  Rodya. She is a resolute, sensible, patient and generous girl, but she has
  a passionate heart, as I know very well. Of course, there is no great love
  either on his side, or on hers, but Dounia is a clever girl and has the
  heart of an angel, and will make it her duty to make her husband happy who
  on his side will make her happiness his care. Of that we have no good
  reason to doubt, though it must be admitted the matter has been arranged
  in great haste. Besides he is a man of great prudence and he will see, to
  be sure, of himself, that his own happiness will be the more secure, the
  happier Dounia is with him. And as for some defects of character, for some
  habits and even certain differences of opinion—which indeed are
  inevitable even in the happiest marriages—Dounia has said that, as
  regards all that, she relies on herself, that there is nothing to be
  uneasy about, and that she is ready to put up with a great deal, if only
  their future relationship can be an honourable and straightforward one. He
  struck me, for instance, at first, as rather abrupt, but that may well
  come from his being an outspoken man, and that is no doubt how it is. For
  instance, at his second visit, after he had received Dounia’s consent, in
  the course of conversation, he declared that before making Dounia’s
  acquaintance, he had made up his mind to marry a girl of good reputation,
  without dowry and, above all, one who had experienced poverty, because, as
  he explained, a man ought not to be indebted to his wife, but that it is
  better for a wife to look upon her husband as her benefactor. I must add
  that he expressed it more nicely and politely than I have done, for I have
  forgotten his actual phrases and only remember the meaning. And, besides,
  it was obviously not said of design, but slipped out in the heat of
  conversation, so that he tried afterwards to correct himself and smooth it
  over, but all the same it did strike me as somewhat rude, and I said so
  afterwards to Dounia. But Dounia was vexed, and answered that ‘words are
  not deeds,’ and that, of course, is perfectly true. Dounia did not sleep
  all night before she made up her mind, and, thinking that I was asleep,
  she got out of bed and was walking up and down the room all night; at last
  she knelt down before the ikon and prayed long and fervently and in the
  morning she told me that she had decided.
</p>
<p>
  “I have mentioned already that Pyotr Petrovitch is just setting off for
  Petersburg, where he has a great deal of business, and he wants to open a
  legal bureau. He has been occupied for many years in conducting civil and
  commercial litigation, and only the other day he won an important case. He
  has to be in Petersburg because he has an important case before the
  Senate. So, Rodya dear, he may be of the greatest use to you, in every way
  indeed, and Dounia and I have agreed that from this very day you could
  definitely enter upon your career and might consider that your future is
  marked out and assured for you. Oh, if only this comes to pass! This would
  be such a benefit that we could only look upon it as a providential
  blessing. Dounia is dreaming of nothing else. We have even ventured
  already to drop a few words on the subject to Pyotr Petrovitch. He was
  cautious in his answer, and said that, of course, as he could not get on
  without a secretary, it would be better to be paying a salary to a
  relation than to a stranger, if only the former were fitted for the duties
  (as though there could be doubt of your being fitted!) but then he
  expressed doubts whether your studies at the university would leave you
  time for work at his office. The matter dropped for the time, but Dounia
  is thinking of nothing else now. She has been in a sort of fever for the
  last few days, and has already made a regular plan for your becoming in
  the end an associate and even a partner in Pyotr Petrovitch’s business,
  which might well be, seeing that you are a student of law. I am in
  complete agreement with her, Rodya, and share all her plans and hopes, and
  think there is every probability of realising them. And in spite of Pyotr
  Petrovitch’s evasiveness, very natural at present (since he does not know
  you), Dounia is firmly persuaded that she will gain everything by her good
  influence over her future husband; this she is reckoning upon. Of course
  we are careful not to talk of any of these more remote plans to Pyotr
  Petrovitch, especially of your becoming his partner. He is a practical man
  and might take this very coldly, it might all seem to him simply a
  day-dream. Nor has either Dounia or I breathed a word to him of the great
  hopes we have of his helping us to pay for your university studies; we
  have not spoken of it in the first place, because it will come to pass of
  itself, later on, and he will no doubt without wasting words offer to do
  it of himself, (as though he could refuse Dounia that) the more readily
  since you may by your own efforts become his right hand in the office, and
  receive this assistance not as a charity, but as a salary earned by your
  own work. Dounia wants to arrange it all like this and I quite agree with
  her. And we have not spoken of our plans for another reason, that is,
  because I particularly wanted you to feel on an equal footing when you
  first meet him. When Dounia spoke to him with enthusiasm about you, he
  answered that one could never judge of a man without seeing him close, for
  oneself, and that he looked forward to forming his own opinion when he
  makes your acquaintance. Do you know, my precious Rodya, I think that
  perhaps for some reasons (nothing to do with Pyotr Petrovitch though,
  simply for my own personal, perhaps old-womanish, fancies) I should do
  better to go on living by myself, apart, than with them, after the
  wedding. I am convinced that he will be generous and delicate enough to
  invite me and to urge me to remain with my daughter for the future, and if
  he has said nothing about it hitherto, it is simply because it has been
  taken for granted; but I shall refuse. I have noticed more than once in my
  life that husbands don’t quite get on with their mothers-in-law, and I
  don’t want to be the least bit in anyone’s way, and for my own sake, too,
  would rather be quite independent, so long as I have a crust of bread of
  my own, and such children as you and Dounia. If possible, I would settle
  somewhere near you, for the most joyful piece of news, dear Rodya, I have
  kept for the end of my letter: know then, my dear boy, that we may,
  perhaps, be all together in a very short time and may embrace one another
  again after a separation of almost three years! It is settled <i>for
  certain</i> that Dounia and I are to set off for Petersburg, exactly when
  I don’t know, but very, very soon, possibly in a week. It all depends on
  Pyotr Petrovitch who will let us know when he has had time to look round
  him in Petersburg. To suit his own arrangements he is anxious to have the
  ceremony as soon as possible, even before the fast of Our Lady, if it
  could be managed, or if that is too soon to be ready, immediately after.
  Oh, with what happiness I shall press you to my heart! Dounia is all
  excitement at the joyful thought of seeing you, she said one day in joke
  that she would be ready to marry Pyotr Petrovitch for that alone. She is
  an angel! She is not writing anything to you now, and has only told me to
  write that she has so much, so much to tell you that she is not going to
  take up her pen now, for a few lines would tell you nothing, and it would
  only mean upsetting herself; she bids me send you her love and innumerable
  kisses. But although we shall be meeting so soon, perhaps I shall send you
  as much money as I can in a day or two. Now that everyone has heard that
  Dounia is to marry Pyotr Petrovitch, my credit has suddenly improved and I
  know that Afanasy Ivanovitch will trust me now even to seventy-five
  roubles on the security of my pension, so that perhaps I shall be able to
  send you twenty-five or even thirty roubles. I would send you more, but I
  am uneasy about our travelling expenses; for though Pyotr Petrovitch has
  been so kind as to undertake part of the expenses of the journey, that is
  to say, he has taken upon himself the conveyance of our bags and big trunk
  (which will be conveyed through some acquaintances of his), we must reckon
  upon some expense on our arrival in Petersburg, where we can’t be left
  without a halfpenny, at least for the first few days. But we have
  calculated it all, Dounia and I, to the last penny, and we see that the
  journey will not cost very much. It is only ninety versts from us to the
  railway and we have come to an agreement with a driver we know, so as to
  be in readiness; and from there Dounia and I can travel quite comfortably
  third class. So that I may very likely be able to send to you not
  twenty-five, but thirty roubles. But enough; I have covered two sheets
  already and there is no space left for more; our whole history, but so
  many events have happened! And now, my precious Rodya, I embrace you and
  send you a mother’s blessing till we meet. Love Dounia your sister, Rodya;
  love her as she loves you and understand that she loves you beyond
  everything, more than herself. She is an angel and you, Rodya, you are
  everything to us—our one hope, our one consolation. If only you are
  happy, we shall be happy. Do you still say your prayers, Rodya, and
  believe in the mercy of our Creator and our Redeemer? I am afraid in my
  heart that you may have been visited by the new spirit of infidelity that
  is abroad to-day; If it is so, I pray for you. Remember, dear boy, how in
  your childhood, when your father was living, you used to lisp your prayers
  at my knee, and how happy we all were in those days. Good-bye, till we
  meet then—I embrace you warmly, warmly, with many kisses.
</p>
<p>
  “Yours till death,
</p>
<p>
  “PULCHERIA RASKOLNIKOV.”
 </p>
<p>
  Almost from the first, while he read the letter, Raskolnikov’s face was
  wet with tears; but when he finished it, his face was pale and distorted
  and a bitter, wrathful and malignant smile was on his lips. He laid his
  head down on his threadbare dirty pillow and pondered, pondered a long
  time. His heart was beating violently, and his brain was in a turmoil. At
  last he felt cramped and stifled in the little yellow room that was like a
  cupboard or a box. His eyes and his mind craved for space. He took up his
  hat and went out, this time without dread of meeting anyone; he had
  forgotten his dread. He turned in the direction of the Vassilyevsky
  Ostrov, walking along Vassilyevsky Prospect, as though hastening on some
  business, but he walked, as his habit was, without noticing his way,
  muttering and even speaking aloud to himself, to the astonishment of the
  passers-by. Many of them took him to be drunk.
</p>