The Most Interesting Stories of All Nations

J >> Julian Hawthorne >> The Most Interesting Stories of All Nations

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"What is it you want?" asked the mistress of the house dryly; she
had followed her visitor in, and planted herself in front of him to
examine him more closely.

"I have come to pawn something, that is all!" With this he drew
from his pocket a flat old silver watch. A globe was engraved
inside the lid, and the chain was of steel.

"But you have not repaid the sum I lent you before. It was due two
days ago."

"I will pay you the interest for another month; have a little
patience."

"I may have patience or I may sell your pledge at once, batuchka,
just whichever I like."

"What will you give me on this watch, Alena Ivanovna?"

"That is a wretched thing, batuchka, worth a mere nothing. Last
time I lent you two small notes on your ring, when I could have
bought a new one at the jeweler's for a ruble and a half."

"Give me four rubles, and I will redeem it; it belonged to my
father. I expect some money soon."

"A ruble and a half! and I shall take the interest in advance."

"A ruble and a half!" protested the young man.

"Please yourself whether you take it or not." So saying, the old
woman tendered back the watch. Her visitor took it and was about
to depart in vexation, when he reflected that this money lender was
his last resource--and, besides, he had another object in coming.

"Come, fork out!" said he in a rough tone.

The old woman fumbled in her pockets for her keys, and passed on
into the adjoining room. The young man, left standing there alone,
pricked up his ears and began to make various inductions. He heard
this female usurer open her drawer. "It must be the top one," was
his conclusion. "I know now that she carries her keys in her right
pocket--they are all hung on a steel ring--one of them is three
times as large as the rest, and has the wards toothed; that cannot
be the key of her drawer--then she must have some strong box or
safe. It is curious that the keys of strong boxes should be
generally like that--but, after all, how ignoble!"

The old woman reappeared. "See here, batuchka: if I take a ten-
kopeck piece a month on each ruble, I ought to receive fifteen
kopecks on a ruble and a half, the interest being payable in
advance. Then, as you ask me to wait another month for the
repayment of the two rubles I have already lent you, you owe me
twenty kopecks more, which makes a total of five and thirty. What,
therefore, I have to advance upon your watch is one ruble fifteen
kopecks. Here it is."

"What! Is one ruble fifteen kopecks all you mean to give me now?"

"That is all that is due to you."

The young man took the money without further discussion. He looked
at the old woman and was in no haste to depart. He seemed anxious
to say or do something more, but without knowing exactly what.
"Perhaps I may be bringing you some other article soon, Alena
Ivanovna, a very pretty cigar case--a silver one--when I get it
back from the friend to whom I have lent it." These words were
uttered with much embarrassment.

"Well, we can talk about it then, batuchka."

"Good-by. You are always alone--is your sister never with you?"
asked he with as indifferent an air as he could assume, as he
entered the anteroom.

"What have you to do with my sister, batuchka?"

"Nothing. I had no reason for asking. You will--well, good-by,
Alena Ivanovna."

Raskolnikoff made his exit in a perturbed state of mind. As he
went downstairs, he stopped from time to time, as if overcome by
violent emotion. When he had at length emerged upon the street, he
exclaimed to himself: "How loathsome it all is! Can I, can I
ever?--no, it is absurd, preposterous!" added he mentally. "How
could such a horrible idea ever enter my head? Could I ever be
capable of such infamy? It is odious, ignoble, repulsive! And yet
for a whole month--"

Words and exclamations, however, could not give full vent to his
agitation. The loathing sense of disgust which had begun to
oppress him on his way to the old woman's house had now become so
intense that he longed to find some way of escape from the torture.
He reeled along the pavement like a tipsy man, taking no notice of
those who passed, but bumping against them. On looking round he
saw a dram shop near at hand; steps led down from the footpath to
the basement, and Raskolnikoff saw two drunkards coming out at that
moment, leaning heavily on each other and exchanging abusive
language. The young man barely paused before he descended the
steps. He had never before entered such a place, but he felt dizzy
and was also suffering from intense thirst. He had a craving for
some beer, partly because he attributed his weakness to an empty
stomach. Seating himself in a dark and dirty corner, in front of a
filthy little table, he called for some beer, and eagerly drank off
a glass.

He felt instantly relieved, and his brain began to clear: "How
absurd I have been!" said he to himself, "there was really nothing
to make me uneasy! It was simply physical! A glass of beer and a
mouthful of biscuit were all that was necessary to restore my
strength of mind and make my thoughts clear and resolution fixed.
How paltry all this is!"

The next morning Raskolnikoff awoke late, after disturbed and
unrefreshing slumbers. He felt very cross and glanced angrily
round his room. It was a tiny place, not more than six feet in
length, and its dirty buff paper hung in shreds, giving it a most
miserable aspect; besides which, the ceiling was so low that a tall
man would have felt in danger of bumping his head. The furniture
was quite in harmony with the room, consisting of three old rickety
chairs, a painted table in one corner, on which lay books and
papers thick with dust (showing how long it was since they had been
touched), and, finally, a large and very ugly sofa with ragged
covers. This sofa, which filled nearly half the room, served
Raskolnikoff as a bed. He often lay down on it in his clothes,
without any sheets, covering himself with his old student's coat,
and using instead of a pillow a little cushion, which he raised by
keeping under it all his clean or dirty linen. Before the sofa
stood a small table.

Raskolnikoff's misanthropy did not take offense at the dirty state
of his den. Human faces had grown so distasteful to him, that the
very sight of the servant whose business it was to clean the rooms
produced a feeling of exasperation. To such a condition may
monomaniacs come by continually brooding over one idea. For the
last fortnight, the landlady had ceased to supply her lodger with
provisions, and he had not yet thought of demanding an explanation.
Nastasia, who had to cook and clean for the whole house, was not
sorry to see the lodger in this state of mind, as it diminished her
labors: she had quite given up tidying and dusting his room; the
utmost she did was to come and sweep it once a week. She it was
who was arousing him at this moment.

"Come, get up, why are you sleeping so late?" she exclaimed. "It
is nine o'clock. I have brought up some tea, will you take a cup?
How pale you look!"

Raskolnikoff opened his eyes, shook himself, and recognized
Nastasia. "Has the landlady sent me this tea?" asked he, making a
painful effort to sit up.

"Not much chance of that!" And the servant placed before him her
own teapot, in which there was still some tea left, and laid two
small lumps of brownish sugar on the table.

"Here, Nastasia, take this, please," said Raskolnikoff, fumbling in
his pocket and drawing out a handful of small change (for he had
again lain down in his clothes), "and fetch me a white roll. Go to
the pork shop as well, and buy me a bit of cheap sausage."

"I will bring you the roll in a minute, but had you not better take
some shtchi* instead of the sausage? We make it here, and it is
capital. I kept some for you last night, but it was so late before
you came in! You will find it very good." She went to fetch the
shtchi, and, when Raskolnikoff had begun to eat, she seated herself
on the sofa beside him and commenced to chatter, like a true
country girl as she was. "Prascovia Paulovna means to report you
to the police," said she.

* Cabbage soup.

The young man's brow clouded. "To the police? Why?"

"Because you don't pay and won't go. That's why."

"The deuce!" growled be between his teeth, "that is the finishing
stroke; it comes at a most unfortunate juncture. She is a fool,"
added he aloud. "I shall go and talk to her to-morrow."

"She is, of course, just as much of a fool as I am; but why do you,
who are so intelligent, lie here doing nothing? How is it you
never seem to have money for anything now? You used to give
lessons, I hear; how is it you do nothing now?"

"I am engaged on something," returned Raskolnikoff dryly and half
reluctantly.

"On what?"

"Some work--"

"What sort of work?"

"Thinking," replied he gravely, after a short silence.

Nastasia was convulsed. She was of a merry disposition, but her
laughter was always noiseless, an internal convulsion which made
her actually writhe with pain. "And does your thinking bring you
any money?" asked she, as soon as she could manage to speak.

"Well! I can't give lessons when I have no boots to go out in?
Besides, I despise them."

"Take care lest you suffer for it."

"There is so little to be made by giving lessons! What can one do
with a few kopecks?" said he in an irritable tone, rather to
himself than the servant.

"So you wish to make your fortune at one stroke?"

He looked at her rather strangely, and was silent for a moment.
"Yes, my fortune," rejoined he impressively.

"Hush! you frighten me, you look terrible. Shall I go and fetch
you a roll?"

"Just as you like."

Later in the day, Raskolnikoff went out and wandered about the
streets. At last he sat down under a tree to rest, and fell into a
reverie. His limbs felt disjointed, and his mind was in darkness
and confusion. He placed his elbows on his knees and held his head
with his hands.

"God! Am I to stand beating in her skull with a hatchet or
something, wade in warm blood, break open the lock and rob and
tremble, blood flowing all around, and hide myself, with the
hatchet? O God! is this indeed possible, and must it be?" He
trembled like a leaf as he said this.

"What am I thinking of?" he cried in some astonishment. "I know
well I could not endure that with which I have been torturing
myself. I saw that clearly yesterday when I tried to rehearse it.
Perfectly plain. Then what am I questioning? Did I not say
yesterday as I went up the stairs how disgusting and mean and low
it all was, and did not I run away in terror?"

He stood up and looked all round, wondering how he got there, and
moved off toward the T---- bridge. He was pale and his eyes were
hot, and feebleness was in all his members, but he seemed to
breathe easier. He felt that he had thrown off the old time which
had been so oppressive; and in its place had come peace and light.
"Lord!" he prayed, "show me my way, that I may renounce these
horrid thoughts of mine!"

Going across the bridge, he quietly gazed on the Neva, and the
clear red sunset. He did not feel himself tired now,
notwithstanding his weakness, and the load which had lain upon his
heart seemed to be gone. Liberty! Liberty! he was free from those
enchantments and all their vile instigations. In later times when
he recalled this period of his existence, and all that happened to
him in those days, minute by minute and point by point, he
recollected how each circumstance, although in the main not very
unusual, constantly appeared to his mind as an evidence of the
predetermination of his fate, so superstitious was he. Especially
he could never understand why he, weary and harassed as he was,
could not have returned home by the shortest route, instead of
across the Haymarket, which was quite out of the way. Certainly, a
dozen times before, he had reached his lodgings by most circuitous
routes, and never known through which streets he had come. But why
(he always asked) should such a really fateful meeting have taken
place in the market (through which there was no need to go), and
happen, too, at exactly such a time and at a moment of his life
when his mind was in the state it was, and the event, in these
circumstances, could only produce the most definite and decided
effect upon his fate? Surely he was the instrument of some
purpose!

It was about nine o'clock as he stood in the Haymarket. All the
dealers had closed their establishments or cleared away their goods
and gone home. About this place, with its tattered population, its
dirty and nauseous courtyards and numerous alleys, Raskolnikoff
dearly loved to roam in his aimless wanderings. He attracted no
notice there. At the corner of K---- Lane were a dealer and his
wife, who were engaged in packing up their wares, consisting of
tapes, handkerchiefs, cotton, &c., preparatory to going home. They
were lingering over their work, and conversing with an
acquaintance. This was Elizabeth Ivanovna, or simple Elizabeth, as
all called her, the younger sister of the old woman, Alena
Ivanovna, to whose rooms Raskolnikoff went the day before for the
purpose of pawning his watch to make his REHEARSAL. He knew all
about this Elizabeth, as she knew also a little about him. She was
a tall, awkward woman, about thirty-five years of age, timid and
quiet, indeed almost an idiot, and was a regular slave to her
sister, working for her day and night, trembling before her and
enduring even blows. She was evidently hesitating about something,
as she stood there with a bundle under her arm, and her friends
were pressing some subject rather warmly. When Raskolnikoff
recognized her he seemed struck with the greatest astonishment,
although there was nothing strange about such a meeting.

"You ought to decide yourself, Elizabeth Ivanovna," said the man.
"Come to-morrow at seven o'clock."

"To-morrow?" said Elizabeth slowly, as if undecided.

"She is frightened of Alena Ivanovna," cried the wife, a brisk
little woman. "You are like a little child, Elizabeth Ivanovna,
and she's not your own sister, but a stepsister. She has too much
her own way."

"You say nothing to Alena Ivanovna," interrupted the man, "and come
without asking, that's the way to do it, and your sister can manage
herself."

"When shall I come?"

"At seven o'clock, to-morrow."

"Very well, I will come," said Elizabeth, slowly and reluctantly.
She then quitted them.

Raskolnikoff also went away, and stayed to hear no more. His
original amazement had changed gradually into a feeling of actual
terror; a chill ran down his back. He had learned unexpectedly and
positively, that, at seven o'clock the next evening, Elizabeth, the
old woman's sister, the only person living with her, would not be
at home, and that, therefore, the old woman, at seven o'clock
tomorrow, WOULD BE THERE ALONE. It needed but a few steps to reach
his room. He went along like one sentenced to death, with his
reason clogged and numbed. He felt that now all liberty of action
and free will were gone, and everything was irrevocably decided. A
more convenient occasion than was thus unexpectedly offered to him
now would never arise, and he might never learn again, beforehand,
that, at a certain time on a certain day, she, on whom he was to
make the attempt, would be entirely alone.

Raskolnikoff learned subsequently what induced the man and his wife
to invite Elizabeth to call on them. It was a very simple matter.
A foreign family, finding themselves in straitened circumstances,
were desirous of parting with various things, consisting for the
most part in articles of female attire. They were anxious,
therefore, to meet with a dealer in cast-off clothes, and this was
one of Elizabeth's callings. She had a large connection, because
she was very honest and always stuck to her price: there was no
higgling to be done with her. She was a woman of few words and
very shy and reserved. But Raskolnikoff was very superstitious,
and traces of this remained in him long after. In all the events
of this period of his life he was ever ready to detect something
mysterious, and attribute every circumstance to the presence of
some particular influence upon his destiny.

The previous winter, a fellow student, Pokoreff by name, on leaving
for Charkoff, had happened to communicate to him in conversation
the address of Alena Ivanovna, in case he should ever require to
pawn anything. For a long time he did not use it, as he was giving
lessons, and managed somehow to get along, but six weeks before
this time he had recollected the address. He had two things fit to
pawn--an old silver watch, formerly his father's; and a small gold
ring with three red stones, a souvenir from his sister on leaving
home. He decided on getting rid of the latter, and went to the old
woman's. At the first glance, and knowing nothing whatever of her
personally, she inspired him with an unaccountable loathing. He
took her two notes, and on leaving went into a poor traktir, or
restaurant, and ordered some tea. He sat down musing, and strange
thoughts flitted across his mind and became hatched in his brain.
Close by, at another table, were seated a student, whom he did not
know, and a young officer. They had been playing billiards, and
were now drinking tea. Suddenly Raskolnikoff heard the student
give the officer the address of Alena Ivanovna, the widow of a
professor, as one who lent money on pledges. This alone struck
Raskolnikoff as very peculiar. They were talking of the same
person he had just been to see. No doubt it was pure chance, but,
at the moment he was struggling against an impression he could not
overcome, this stranger's words came and gave extra force to it.
The student went on talking, and began to give his companion some
account of Alena Ivanovna.

"She is well known," he said, "and always good for money. She is
as rich as a Jew, and can advance five thousand rubles at a
moment's notice; yet she will take in pledge objects worth as
little as a ruble. She is quite a providence to many of our
fellows--but such an old hag! I tell you what I would do. I would
kill that damnable old hag, and take all she is possessed of,
without any qualm of conscience," exclaimed the student excitedly.
The officer laughed, but Raskolnikoff shuddered. The words just
uttered so strongly echoed his own thoughts. "Let me put a serious
question to you," resumed the student, more and more excited. "I
have hitherto been joking, but now listen to this. On the one side
here is a silly, flint-hearted, evil-minded, sulky old woman,
necessary to no one--on the contrary, pernicious to all--and who
does not know herself why she lives."

"Well?" said the officer.

"Hear me further. On the other hand, young fresh strength droops
and is lost for want of sustenance; this is the case with thousands
everywhere! A hundred, a thousand good deeds and enterprises could
be carried out and upheld with the money this old woman has
bequeathed to a monastery. A dozen families might be saved from
hunger, want, ruin, crime, and misery, and all with her money!
Kill her, I say, take it from her, and dedicate it to the service
of humanity and the general good! What is your opinion? Shall not
one little crime be effaced and atoned for by a thousand good
deeds? For one useless life a thousand lives saved from decay and
death. One death, and a hundred beings restored to existence!
There's a calculation for you. What in proportion is the life of
this miserable old woman? No more than the life of a flea, a
beetle, nay, not even that, for she is pernicious. She preys on
other lives. She lately bit Elizabeth's finger, in a fit of
passion, and nearly bit it off!"

"Certainly she does not deserve to live," observed the officer,
"but nature--"

"Ah, my friend, nature has to be governed and guided, or we should
be drowned in prejudices. Without it there would never be one
great man. They say 'duty is conscience.' Now I have nothing to
say against duty and conscience, but let us see, how do we
understand them? Let me put another question to you. Listen."

"Stop a minute, I will give you one."

"Well?"

"After all you have said and declaimed, tell me--are you going to
kill the old woman YOURSELF, or not?"

"Of course not. I only pointed out the inequality of things. As
for the deed--"

"Well, if you won't, it's my opinion that it would not be just to
do so! Come, let's have another game!"

Raskolnikoff was in the greatest agitation. Still, there was
nothing extraordinary in this conversation; it was not the first
time he had heard, only in other forms and on other topics, such
ideas from the lips of the young and hotheaded. But why should he,
of all men, happen to overhear such a conversation and such ideas,
when the very same thoughts were being engendered in himself?--and
why precisely THEN, immediately on his becoming possessed of them
and on leaving the old woman? Strange, indeed, did this
coincidence appear to him. This idle conversation was destined to
have a fearful influence on his destiny, extending to the most
trifling incident and causing him to feel sure he was the
instrument of a fixed purpose.

On his return from the market, he flung himself upon his couch and
sat motionless for a whole hour. It became dark, he had no light,
but sat on. He could never afterwards recollect his thoughts at
the time. At last he felt cold, and a shiver ran through him. He
recognized with delight that he was sitting on his couch and could
lie down, and soon he fell into a deep, heavy sleep. He slept much
longer than usual, and his slumbers were undisturbed by dreams.
Nastasia, who came to his room the next morning at ten o'clock, had
great difficulty in awakening him. The servant brought him some
bread and, the same as the day before, what was left of her tea.

"Not up yet!" exclaimed she indignantly. "How can you sleep so
long?"

Raskolnikoff raised himself with an effort; his head ached; he got
upon his feet, took a few steps, and then dropped down again upon
the couch.

"What, again!" cried Nastasia, "but you must be ill then?" He did
not answer. "Would you like some tea?"

"By and by," he muttered painfully, after which he closed his eyes
and turned his face to the wall. Nastasia, standing over him,
remained watching him for a while.

"After all, he's perhaps ill," said she, before withdrawing. At
two o'clock she returned with some soup. Raskolnikoff was still
lying on the couch. He had not touched the tea. The servant
became angry and shook the lodger violently. "Whatever makes you
sleep thus?" scolded she, eyeing him contemptuously.

He sat up, but answered not a word, and remained with his eyes
fixed on the floor.

"Are you ill, or are you not?" asked Nastasia. This second
question met with no more answer than the first. "You should go
out," continued she, after a pause, "the fresh air would do you
good. You'll eat something, will you not?"

"By and by," answered he feebly. "Go away!" and he motioned her
off. She remained a moment longer, watching him with an air of
pity, and then left the room.

After a few minutes he raised his eyes, gave a long look at the tea
and soup, and then began to eat. He swallowed three or four
spoonfuls without the least appetite--almost mechanically. His
head felt better. When he had finished his light repast, he again
lay down on the couch, but he could not sleep and remained
motionless, flat on his stomach, his face buried in the pillow.
His reverie kept conjuring up strange scenes. At one time he was
in Africa, in Egypt, on some oasis, where palms were dotted about.
The caravans were at rest, the camels lay quietly, and the
travelers were eating their evening meal. They drank water direct
from the stream which ran murmuring close by. How refreshing was
the marvelously blue water, and how beautifully clear it looked as
it ran over many-colored stones and mingled with the golden
spangles of the sandy bottom! All at once he clearly heard the
hour chiming. He shuddered, raised his head, looked at the window
to calculate the time. He came to himself immediately and jumped
up, and, going on tiptoe, silently opened the door and stood
listening on the landing. His heart beat violently. But not a
sound came from the staircase. It seemed as though the house was
wrapped in sleep. He could not understand how he had been able to
sleep away the time as he had done, while nothing was prepared for
the enterprise. And yet it was, perhaps, six o'clock that had just
struck.

Then, he became excited as he felt what there was to be done, and
he endeavored with all his might to keep his thoughts from
wandering and concentrate his mind on his task. All the time his
heart thumped and beat until he could hardly draw breath. In the
first place it was necessary to make a loop and fasten to his coat.
He went to his pillow and took from among the linen he kept there
an old and dirty shirt and tore part of it into strips. He then
fastened a couple of these together, and, taking off his coat--a
stout cotton summer one--began to sew the loop inside, under the
left arm. His hands shook violently, but he accomplished his task
satisfactorily, and when he again put on his coat nothing was
visible. Needle and thread had been procured long ago, and lay on
the table in a piece of paper. The loop was provided for a
hatchet. It would never have done to have appeared in the streets
carrying a hatchet, and if he placed it under the coat, it would
have been necessary to hold it with his hands; but with the loop
all he had to do was to put the iron in it and it would hang of
itself under the coat, and with his hands in his pockets he could
keep it from shaking, and no one could suspect that he was carrying
anything. He had thought over all this about a fortnight before.

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