The letter trembled in his hands; he did not want to open it in front of her: he wished to be left alonewith this letter. When Nastasya had gone, he quickly brought it to his lips and kissed it; then for a long time he gazed at the handwriting of the address, familiar and dear to him, the small and slanted handwriting of his mother, who had once taught him to read and write. He lingered; he even seemed afraid of something. Finally, he opened it: it was a big, thick letter, almost an ounce in weight; two big sheets of stationery covered with very small script.
“My dear Rodya,” his mother wrote, “it is over two months now since I've spoken with you in writing, and I myself have suffered from it, and even spent some sleepless nights thinking. But you surely will not blame me for this unwilling silence of mine. You know how I love you; you are all we have, Dunya and I, you are everything for us, all our hope and our trust. What I felt when I learned that you had left the university several months ago because you had no way of supporting yourself, and that your lessons and other means had come to an end! How could I help you, with my pension of a hundred and twenty roubles a year? The fifteen roubles I sent you four months ago I borrowed, as you know yourself, on the security of that same pension, from our local merchant, Afanasy Ivanovich Vakhrushin. He is a kind man and used to be your father's friend. But, having given him the right to receive my pension for me, I had to wait until the debt was repaid, which has happened only now, so that all this while I could not send you anything. But now, thank God, I think I can send you more, and generally now we can even boast of our good fortune, of which I hasten to inform you. And, first of all, guess what, dear Rodya, your sister has been living with me for a month and a half already, and in the future we shall not part again. Thanks be to God, her torments are over, but I will tell you everything in order, so that you will know how it all was and what we have been concealing from you until now. When you wrote me two months ago that you had heard from someone that Dunya was suffering much from rudeness in Mr. and Mrs. Svidrigailov's house, and asked me for precise explanations—what could I then write y-ou in reply? If I had written you the whole truth, you might have dropped everything and come to us, on foot if you had to, because I know your character and your feelings and that you would brook no offense to your sister. And I was in despair myself, but what was one to do? I myself did not even know the whole truth then. And the greatest difficulty was that when Dunechka entered their home last year as a governess, she took a whole hundred roubles in advance, against monthly deductions from her salary, and therefore could not even leave her position without paying back the debt. And this sum (I can now explain everything to you, my precious Rodya) she took mainly in order to send you sixty roubles, which you needed so much then and which you received from us last year. We deceived you then, we wrote that it was from previous money Dunechka had saved, but that was not so, and now I am telling you the whole truth, because now everything, by God's will, has suddenly changed for the better, and so that you will know how Dunya loves you and what a precious heart she has. Indeed, Mr. Svidrigailov treated her very rudely at first and gave her all sorts of discourtesy and mockery at table...But I do not want to go into all these painful details, so as not to trouble you for nothing, now that it is all over. In short, despite good and noble treatment from Marfa Petrovna, Mr. Svidrigailov's wife, and all the rest of the household, it was very hard for Dunechka, especially when Mr. Svidrigailov, from his old regimental habit, was under the influence of Bacchus. And how did it finally turn out? Imagine, this madcap had long since conceived a passion for Dunya, but kept hiding it behind the appearance of rudeness and contempt for her. Perhaps he was ashamed and horrified himself, seeing that he was not so young anymore and the father of a family, while having such frivolous hopes, and was therefore angry with Dunya involuntarily. Or perhaps by his mockery and the rudeness of his treatment he simply wanted to cover up the truth from everyone else. But in the end he could not restrain himself and dared to make Dunya a vile and explicit proposition, promising her various rewards, above all that he would abandon everything and go with her to another village, or perhaps abroad. You can imagine how she suffered! To leave her position at once was impossible, not only because of the money she owed, but also to spare Marfa Petrovna, who might suddenly have formed suspicions, and it would have meant sowing discord in the family. And for Dunechka, too, it would have been a great scandal; that was unavoidable. There were also many other reasons, so that Dunya could not hope to escape from that terrible house for another six weeks. Of course, you know Dunya, you know how intelligent she is and what a firm character she has. Dunechka can endure much, and even in the most extreme situations she can find enough magnanimity in herself so as not to lose her firmness. She did not write about everything even to me, so as not to upset me, though we exchanged news frequently. The denouement came unexpectedly. Marfa Petrovna chanced to overhear her husband pleading with Dunya in the garden and, misinterpreting everything, laid the whole blame on Dunya, thinking she was the cause of it all. There was a terrible scene between them, right there in the garden: Marfa Petrovna even struck Dunya, refused to listen to anything, and shouted for a whole hour, and in the end ordered Dunya to be sent back to me in town at once, in a simple peasant cart, with all her belongings, linen, clothing thrown into it haphazardly, not even bundled or packed. Just then it started to pour, and Dunya, insulted and disgraced, had to ride with a peasant in an open cart the whole ten miles. Now think, what could I have written you in reply to your letter, which I had received two months earlier, and what could I have said? I was in despair myself; I did not dare write you the truth, because you would have been very unhappy, upset, and indignant, and, besides, what could you have done? You might even have ruined yourself, and, besides, Dunechka kept forbidding me; and to fill a letter with trifles and whatnot, while there was such grief in my soul, was beyond me. For a whole month there was gossip going around town about this story, and it came to the point where Dunya and I could not even go to church because of the scornful looks and whispers and things even said aloud in our presence. And all our acquaintances avoided us, they all even stopped greeting us, and I learned for certain that the shopclerks and officeboys wanted to insult us basely by smearing the gates of our house with tar, [21] so that the landlord began demanding that we move out. The cause of it all was Marfa Petrovna, who succeeded in accusing and besmirching Dunya in all houses. She is acquainted with everyone here, and during that month was constantly coming to town, and being a bit chatty and fond of telling about her family affairs, and especially of complaining about her husband to all and sundry, which is very bad, she spread the whole story in no time, not only around town but all over the district. I became ill, but Dunechka was firmer than I, and if only you could have seen how she bore it all, comforting me and encouraging me! She is an angel! But by God's mercy our torments were shortened: Mr. Svidrigailov thought better of it and repented, and, probably feeling sorry for Dunya, presented Marfa Petrovna with full and obvious proof of Dunechka's complete innocence, in the form of a letter Dunya had been forced to write and send him, even before Marfa Petrovna found them in the garden, declining the personal explanations and secret meetings he was insisting on— which letter had remained in Mr. Svidrigailov's possession after Dunechka's departure. In this letter she reproached him, in the most ardent manner and with the fullest indignation, precisely for his ignoble behavior with respect to Marfa Petrovna, reminding him that he was a father and a family man, and, finally, that it was vile on his part to torment and make unhappy a girl who was already unhappy and defenseless as it was. In short, dear Rodya, this letter was written so nobly and touchingly that I wept as I read it, and to this day cannot read it without tears. Besides, there finally emerged the evidence of the servants to vindicate Dunya; they had seen and knew much more than Mr. Svidrigailov himself supposed, as always happens. Marfa Petrovna was utterly astonished and 'devastated anew,' as she herself confessed to us, but at the same time she became fully convinced of Dunechka's innocence, and the very next day, a Sunday, she went straight to the cathedral, knelt down, and prayed in tears to our sovereign Lady for the strength to endure this new trial and fulfill her duty. Then she came straight from the cathedral to us, without stopping anywhere, told us everything, wept bitterly, and in full repentance embraced Dunya, imploring her forgiveness. That same morning, without the slightest delay, she went straight from us to every house in town, and restored Dunechka's innocence and the nobility of her feelings and behavior everywhere, in terms most flattering to Dunechka, shedding tears all the while. Moreover, she showed everyone the letter Dunechka had written with her own hand to Mr. Svidrigailov, read it aloud, and even let it be copied (which I think was really unnecessary). Thus she had to go around for several days in a row visiting everyone in town, because some were offended that others had been shown preference, and thus turns were arranged, so that she was expected at each house beforehand and everyone knew that on such-and-such a day Marfa Petrovna would read the letter in such-and-such a house, and for each reading people even gathered who had heard the letter several times already, in their own homes and in their friends' as well. It is my opinion that much, very much of this was unnecessary; but that is Marfa Petrovna's character. In any case she fully restored Dunechka's honor, and all the vileness of the affair lay as an indelible disgrace on her husband as the chief culprit, so that I am even sorry for him; the madcap was dealt with all too harshly. Dunya was immediately invited to give lessons in several houses, but she refused. Generally, everyone suddenly began treating her with particular respect. All of this contributed greatly towards that unexpected occasion by means of which our whole fate, one might say, is now changing. You should know, dear Rodya, that a suitor has asked to marry Dunya, and that she has already had time to give her consent, of which I hasten to inform you as quickly as possible. And although this matter got done without your advice, you will probably not bear any grudge against me or your sister, for you will see from the matter itself that it was impossible to wait and delay until we received your answer. And you could not have discussed everything in detail without being here yourself. This is how it happened. He is already a court councillor, [22] Pyotr Petrovich Luzhin, and a distant relation of Marfa Petrovna, who contributed much to all this. He began by expressing, through her, the desire of making our acquaintance; he was received properly, had coffee, and the very next day sent a letter in which he quite politely expressed his proposal and asked for a speedy and decisive answer. He is a man of affairs and busy, and he is now hastening to go to Petersburg, so that every minute is precious to him. Of course, we were quite amazed at first, because it all happened too quickly and unexpectedly. We spent that whole day reasoning and considering together. He is a trustworthy and established man; he serves in two posts, and already has his own capital. True, he is already forty-five years old, but he is of rather pleasing appearance and can still be attractive to women, and generally he is quite a solid and decent man, only a bit sullen and, as it were, arrogant. But perhaps he only seems so at first sight. And let me warn you, dear Rodya, when you meet him in Petersburg, which will happen very soon, do not judge him too quickly and rashly, as you tend to do, if something in him does not appeal at first sight. I am saying this just in case, though I am sure he will make a pleasant impression on you. And besides, if one wants to know any man well, one must consider him gradually and carefully, so as not to fall into error and prejudice, which are very difficult to correct and smooth out later. And Pyotr Petrovich, at least from many indications, is a quite respectable man. At his very first visit, he declared to us that he was a positive man, but in many ways shares, as he himself put it, 'the convictions of our newest generations,' and is an enemy of all prejudices. He said much more as well, because he seems to be somewhat vain and likes very much to be listened to, but that is almost not a vice. I, of course, understood little, but Dunya explained to me that, though he is a man of small education, he is intelligent and seems to be kind. You know your sister's character, Rodya. She is a firm, reasonable, patient, and magnanimous girl, though she has an ardent heart, as I have come to know very well. Of course, there is no special love either on her side or on his, but Dunya, besides being an intelligent girl, is at the same time a noble being, like an angel, and will regard it as her duty to ensure the happiness of her husband, who in turn would be looking out for her happiness, and this last point, so far, we have no great reason to doubt, though one must admit that the matter has been done a bit too quickly. Besides, he is a very calculating man and, of course, will see for himself that the happier Dunechka is with him, the more his own marital happiness will be assured. And as for some unevenness of character, some old habits, perhaps also some differences of thinking (which cannot be avoided even in the happiest marriages), Dunechka has told me that in this respect she trusts to herself; that there is nothing here to worry about, and that she can endure much, provided their further relations are honest and just. At first, for example, he seemed somewhat abrupt to me; but that could be precisely the result of his being a straightforward man, and so it must be. For example, at his second visit, when he had already received her consent, he expressed in the course of the conversation that even before knowing Dunya he had made up his mind to marry an honest girl without a dowry, one who must already have experienced hardship; because, as he explained, a husband ought to owe nothing to his wife, but it is much better if a wife looks upon her husband as a benefactor. I should add that he expressed it somewhat more softly and tenderly than I have written it, because I have forgotten his actual expression and remember only the thought, and, besides, it was by no means said deliberately, but apparently escaped him in the heat of the conversation, so that he even tried to amend and soften it afterwards; but all the same it seemed to me a bit abrupt, as it were, and I later said so to Dunya. But Dunya answered me, even with some vexation, that 'words are not yet deeds,' and, of course, that is true. The night before she made her decision, Dunechka did not sleep at all and, thinking that I was already asleep, got out of bed and paced up and down the room all night; finally she knelt and prayed ardently before the icon for a long time, and in the morning announced to me that she had made her decision.
21
It was a custom of local people in small towns or villages to smear with tar the gates of someone against whom they wanted to express their moral indignation.