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Updated: June 10, 2025
"Good heavens, Dounia, what is going to happen?" said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, addressing her daughter with anxiety and dismay. "Don't worry yourself, mother," said Dounia, taking off her hat and cape. "God has sent this gentleman to our aid, though he has come from a drinking party. We can depend on him, I assure you. And all that he has done for Rodya...." "Ah.
But where are you off to, Rodya?" "What, Rodya, you are going already?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna asked in dismay. "At such a minute?" cried Razumihin. Dounia looked at her brother with incredulous wonder. He held his cap in his hand, he was preparing to leave them. "One would think you were burying me or saying good-bye for ever," he said somewhat oddly.
"What are you saying, Rodya?" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. She, too, was surprised. "Is he answering us as a duty?" Dounia wondered. "Is he being reconciled and asking forgiveness as though he were performing a rite or repeating a lesson?"
"Oh, I'm quite obliged to..." he answered vaguely, as though hesitating what he would say. But there was a look of sharp determination in his white face. "I meant to say... as I was coming here... I meant to tell you, mother, and you, Dounia, that it would be better for us to part for a time. I feel ill, I am not at peace.... I will come afterwards, I will come of myself... when it's possible.
"You don't think, sister, that I was simply afraid of the water?" he asked, looking into her face with a sinister smile. "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. "It's late, it's time to go! I am going at once to give myself up.
She understands the man, of course, but she will have to live with the man. Why! she'd live on black bread and water, she would not sell her soul, she would not barter her moral freedom for comfort; she would not barter it for all Schleswig-Holstein, much less Mr. Luzhin's money. No, Dounia was not that sort when I knew her and... she is still the same, of course!
"Here's the key." He took it out of the left pocket of his coat and laid it on the table behind him, without turning or looking at Dounia. "Take it! Make haste!" He looked stubbornly out of the window. Dounia went up to the table to take the key. "Make haste! Make haste!" repeated Svidrigailov, still without turning or moving.
"Mother, show Rodya Pyotr Petrovitch's letter," said Dounia. With trembling hands, Pulcheria Alexandrovna gave him the letter. He took it with great interest, but, before opening it, he suddenly looked with a sort of wonder at Dounia. "It is strange," he said, slowly, as though struck by a new idea. "What am I making such a fuss for? What is it all about? Marry whom you like!"
You are intentionally lying, simply from feminine obstinacy, simply to hold your own against me.... You cannot respect Luzhin. I have seen him and talked with him. So you are selling yourself for money, and so in any case you are acting basely, and I am glad at least that you can blush for it." "It is not true. I am not lying," cried Dounia, losing her composure.
He had called on Raskolnikov with the feelings of a benefactor who is about to reap the fruits of his good deeds and to hear agreeable flattery. And as he went downstairs now, he considered himself most undeservedly injured and unrecognised. Dounia was simply essential to him; to do without her was unthinkable.
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