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Updated: June 1, 2025
His room was so small that he could undo the latch without leaving the bed. Yes; the porter and Nastasya were standing there. Nastasya stared at him in a strange way. He glanced with a defiant and desperate air at the porter, who without a word held out a grey folded paper sealed with bottle-wax. "A notice from the office," he announced, as he gave him the paper. "From what office?"
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. "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?"
"He's got round her," Nastasya murmured, smiling slyly. "Why don't you put the sugar in your tea, Nastasya Nikiforovna?" "You are a one!" Nastasya cried suddenly, going off into a giggle. "I am not Nikiforovna, but Petrovna," she added suddenly, recovering from her mirth. "I'll make a note of it.
When their legs and their tongues had brought them to Little Lower Street they were both red in the face, and taking off their hats, wiped away the perspiration. "Tell me, please," said Ivan Ivanitch, addressing an old man sitting on a little bench by a gate, "where is Nastasya Petrovna Toskunov's house?" "There is no one called Toskunov here," said the old man, after pondering a moment.
I have been in three monasteries, but they told me, ‘Go, Nastasya, go to them’—that is to you. I have come; I was yesterday at the service, and to-day I have come to you.” “What are you weeping for?” “It’s my little son I’m grieving for, Father. He was three years old—three years all but three months. For my little boy, Father, I’m in anguish, for my little boy. He was the last one left.
I am convinced that he suffered dreadfully from terror, especially on the night before he started that awful night. Nastasya mentioned afterwards that he had gone to bed late and fallen asleep. But that proves nothing; men sentenced to death sleep very soundly, they say, even the night before their execution.
"Il etait seul, bien seul, but there was some one else dans l'antichambre, oui, je m'en souviens, et puis... Though I believe there was some one else besides, and there was a guard standing in the entry. You must ask Nastasya; she knows all about it better than I do. J'etais surexcite, voyez-vous.
Nastasya still stood over him, watching him. "Give me something to drink... Nastasya." She went downstairs and returned with a white earthenware jug of water. He remembered only swallowing one sip of the cold water and spilling some on his neck. Then followed forgetfulness.
No doubt a certain desperation in his feelings softened at first the terrible sensation of sudden solitude in which he at once found himself as soon as he had left Nastasya, and the corner in which he had been warm and snug for twenty years. But it made no difference; even with the clearest recognition of all the horrors awaiting him he would have gone out to the high road and walked along it!
And yet I wouldn't go out of it! I wouldn't on purpose! I didn't go out for days together, and I wouldn't work, I wouldn't even eat, I just lay there doing nothing. If Nastasya brought me anything, I ate it, if she didn't, I went all day without; I wouldn't ask, on purpose, from sulkiness! At night I had no light, I lay in the dark and I wouldn't earn money for candles.
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