Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoevsky (mini ebook reader .TXT) 📗

‘How can I tell you? How do I know? You see in what a tavern I spend all my time and it’s my enjoyment, that’s to say it’s no great enjoyment, but one must sit somewhere; that poor Katia now—you saw her? … If only I had been a glutton now, a club gourmand, but you see I can eat this.’

He pointed to a little table in the corner where the remnants of a terrible-looking beef-steak and potatoes lay on a tin dish.

‘Have you dined, by the way? I’ve had something and want nothing more. I don’t drink, for instance, at all.

Except for champagne I never touch anything, and not more than a glass of that all the evening, and even that is enough to make my head ache. I ordered it just now to wind myself up, for I am just going off somewhere and you see me in a peculiar state of mind. That was why I hid myself just now like a schoolboy, for I was afraid you would hinder me. But I believe,’ he pulled out his watch,

‘I can spend an hour with you. It’s half-past four now. If only I’d been something, a landowner, a father, a cavalry officer, a photographer, a journalist … I am nothing, no 828 of 967

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specialty, and sometimes I am positively bored. I really thought you would tell me something new.’

‘But what are you, and why have you come here?’

‘What am I? You know, a gentleman, I served for two years in the cavalry, then I knocked about here in Petersburg, then I married Marfa Petrovna and lived in the country. There you have my biography!’

‘You are a gambler, I believe?’

‘No, a poor sort of gambler. A card-sharper—not a gambler.’

‘You have been a card-sharper then?’

‘Yes, I’ve been a card-sharper too.’

‘Didn’t you get thrashed sometimes?’

‘It did happen. Why?’

‘Why, you might have challenged them … altogether it must have been lively.’

‘I won’t contradict you, and besides I am no hand at philosophy. I confess that I hastened here for the sake of the women.’

‘As soon as you buried Marfa Petrovna?’

‘Quite so,’ Svidrigaïlov smiled with engaging candour.

‘What of it? You seem to find something wrong in my speaking like that about women?’

‘You ask whether I find anything wrong in vice?’

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‘Vice! Oh, that’s what you are after! But I’ll answer you in order, first about women in general; you know I am fond of talking. Tell me, what should I restrain myself for?

Why should I give up women, since I have a passion for them? It’s an occupation, anyway.’

‘So you hope for nothing here but vice?’

‘Oh, very well, for vice then. You insist on its being vice. But anyway I like a direct question. In this vice at least there is something permanent, founded indeed upon nature and not dependent on fantasy, something present in the blood like an ever-burning ember, for ever setting one on fire and, maybe, not to be quickly extinguished, even with years. You’ll agree it’s an occupation of a sort.’

‘That’s nothing to rejoice at, it’s a disease and a dangerous one.’

‘Oh, that’s what you think, is it! I agree, that it is a disease like everything that exceeds moderation. And, of course, in this one must exceed moderation. But in the first place, everybody does so in one way or another, and in the second place, of course, one ought to be moderate and prudent, however mean it may be, but what am I to do? If I hadn’t this, I might have to shoot myself. I am ready to admit that a decent man ought to put up with being bored, but yet …’

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‘And could you shoot yourself?’

‘Oh, come!’ Svidrigaïlov parried with disgust. ‘Please don’t speak of it,’ he added hurriedly and with none of the bragging tone he had shown in all the previous conversation. His face quite changed. ‘I admit it’s an unpardonable weakness, but I can’t help it. I am afraid of death and I dislike its being talked of. Do you know that I am to a certain extent a mystic?’

‘Ah, the apparitions of Marfa Petrovna! Do they still go on visiting you?’

‘Oh, don’t talk of them; there have been no more in Petersburg, confound them!’ he cried with an air of irritation. ‘Let’s rather talk of that … though … H’m! I have not much time, and can’t stay long with you, it’s a pity! I should have found plenty to tell you.’

‘What’s your engagement, a woman?’

‘Yes, a woman, a casual incident…. No, that’s not what I want to talk of.’

‘And the hideousness, the filthiness of all your surroundings, doesn’t that affect you? Have you lost the strength to stop yourself?’

‘And do you pretend to strength, too? He-he-he! You surprised me just now, Rodion Romanovitch, though I knew beforehand it would be so. You preach to me about 831 of 967

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vice and æsthetics! You—a Schiller, you—an idealist! Of course that’s all as it should be and it would be surprising if it were not so, yet it is strange in reality…. Ah, what a pity I have no time, for you’re a most interesting type! And, by-the-way, are you fond of Schiller? I am awfully fond of him.’

‘But what a braggart you are,’ Raskolnikov said with some disgust.

‘Upon my word, I am not,’ answered Svidrigaïlov laughing. ‘However, I won’t dispute it, let me be a braggart, why not brag, if it hurts no one? I spent seven years in the country with Marfa Petrovna, so now when I come across an intelligent person like you—intelligent and highly interesting—I am simply glad to talk and, besides, I’ve drunk that half-glass of champagne and it’s gone to my head a little. And besides, there’s a certain fact that has wound me up tremendously, but about that I … will keep quiet. Where are you off to?’ he asked in alarm.

Raskolnikov had begun getting up. He felt oppressed and stifled and, as it were, ill at ease at having come here.

He felt convinced that Svidrigaïlov was the most worthless scoundrel on the face of the earth.

‘A-ach! Sit down, stay a little!’ Svidrigaïlov begged. ‘Let them bring you some tea, anyway. Stay a little, I won’t 832 of 967

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talk nonsense, about myself, I mean. I’ll tell you something. If you like I’ll tell you how a woman tried ‘to save’ me, as you would call it? It will be an answer to your first question indeed, for the woman was your sister. May I tell you? It will help to spend the time.’

‘Tell me, but I trust that you …’

‘Oh, don’t be uneasy. Besides, even in a worthless low fellow like me, Avdotya Romanovna can only excite the deepest respect.’

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Chapter IV

‘You know perhaps—yes, I told you myself,’ began Svidrigaïlov, ‘that I was in the debtors’ prison here, for an immense sum, and had not any expectation of being able to pay it. There’s no need to go into particulars how Marfa Petrovna bought me out; do you know to what a point of insanity a woman can sometimes love? She was an honest woman, and very sensible, although completely uneducated. Would you believe that this honest and jealous woman, after many scenes of hysterics and reproaches, condescended to enter into a kind of contract with me which she kept throughout our married life? She was considerably older than I, and besides, she always kept a clove or something in her mouth. There was so much swinishness in my soul and honesty too, of a sort, as to tell her straight out that I couldn’t be absolutely faithful to her.

This confession drove her to frenzy, but yet she seems in a way to have liked my brutal frankness. She thought it showed I was unwilling to deceive her if I warned her like this beforehand and for a jealous woman, you know, that’s the first consideration. After many tears an unwritten contract was drawn up between us: first, that I would 834 of 967

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never leave Marfa Petrovna and would always be her husband; secondly, that I would never absent myself without her permission; thirdly, that I would never set up a permanent mistress; fourthly, in return for this, Marfa Petrovna gave me a free hand with the maidservants, but only with her secret knowledge; fifthly, God forbid my falling in love with a woman of our class; sixthly, in case I—which God forbid—should be visited by a great serious passion I was bound to reveal it to Marfa Petrovna. On this last score, however, Marfa Petrovna was fairly at ease.

She was a sensible woman and so she could not help looking upon me as a dissolute profligate incapable of real love. But a sensible woman and a jealous woman are two very different things, and that’s where the trouble came in.

But to judge some people impartially we must renounce certain preconceived opinions and our habitual attitude to the ordinary people about us. I have reason to have faith in your judgment rather than in anyone’s. Perhaps you have already heard a great deal that was ridiculous and absurd about Marfa Petrovna. She certainly had some very ridiculous ways, but I tell you frankly that I feel really sorry for the innumerable woes of which I was the cause.

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husband. When we quarrelled, I usually held my tongue and did not irritate her and that gentlemanly conduct rarely failed to attain its object, it influenced her, it pleased her, indeed. These were times when she was positively proud of me. But your sister she couldn’t put up with, anyway. And however she came to risk taking such a beautiful creature into her house as a governess. My explanation is that Marfa Petrovna was an ardent and impressionable woman and simply fell in love herself—

literally fell in love—with your sister. Well, little wonder—look at Avdotya Romanovna! I saw the danger at the first glance and what do you think, I resolved not to look at her even. But Avdotya Romanovna herself made the first step, would you believe it? Would you believe it too that Marfa Petrovna was positively angry with me at first for my persistent silence about your sister, for my careless reception of her continual adoring praises of Avdotya Romanovna. I don’t know what it was she wanted! Well, of course, Marfa Petrovna told Avdotya Romanovna every detail about me. She had the

unfortunate habit of telling literally everyone all our family secrets and continually complaining of me; how could she fail to confide in such a delightful new friend? I expect they talked of nothing else but me and no doubt Avdotya 836 of 967

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Romanovna heard all those dark mysterious rumours that were current about me…. I don’t mind betting that you too have heard something of the sort already?’

‘I have. Luzhin charged you with having caused the death of a child. Is that true?’

‘Don’t refer to those vulgar tales, I beg,’ said Svidrigaïlov with disgust and annoyance. ‘If you insist on wanting to know about all that idiocy, I will tell you one day, but now …’

‘I was told too about some footman of yours in the country whom you treated badly.’

‘I beg you to drop the subject,’ Svidrigaïlov interrupted again with obvious impatience.

‘Was that the footman who came to you after death to fill your pipe? … you told me about it yourself.’

Raskolnikov felt more and more irritated.

Svidrigaïlov looked at him attentively and Raskolnikov fancied he caught a flash of spiteful mockery in that look.

But Svidrigaïlov restrained himself and answered very civilly:

‘Yes, it was. I see that you, too, are extremely interested and