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

me, but I won’t come with you; here we are at home. By the way, I am convinced that you regard me with suspicion just because I have shown such delicacy and have not so far troubled you with questions … you understand? It struck you as

extraordinary; I don’t mind betting it’s that. Well, it teaches one to show delicacy!’

‘And to listen at doors!’

‘Ah, that’s it, is it?’ laughed Svidrigaïlov. ‘Yes, I should have been surprised if you had let that pass after all that has happened. Ha-ha! Though I did understand something of the pranks you had been up to and were telling Sofya Semyonovna about, what was the meaning of it? Perhaps I am quite behind the times and can’t understand. For goodness’ sake, explain it, my dear boy. Expound the latest theories!’

‘You couldn’t have heard anything. You’re making it all up!’

‘But I’m not talking about that (though I did hear something). No, I’m talking of the way you keep sighing and groaning now. The Schiller in you is in revolt every moment, and now you tell me not to listen at doors. If that’s how you feel, go and inform the police that you had 855 of 967

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this mischance: you made a little mistake in your theory.

But if you are convinced that one mustn’t listen at doors, but one may murder old women at one’s pleasure, you’d better be off to America and make haste. Run, young man! There may still be time. I’m speaking sincerely.

Haven’t you the money? I’ll give you the fare.’

‘I’m not thinking of that at all,’ Raskolnikov interrupted with disgust.

‘I understand (but don’t put yourself out, don’t discuss it if you don’t want to). I understand the questions you are worrying over— moral ones, aren’t they? Duties of citizen and man? Lay them all aside. They are nothing to you now, ha-ha! You’ll say you are still a man and a citizen. If so you ought not to have got into this coil. It’s no use taking up a job you are not fit for. Well, you’d better shoot yourself, or don’t you want to?’

‘You seem trying to enrage me, to make me leave you.’

‘What a queer fellow! But here we are. Welcome to the staircase. You see, that’s the way to Sofya Semyonovna. Look, there is no one at home. Don’t you believe me? Ask Kapernaumov. She leaves the key with him. Here is Madame de Kapernaumov herself. Hey, what? She is rather deaf. Has she gone out? Where? Did you hear? She is not in and won’t be till late in the 856 of 967

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evening probably. Well, come to my room; you wanted to come and see me, didn’t you? Here we are. Madame Resslich’s not at home. She is a woman who is always busy, an excellent woman I assure you…. She might have been of use to you if you had been a little more sensible.

Now, see! I take this five-per-cent bond out of the bureau—see what a lot I’ve got of them still—this one will be turned into cash to-day. I mustn’t waste any more time.

The bureau is locked, the flat is locked, and here we are again on the stairs. Shall we take a cab? I’m going to the Islands. Would you like a lift? I’ll take this carriage. Ah, you refuse? You are tired of it! Come for a drive! I believe it will come on to rain. Never mind, we’ll put down the hood….’

Svidrigaïlov was already in the carriage. Raskolnikov decided that his suspicions were at least for that moment unjust. Without answering a word he turned and walked back towards the Hay Market. If he had only turned round on his way he might have seen Svidrigaïlov get out not a hundred paces off, dismiss the cab and walk along the pavement. But he had turned the corner and could see nothing. Intense disgust drew him away from Svidrigaïlov.

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‘To think that I could for one instant have looked for help from that coarse brute, that depraved sensualist and blackguard!’ he cried.

Raskolnikov’s judgment was uttered too lightly and hastily: there was something about Svidrigaïlov which gave him a certain original, even a mysterious character.

As concerned his sister, Raskolnikov was convinced that Svidrigaïlov would not leave her in peace. But it was too tiresome and unbearable to go on thinking and thinking about this.

When he was alone, he had not gone twenty paces before he sank, as usual, into deep thought. On the bridge he stood by the railing and began gazing at the water. And his sister was standing close by him.

He met her at the entrance to the bridge, but passed by without seeing her. Dounia had never met him like this in the street before and was struck with dismay. She stood still and did not know whether to call to him or not.

Suddenly she saw Svidrigaïlov coming quickly from the direction of the Hay Market.

He seemed to be approaching cautiously. He did not go on to the bridge, but stood aside on the pavement, doing all he could to avoid Raskolnikov’s seeing him. He had observed Dounia for some time and had been making 858 of 967

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signs to her. She fancied he was signalling to beg her not to speak to her brother, but to come to him.

That was what Dounia did. She stole by her brother and went up to Svidrigaïlov.

‘Let us make haste away,’ Svidrigaïlov whispered to her, ‘I don’t want Rodion Romanovitch to know of our meeting. I must tell you I’ve been sitting with him in the restaurant close by, where he looked me up and I had great difficulty in getting rid of him. He has somehow heard of my letter to you and suspects something. It wasn’t you who told him, of course, but if not you, who then?’

‘Well, we’ve turned the corner now,’ Dounia

interrupted, ‘and my brother won’t see us. I have to tell you that I am going no further with you. Speak to me here. You can tell it all in the street.’

‘In the first place, I can’t say it in the street; secondly, you must hear Sofya Semyonovna too; and, thirdly, I will show you some papers…. Oh well, if you won’t agree to come with me, I shall refuse to give any explanation and go away at once. But I beg you not to forget that a very curious secret of your beloved brother’s is entirely in my keeping.’

Dounia stood still, hesitating, and looked at Svidrigaïlov with searching eyes.

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‘What are you afraid of?’ he observed quietly. ‘The town is not the country. And even in the country you did me more harm than I did you.’

‘Have you prepared Sofya Semyonovna?’

‘No, I have not said a word to her and am not quite certain whether she is at home now. But most likely she is. She has buried her stepmother to-day: she is not likely to go visiting on such a day. For the time I don’t want to speak to anyone about it and I half regret having spoken to you. The slightest indiscretion is as bad as betrayal in a thing like this. I live there in that house, we are coming to it. That’s the porter of our house—he knows me very well; you see, he’s bowing; he sees I’m coming with a lady and no doubt he has noticed your face already and you will be glad of that if you are afraid of me and suspicious.

Excuse my putting things so coarsely. I haven’t a flat to myself; Sofya Semyonovna’s room is next to mine—she lodges in the next flat. The whole floor is let out in lodgings. Why are you frightened like a child? Am I really so terrible?’

Svidrigaïlov’s lips were twisted in a condescending smile; but he was in no smiling mood. His heart was throbbing and he could scarcely breathe. He spoke rather loud to cover his growing excitement. But Dounia did not 860 of 967

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notice this peculiar excitement, she was so irritated by his remark that she was frightened of him like a child and that he was so terrible to her.

‘Though I know that you are not a man … of honour, I am not in the least afraid of you. Lead the way,’ she said with apparent composure, but her face was very pale.

Svidrigaïlov stopped at Sonia’s room.

‘Allow me to inquire whether she is at home…. She is not. How unfortunate! But I know she may come quite soon. If she’s gone out, it can only be to see a lady about the orphans. Their mother is dead…. I’ve been meddling and making arrangements for them. If Sofya Semyonovna does not come back in ten minutes, I will send her to you, to-day if you like. This is my flat. These are my two rooms. Madame Resslich, my landlady, has the next room.

Now, look this way. I will show you my chief piece of evidence: this door from my bedroom leads into two perfectly empty rooms, which are to let. Here they are …

You must look into them with some attention.’

Svidrigaïlov occupied two fairly large furnished rooms.

Dounia was looking about her mistrustfully, but saw nothing special in the furniture or position of the rooms.

Yet there was something to observe, for instance, that Svidrigaïlov’s flat was exactly between two sets of almost 861 of 967

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uninhabited apartments. His rooms were not entered directly from the passage, but through the landlady’s two almost empty rooms. Unlocking a door leading out of his bedroom, Svidrigaïlov showed Dounia the two empty rooms that were to let. Dounia stopped in the doorway, not knowing what she was called to look upon, but Svidrigaïlov hastened to explain.

‘Look here, at this second large room. Notice that door, it’s locked. By the door stands a chair, the only one in the two rooms. I brought it from my rooms so as to listen more conveniently. Just the other side of the door is Sofya Semyonovna’s table; she sat there talking to Rodion Romanovitch. And I sat here listening on two successive evenings, for two hours each time—and of course I was able to learn something, what do you think?’

‘You listened?’

‘Yes, I did. Now come back to my room; we can’t sit down here.’

He brought Avdotya Romanovna back into his sitting-room and offered her a chair. He sat down at the opposite side of the table, at least seven feet from her, but probably there was the same glow in his eyes which had once frightened Dounia so much. She shuddered and once more looked about her distrustfully. It was an involuntary 862 of 967

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gesture; she evidently did not wish to betray her uneasiness. But the secluded position of Svidrigaïlov’s lodging had suddenly struck her. She wanted to ask whether his landlady at least were at home, but pride kept her from asking. Moreover, she had another trouble in her heart incomparably greater than fear for herself. She was in great distress.

‘Here is your letter,’ she said, laying it on the table.

‘Can it be true what you write? You hint at a crime committed, you say, by my brother. You hint at it too clearly; you daren’t deny it now. I must tell you that I’d heard of this stupid story before you wrote and don’t believe a word of it. It’s a disgusting and ridiculous suspicion. I know the story and why and how it was invented. You can have no proofs. You promised to prove it. Speak! But let me warn you that I don’t believe you! I don’t believe you!’

Dounia said this, speaking hurriedly, and for an instant the colour rushed to her face.

‘If you didn’t believe it, how could you risk coming alone to my rooms? Why have you come? Simply from curiosity?’

‘Don’t torment me. Speak, speak!’

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