Crime and Punishment (54 page)

As he said this, Svidrigailov was the very model of calm and composure.

‘I think you'd better stop,’ Raskolnikov said. ‘What you're saying is outrageously insolent.’

‘Not in the least. If that were so, people would be able to do one another nothing but harm in this world, and not even possess the right to do a single crumb of good, merely because of some empty accepted convention. That's absurd. I mean, suppose I were to die, and left that sum to your sister in my will, do you really think she'd refuse it then?’

‘It's highly probable.’

‘Well, I suppose that means she would, sir. Oh well, if she would, she would, so be it. Only ten thousand is not a bad thing to have, it can come in handy. All the same, I'd be obliged if you would pass on to Avdotya Romanovna what I've said to you.’

‘No, I won't.’

‘In that case, Rodion Romanovich, I shall be compelled to try to obtain a personal interview with her myself, and may consequently upset her.’

‘And if I do pass on to her what you said, you won't try to see her in person – is that it?’

‘I really don't know what to say to you. I'd very much like to see her just once.’

‘Don't rely on it.’

‘Pity. But then, you don't really know me, do you? Perhaps we shall come to be on closer terms with each other.’

‘You think that's likely, do you?’

‘Why ever not?’ Svidrigailov said, smiling. He got up and took his hat. ‘I mean, after all, I really didn't mean to trouble you very much by coming here, and didn't even have any particularly clear idea in my head of what it was I expected to gain by it, though I must say, the look on your face this morning did startle me somewhat…’

‘Where did you see me this morning?’ Raskolnikov asked, uneasily.

‘Oh, somewhere or other, I don't remember now, sir… I still keep thinking there's something about you that resembles myself… And I mean, don't worry, I'm not an utter bore; I used to get along all right with the card-sharpers; Prince Svirbey, who's an important fellow and a distant relative of mine, didn't find my company boring; I was able to write a few lines about Raphael's Madonna in Mrs Prilukova's visiting album; I lived
with Marfa Petrovna for seven years quite literally without a break; I've even spent nights in the Vyazemsky
⁸
down on the Haymarket; and I may go up in Berg's balloon.’

‘Very well, then. May I ask if you're planning to make your journey soon?’

‘What journey?’

‘Oh, the
voyage
, or whatever it was you were talking about… You know what I mean.’

‘The
voyage
? Ah, yes!… Quite so, I did indeed mention my
voyage
to you… Well, that's rather a long story… And I mean, if you only knew what you're asking me about!’ he added, and suddenly gave a short, loud burst of laughter. ‘Actually, I may get married instead of going on my
voyage
; I'm in the process of finding a wife.’

‘Here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Whenever did you get time?’

‘But even so, I would very much like to see Avdotya Romanovna just once. I do implore you most seriously. Well,
au revoir
… Ah, yes! I know what it was I forgot! Rodion Romanovich, please tell your sister that Marfa Petrovna has left her three thousand roubles in her will. It's absolutely true. Marfa Petrovna made the stipulation a week before her death, and I helped her to sign the particulars. Avdotya Romanovna may even receive the money in two or three weeks’ time.’

‘Are you telling the truth?’

‘The truth. Convey it to her. Well, sir – your servant. Why, I reside not far from you at all.’

On his way out through the doorway, Svidrigailov collided with Razumikhin.

It was almost eight o'clock; they were both hurrying to Bakaleyev's Tenements, in order to get there before Luzhin.

‘I say, who was that?’ Razumikhin asked, as soon as they were out in the street.

‘Oh, that was Svidrigailov, the landowner I told you about in whose home my sister was ill-treated when she worked as a governess there. It was because of his amorous attentions that she had to give up that post – Marfa Petrovna turned her out. This Marfa Petrovna subsequently asked Dunya to forgive her, but now she's suddenly died. She's the woman we were talking about earlier today. I don't know why, but that man really gives me the creeps. He has arrived in town having only just buried his wife. He's a very strange character, and has some sort of desperate plan… It's as if he knows something… Dunya must be protected from him… that's what I wanted to tell you – are you listening?’

‘Protected? What can he possibly do to Avdotya Romanovna? Well, if you say so, Rodya – thank you for keeping me informed… Yes, by all means let's protect her!… Where's he staying?’

‘I don't know.’

‘Why didn't you ask him? Damn, that's a pity! But don't worry, I'll find out.’

‘Did you see him?’ Raskolnikov asked, after a short silence.

‘Oh yes, I made a note of him; a firm, mental note.’

‘You're sure you saw him? Actually saw him?’ Raskolnikov said, insistently.

‘Yes, I'd remember him anywhere; I've got a good memory for faces.’

Again they said nothing for a while.

‘Hm… there we are, then…’ Raskolnikov muttered. ‘But you know… at the time I thought… indeed I still do… that what I saw there might have been some kind of fantasy.’

‘What on earth are you talking about? I don't think I quite understand.’

‘Well,’ Raskolnikov went on, contorting his mouth into a smile, ‘you all say that I'm crazy; so just now I even thought it might be true, and I'd merely seen a ghost!’

‘What?’

‘I mean – who knows? Perhaps I really am crazy, and all the things that have happened these last few days have simply been in my imagination…’

‘Oh, Rodya! We've upset you again!… But what was he saying, why had he come to see you?’

Raskolnikov made no reply. Razumikhin thought for a moment.

‘Well, then, listen to what I've got to tell you,’ he began. ‘I came up to see you, but you were asleep. Then we ate dinner, and after that I went back to see Porfiry. Zamyotov was still with him. I started to try to talk to them, but I couldn't get anywhere. I couldn't communicate with them properly. It's as if they don't understand and are incapable of understanding, yet it doesn't seem to bother them one bit. I drew Porfiry over to the window and began to talk to him, but again I couldn't get anywhere: he kept looking away, and so did I. In the end I brought my fist up to his ugly mug and told him, as one relative to another, that I'd smash his skull. He just looked at me. I spat and went out, and that was it. Really silly. I didn't exchange a word with Zamyotov. But there's one thing you should note: I thought I'd gone and ruined everything, but as I was on my way down the staircase a certain thought occurred to me, one that fairly made me think: what are we making all the fuss about? I mean, if you were in some danger, or something of that sort, I could understand it. But I mean, why should you worry? None of this has anything to do with you, so my advice is – spit on them; we'll laugh at them later on, when it's all over, but if I were in your shoes I'd start mystifying them a bit, too. I mean, how ashamed of themselves they'll be later on! Spit on them; later on we'll give them a beating, too, too, but in the meanwhile let's just have a good laugh to ourselves!’

‘Yes, it stands to reason,’ Raskolnikov answered. ‘But what will you be saying tomorrow?’ he thought to himself. Strangely enough, he had not yet once been visited by the notion: ‘What will Razumikhin say when he finds out?’ With it now in his mind, Raskolnikov gave him a close look. The account Razumikhin had just given of his visit to Porfiry's had been of very little interest to him: so much water had flowed under the bridge since then!…

In the corridor they bumped into Luzhin; he had turned up punctually at eight o'clock and was now searching for the room, with the result that all three of them made their entrance together, but without looking at one another and without saying
hallo. The young men went in ahead, while Pyotr Petrovich, for the sake of common decency, hung around in the vestibule for a while, taking off his coat. Pulkheria Aleksandrovna at once came out to greet him in the doorway. Dunya said hallo to her brother.

Pyotr Petrovich came in and exchanged greetings with the ladies politely enough, though with redoubled sedateness. He looked, however, as though he had been slightly put off his guard and had not yet quite recovered it. Pulkheria Aleksandrovna, who also seemed rather shy, made haste to allot places to everyone at the round table, on which a samovar was bubbling. Dunya and Luzhin were given seats opposite each other on either side of the table. Razumikhin and Raskolnikov ended up opposite Pulkheria Aleksandrovna – Razumikhin next to Luzhin and Raskolnikov beside his sister.

A momentary silence ensued. Pyotr Petrovich unhurriedly took out a lawn handkerchief that smelt of scent and blew his nose with the air of a man who, although virtuous, had none the less received a certain affront to his dignity, and was, moreover, firmly resolved to obtain an explanation. Out in the hallway he had wondered whether it might be better not to take his coat off at all, but to leave and to go away, thereby visiting upon both ladies a severe and damning punishment, such as would instantly make them aware of the whole depth of his feelings. This, however, he did not quite dare to do. What was more, this was a man who could not abide uncertainty: if his instructions had so flagrantly been violated, that meant something must be going on, and whatever it was he had better find out before it led anywhere; there would, after all, be plenty of time for punishments later on, and it lay in his power to administer them.

‘Your journey was satisfactory, I trust?’ he said, addressing Pulkheria Aleksandrovna in an official-sounding tone.

‘Yes, Pyotr Petrovich – thanks be to God.’

‘I am unconscionably pleased to hear it, madam. I trust Avdotya Romanovna did not find it too tiring, either?’

‘Oh, I'm young and strong, but mother had a dreadful time,’ Dunya answered.

‘What is one to do, madam; our national railroads are unconscionably long. The so-called “Mother Russia” is great in more senses than one… I am afraid that, all my wishes to the contrary, I was totally unable to be at the station to meet you yesterday. I trust, however, that everything went off without too much bother?’

‘Well as a matter of fact, Pyotr Petrovich, we were very dismayed,’ Pulkheria Aleksandrovna said quickly, in a peculiar tone of voice, ‘and if God Himself had not sent us Dmitry Prokofich yesterday, we would quite simply have been lost. Here he is, Dmitry Prokofich Razumikhin,’ she added, introducing him to Luzhin.

‘Ah yes, I had the pleasure… yesterday,’ Luzhin muttered; he gave Razumikhin a hostile, sideways look, then frowned and fell silent. On the whole, Pyotr Petrovich belonged to that category of men who, when observed in society, appear extremely amiable and make a special virtue of their amiability, but who, as soon as anything is not quite to their liking, at once lose all their inner resources and become more reminiscent of sacks of flour than easy-going cavaliers whose task it is to enliven the company. Again they all fell silent: Raskolnikov kept resolutely taciturn, Avdotya Romanovna did not want to break the silence prematurely, Razumikhin could think of nothing to say, with the result that Pulkheria Aleksandrovna flew into another flap.

‘Marfa Petrovna died, I expect you've heard,’ she began, resorting to her capital fund of conversational material.

‘Indeed, madam, I have. I was informed at the first rumour thereof, and have in fact come here now in order to tell you that immediately after his wife's funeral Arkady Ivanovich Svidrigailov set off in a hurry for St Petersburg. Such, at any rate, would appear to be the case according to the most precise information I have been able to obtain.’

‘To St Petersburg? Here, you mean?’ Dunya asked anxiously, exchanging a glance with her mother.

‘Precisely so, madam, and, needless to say, not without certain ulterior motives, if the speed of his departure and the nature of the preceding circumstances are anything to go by.’

‘Oh good Lord! Will he really not leave Dunya in peace even here?’ Pulkheria Aleksandrovna exclaimed.

‘I do not believe that either you or Avdotya Romanovna need have any particular concern – assuming, of course, that you wish to have nothing whatever to do with him. As for myself, I am even now investigating the whereabouts of the address at which he is residing…’

‘Oh, Pyotr Petrovich, you have no idea how you frightened me just now!’ Pulkheria Aleksandrovna went on. ‘I've only ever seen him twice, and I thought he was horrible, horrible! I'm convinced he was responsible for Marfa Petrovna's death!’

‘With regard to that, one must not jump to conclusions. I have precise information. I will not dispute that he may have contributed to the accelerated tempo of events by the – as it were – psychological influence of the outrage he perpetrated on her; but as for the conduct and the general moral characteristics of the person concerned, I am in agreement with you. I do not know whether he is rich now, or what exactly Marfa Petrovna may have left him; I shall have information concerning this in the very nearest future; if I know anything of the man, however, being possessed of even only a few financial resources, he will at once, here in St Petersburg, revert to his old customs. He is one of the most depraved and lost examples of all that category of men! I have considerable grounds for supposing that Marfa Petrovna, having had the misfortune, eight years ago, to fall in love with him and redeem his debts, performed a service to him in another respect, too: it was exclusively thanks to her efforts and sacrifices that a criminal charge, which involved more than a dash of bestial, nay, fantastic, murderousness, was nipped in the bud at the very outset, a charge which, had he had to answer it in court, could most, most easily have landed him in Siberia. That is the kind of man he is, if you wish to know.’

‘Oh, good Lord!’ Pulkheria Aleksandrovna exclaimed. Raskolnikov was listening intently.

‘And you're not making it up when you say you have precise information about this?’ Dunya asked, sternly and imposingly.