Crime and Punishment (86 page)

‘Here is your letter,’ she began, putting it on the table. ‘Is it really permissible to write the sort of things that are in it? You allude to some crime that my brother is supposed to have committed. Your allusion is all too plain, you dare not try to talk your way out of it now. I may as well tell you that I had already heard about this stupid tale before you wrote to me, and I don't believe a single word of it. It is an infamous and absurd suspicion. I know the story and how and for what reason it was dreamed up. You cannot possibly have any evidence. You have promised to supply that evidence: go ahead, then, speak! But let me tell you in advance that I don't believe you! I don't believe you!…’

Dunya said this in a rapid patter, hurriedly, and for a moment a flush broke out on her face.

‘If you hadn't believed me I don't really think you'd have risked coming to see me alone, would you? Why have you come here? Out of sheer curiosity?’

‘Stop tormenting me – speak, speak!’

‘One certainly can't deny that you're a girl with some pluck. To be quite honest, I thought you'd prevail upon Mr Razumikhin to accompany you here. But there was no sign of him, either with you or anywhere around you; I had a good look; that's courageous, it means you wanted to go easy on Rodion Romanych. And in fact, everything about you is divine… As regards your brother, what can I say? You saw him yourself just now. How did he strike you?’

‘You're surely not basing your case on that alone, are you?’

‘No, not simply on that, but on what he himself said. You see, he came here two evenings in a row to see Sofya Semyonovna. I showed you where they sat. He made a complete confession to her. He's a murderer. It was he who murdered the old pawnbroker woman, the civil servant's widow, with whom he himself had pawned certain items; he also murdered her sister, a market-woman by the name of Lizaveta, who happened to walk in as the widow was being murdered. He murdered them both with an axe he'd brought with him. He murdered them in order to steal from them, and he stole: he took money and some sort of valuables… He communicated all this, word for word, to Sofya Semyonovna, who is the only person who is in on his secret, though she took part in the murder neither in word nor deed; on the contrary, she was as horrified as you are now. You needn't worry – she won't give him away.’

‘It isn't possible!’ Dunya muttered, her lips pale and rigid; she was gasping. ‘It isn't possible, he had not the slightest reason, not the slightest motive… It's a lie! A lie!’

‘It was a robbery – that's what the reason was. He took money and valuables. Oh, to be sure, because of his own qualms of conscience he didn't avail himself of either the money or the valuables, but hid them under some stone somewhere, and they're still there now. But that was because he didn't dare to avail himself of them.’

‘But is it really likely that he'd go breaking in and stealing?
That he could even think of doing such a thing?’ Dunya exclaimed, leaping up from her chair. ‘I mean, you know him, you've seen him! Do you think he could possibly be a thief?’

It was as if she were entreating with Svidrigailov; all her fear was forgotten.

‘In cases like this, Avdotya Romanovna, there are thousands and millions of combinations and categories. A thief goes thieving, but he's well aware that he's a villain; yet I've heard of one man of good background who robbed the mail – who can tell, he may really have thought he was doing something perfectly respectable! It goes without saying that I, like you, would never have believed it if I'd been told about it by someone else. But I believed my own ears. He explained to Sofya Semyonovna all his reasons for doing it; at first she couldn't believe her ears either, but she ended by believing her eyes, her very own eyes. After all, he told her all about it personally.’

‘What were the… reasons?’

‘It's a long story, Avdotya Romanovna. In this case what's involved is – how can I put it to you? – a kind of theory, the sort of argument that says that a single villainous act is allowable if the central aim is good. One bad action and a hundred good deeds! It is, of course, galling for a young man of merit and inordinate self-esteem to be conscious that if, for example, he only had somewhere in the region of three thousand roubles, his whole career, the whole of his future development would take quite a different course, and yet he does not have that three thousand. Add to that the irritation caused by hunger, cramped living quarters, ragged clothing, a vivid awareness of the splendour of his social position, and of the situation of his mother and sister. Worse than all of that, vanity, pride and vanity, though heaven knows, they may co-exist alongside positive tendencies… I mean, I'm not blaming him, please don't go away with that idea; and anyway, it's not my business. In this case there was also a little private sub-theory – a reasonable sort of theory – according to which people are divided, don't you know, into raw material and extraordinary individuals, that's to say, the sort of individuals for whom, because of their exalted position, there is no law, but who themselves create the laws for
the rest of mankind, the raw material, the sweepings. Well, it's all right, it's a perfectly reasonable theory,
une théorie comme une autre
. Napoleon fascinated him dreadfully, or rather what really fascinated him was that a great many men of genius have turned a blind eye to isolated acts of wrongdoing in order to stride onwards and across, without reflecting. It appears that he, too, thought he was a man of genius – or at least was convinced of it for a certain period of time. He suffered greatly, and is still suffering, from the notion that while he was able to construct a theory, he wasn't able to do the stepping across without reflection, and so consequently is not a man of genius. Well, for a young man with any self-esteem that's positively degrading, especially in a time like ours…’

‘What about pangs of conscience? Do you maintain that he lacks all moral feeling? Do you really think that's the kind of person he is?’

‘Oh, Avdotya Romanovna, the waters have grown rather muddy now – not that they were ever particularly clear. Russians are on the whole a roomy-natured lot, as roomy as the land they inhabit, and they have an extremely marked penchant for the fantastic and the chaotic; but it's not much good having all that room if one is not particularly gifted. Do you remember all the things we used to say to each other about that as we sat, just the two of us, alone on the terrace in the garden, every evening after supper? I can remember you telling me off for just that kind of roominess. Who knows, perhaps at the very moment you uttered those words he was lying here in St Petersburg pondering those thoughts of his. After all, Avdotya Romanovna, it's not as if there were really any sacred traditions in our educated social circles these days: what people do is piece something together for themselves out of books… or fish something out of the chronicles. But, I mean, those are mostly scholars, and you know they're really just a bunch of old duffers, so that a man of society would feel it almost insulting to mimic them. In any case, you know my opinions by and large; I definitely don't blame anyone. I'm just a lily-fingered bystander, and that's the role I adhere to. We've already discussed this together several times, you and I. I've even had the good fortune to awaken
your interest with my ideas… You're very pale, Avdotya Romanovna!’

‘I know that theory of his. I read his article in that journal, the one about people to whom everything is permitted… Razumikhin brought it to me.’

‘Mr Razumikhin? He brought you an article by your brother? In a journal? Is there such an article? I didn't know. I say, it must make interesting reading! But where are you off to, Avdotya Romanovna?’

‘I want to see Sofya Semyonovna,’ Dunya said, faintly. ‘How do I get through to her room? She may have come back by now; I must see her now. It may be that she…’

Avdotya Romanovna was unable to finish her sentence; her breathing was quite literally cut off.

‘Sofya Semyonovna won't be back until tonight. Something tells me that is the case. She would have come back very soon, but as she hasn't, it won't be till very late…’

‘Oh, so you're lying! I see, you lied to me… you were lying all the time!… I don't believe you, don't believe you, don't believe you!’ Dunya shouted in a complete frenzy, totally losing her head.

Almost in a faint she collapsed on to the chair Svidrigailov hurried to supply for her.

‘Avdotya Romanovna, what's wrong with you, wake up! Here's some water. Just take one sip…’

He sprinkled some of the water on to her face. Dunya shuddered and woke up.

‘That had a powerful effect on her!’ Svidrigailov muttered to himself, frowning. ‘Avdotya Romanovna, please put your mind at rest! You mustn't forget that he has friends. We'll save him, get him out of this. Would you like me to take him abroad? I have money; I can have a ticket for him in three days. And as for the fact of the murder, he'll accomplish a lot of good works yet, and all this will be wiped from the slate; please put your mind at rest. He may yet be a great man. I say, what has got into you? How do you feel now?’

‘Evil man! He's even mocking at me! Let me go…’

‘Where are you off to? I say, where are you going?’

‘To find him. Where is he? Do you know? Why is this door locked? We came in through this door, but now it's locked. When did you lock it?’

‘I didn't want all the neighbours to hear what we've been talking, or rather shouting, about. I'm not mocking at you at all; it's merely that I'm fed up talking in this language. Well, where do you plan to go in a state like that? Or do you intend to betray him? You'll just drive him into a rabid fury, and he'll betray himself. I think you ought to realize that he's already being followed, they're on his trail. You'll merely give him away. Please wait: I've just seen him, spoken to him; there's still a chance he can be saved. Please wait, sit down, let's consider it together. That's why I asked you to come here, in order to discuss this with you alone and give it proper consideration. Look, please sit down!’

‘How can you possibly save him? Surely he's beyond saving now?’

Dunya sat down. Svidrigailov sat down at her side.

‘The whole thing now depends on you, on you, on you alone,’ he began with glittering eyes, almost in a whisper, losing the thread of his thoughts and even failing to articulate certain words in his excitement.

Dunya shrank further away from him in fear. He, too, was trembling all over.

‘You… one word from you, and he is saved! I… I will save him. I have money and friends. I'll send him abroad immediately, I'll get him the passport he needs, I'll get two passports. One will be his, the other mine. I have friends; I have professional assistants… Would you like that? I'll get you a passport too… and one for your mother… Why should you end up with Razumikhin? I also love you… I love you infinitely. Let me kiss the hem of your dress, please, let me, let me! I can hardly bear the sound it makes as it rustles. Whatever you tell me to do, I will do it! I will do anything. I will do the impossible. Whatever you believe in, I will believe in it, too. I'll do anything, anything! Don't look at me, don't look at me like that! Do you realize that you're killing me?’

He was almost beginning to rave. Something had suddenly
happened to him, as though the blood had rushed to his head. Dunya leapt up and hurled herself at the door.

‘Open up! Open up!’ she shouted through the door, in the hope of attracting someone's attention, and shaking it with her hands. ‘Open up! Is there really no one there?’

Svidrigailov stood up and recollected himself. A hostile, derisive smile was slowly finding its way across his still trembling lips.

‘There's no one in,’ he said softly, spacing the words out. ‘The landlady's gone out, and you're wasting your energy shouting like that; you're just working yourself up in vain.’

‘Where is the key? Open the door this instant, you worthless man!’

‘I have lost it, and I cannot find it.’

‘Oh? So you intend coercion, do you?’ Dunya exclaimed, turning as pale as death and rushing over to one corner, where she shielded herself behind a small table that chanced to be to hand. She did not scream, but fixed her tormentor with her gaze and keenly followed his each and every movement. Svidrigailov did not move from the spot either and stood at the other end of the room, facing her. He had even managed to regain his self-control, externally at least. His features were, however, still as pale as before. The derisive smile had not left his lips.

‘You mentioned the word “coercion” just now, Avdotya Romanovna. If it were to come to that, I think I need hardly tell you that I have taken the necessary precautions. Sofya Semyonovna isn't here; the Kapernaumovs’ apartment is a very long way away, through five locked rooms. Lastly, I am at least twice as strong as you and, what's more, have nothing to fear, as you wouldn't dare to complain to anyone afterwards: I mean, you wouldn't really want to betray your brother, would you? In any case, no one would believe you: why would a girl go on her own to see a single man in his lodgings? So that even if you were to sacrifice your brother, you wouldn't be able to prove anything: coercion is very difficult to prove, Avdotya Romanovna.’

‘You villain!’ Dunya whispered in indignation.

‘As you wish, but please observe that I was speaking of the matter simply in the form of a hypothesis. In my personal
opinion you are entirely right: coercion is an abominable thing. I brought it up merely in order to show you that you would have absolutely nothing on your conscience even if… even if you were to decide to save your brother voluntarily, in the manner I am proposing to you. You will merely be seen to have given way to force of circumstances, or rather to force point blank, if we must use that word. Think about it: the fate of your brother and your mother is in your hands. As for myself, I will be your slave… all my life… I shall wait over here…’

Svidrigailov sat down on the sofa, about eight paces away from Dunya. She now had not the slightest doubt as to his steadfast resolution. What was more, she knew the man…

Suddenly she took a revolver from her pocket, set it on its catch and lowered her hand with the revolver in it on to the small table. Svidrigailov leapt up from where he was sitting.