来自：Crime and Punishment
I
"Can this really be a continuation of the dream?" Raskolnikov thought once more. Cautiously and distrustfully he peered at his unexpected visitor.
"Svidrigailov? What nonsense! It cannot be!" he said aloud at last, in bewilderment.
The guest seemed not at all surprised by this exclamation.
"I have come to see you for two reasons: first, I wished to make your personal acquaintance, as I have long heard of you from a very curious and advantageous point of view; and secondly, I cherish the hope that you will not, perhaps, refuse to help me in an enterprise directly concerning the interests of your sister, Avdotya Romanovna. Without a recommendation, she might not even let me into her yard now, owing to prejudice, but with your help I, on the contrary, am counting..."
"You are counting badly," Raskolnikov interrupted.
"They only arrived yesterday, if I may ask?"
Raskolnikov did not answer.
"Yesterday, I know. I myself arrived only the day before yesterday. Well, sir, here's what I'll say to you on this matter, Rodion Romanovich: I consider it unnecessary to justify myself, but permit me to declare: what is there in all this, really, that is so particularly criminal on my part, that is, judging without prejudices and sensibly?"
Raskolnikov continued to examine him in silence.
"The fact that in my own house I pursued a defenseless girl and 'insulted her with my vile proposals'—is that it, sir? (I'm getting ahead of myself!) But just suppose that I too am a man, et nihil humanum... in a word, that I too am capable of being infatuated and falling in love (which, of course, does not happen at our command), then everything is explained in the most natural way. The whole question is: am I a monster or am I myself the victim? Well, what if I'm the victim? After all, when I proposed to my object to flee with me to America or Switzerland, I may have nurtured the most respectful feelings, and even thought to arrange mutual happiness!... Reason serves passion, you know; perhaps I was ruining myself even more, have mercy!..."
"But that's not the point at all," Raskolnikov interrupted with disgust, "quite simply you are repulsive, whether you're right or not, well, that's why people don't want to know you, and they drive you away, so go!..."
Svidrigailov suddenly burst out laughing.
"But you... but you can't be thrown off track!" he said, laughing in the most candid manner, "I was going to be cunning, but no, you immediately hit the very nail on the head!"
"And even now you continue to be cunning."
"So what? So what?" repeated Svidrigailov, laughing openly, "this is bonne guerre, as they say, and the most permissible cunning!... But still you interrupted me; anyway, I repeat again: there would have been no unpleasantness if not for the incident in the garden. Marfa Petrovna..."
"Marfa Petrovna you also did away with, they say?" Raskolnikov interrupted rudely.
"You heard about that too? How could you not hear, though... Well, as for that question of yours, I really don't know what to tell you, although my own conscience is perfectly calm on that score. That is, don't think I'm afraid of something like that: everything was conducted in perfect order and with complete accuracy: the medical investigation revealed apoplexy resulting from bathing immediately after a heavy dinner, with almost a whole bottle of wine consumed, and it could reveal nothing else... No, sir, I was thinking about this for some time, especially on the road, sitting in the railway carriage: didn't I somehow contribute to all this... misfortune, somehow by moral irritation or something of that sort? But I concluded that this too could positively not have been the case."
Raskolnikov laughed.
"Why should you worry about it!"
"And why are you laughing? Consider: I struck her only twice with a riding crop, there weren't even any marks... Please don't think me a cynic; I know precisely how vile this was on my part, and so on and so forth; but I also know for certain that Marfa Petrovna was perhaps even glad of this, so to speak, infatuation of mine. The story about your little sister had been exhausted to the last detail. Marfa Petrovna had been forced to sit at home for three days already; she had nothing to show herself in town with, and she had bored everyone there with that letter of hers (did you hear about the reading of the letter?). And suddenly these two strokes of the crop fall like manna from heaven! The first thing she did was order the carriage harnessed!... I'm not even speaking of the fact that there are cases with women when they find it very, very pleasant to be insulted, despite all visible indignation. Everyone has such cases; man in general very, very much even likes to be insulted, have you noticed that? But with women it's especially so. One might even say they live by that alone."
For a time Raskolnikov thought of getting up and leaving and thus ending the interview. But a certain curiosity and even a kind of calculation held him back for a moment.
"Do you like fighting?" he asked absentmindedly.
"No, not particularly," Svidrigailov answered calmly. "And with Marfa Petrovna we almost never fought. We lived very harmoniously, and she was always satisfied with me. During all our seven years I used the crop only twice (if you don't count a third case, which was, however, very ambiguous): the first time was two months after our marriage, immediately upon arriving in the country, and now this last case. And you thought I was such a monster, a retrograde, a serf-owner? he-he... And by the way: do you remember, Rodion Romanovich, how several years ago, still in the times of beneficent publicity, one nobleman was disgraced publicly and in all literature—I forget his name!—well, the one who whipped a German woman in a railway carriage, remember? That same year, I think, 'The Disgraceful Act of the Century' also occurred (well, you know, 'Egyptian Nights,' the public reading, remember? The black eyes! Oh, where is the golden time of our youth!). Well, sir, here's my opinion: I have no deep sympathy for the gentleman who whipped the German woman, because really, after all... what is there to sympathize with! But at the same time I cannot help declaring that sometimes there occur such provocative 'German women' that, it seems to me, there is not a single progressive who could completely vouch for himself. No one looked at the matter from that angle then, but that angle is the truly humane one, really, sir!"
Having said this, Svidrigailov suddenly laughed again. Raskolnikov saw clearly that this was a man who had firmly decided on something and was keeping his own counsel.
"You must not have spoken with anyone for several days in a row?" he asked.
"Almost so. And what: are you surprised that I'm such an accommodating person?"
"No, I'm surprised that you're too accommodating a person."
"Because I wasn't offended by the rudeness of your questions? Is that it? But... why should I be offended? As you asked, so I answered," he added with a surprising expression of simple-heartedness. "After all, I'm hardly interested in anything in particular, by God," he continued somewhat pensively. "Especially now, I'm not occupied with anything... However, you're at liberty to think that I'm ingratiating myself for my own purposes, especially since I have business with your little sister, as I declared myself. But I'll tell you frankly: it's very boring! Especially these three days, so I was even glad to see you... Don't be angry, Rodion Romanovich, but for some reason you yourself seem terribly strange to me. Say what you will, but there's something in you; and precisely now, that is, not at this very moment, but now in general... Well, well, I won't, I won't, don't frown! I'm not such a bear as you think."
Raskolnikov looked at him gloomily.
"You're perhaps not even a bear at all," he said. "It even seems to me that you're of very good society or, at least, know how to be a decent person on occasion."
"But I'm not particularly interested in anyone's opinion," Svidrigailov answered dryly and even with a shade of haughtiness, "and therefore why not play the vulgarian sometimes, when that garb is so comfortable to wear in our climate and... and especially if one has a natural inclination for it," he added, laughing again.
"I heard, however, that you have many acquaintances here. You're what's called 'not without connections.' Why then would you need me in that case, if not for some purpose?"
"You're right that I have acquaintances," Svidrigailov caught up, not responding to the main point, "I've been meeting them; I've been wandering around for three days; I recognize them, and they seem to recognize me. Of course, I'm dressed decently and am considered not a poor man; the peasant reform didn't touch us either: forests and water meadows, the income isn't lost; but... I won't go there; I was bored with it before: I've been going around for three days and haven't acknowledged anyone... And then there's this city! How, tell me please, did it come to be composed like this! A city of clerks and all sorts of seminarians! Really, I didn't notice much here before, eight years ago, when I was loafing about here... I'm counting now on anatomy alone, by God!"
"What anatomy?"
"As for these clubs, Dussots, your pointes, or perhaps even progress—well, let all that be without me," he continued, again not noticing the question. "And what's the point of being a card-sharp?"
"So you were a card-sharp too?"
"How could I not be? There was a whole company of us, a most respectable one, eight years ago; we passed the time; and you know, all men of manners, there were poets, there were capitalists. And in general, in Russian society, the best manners belong to those who have been beaten, have you noticed that? I've let myself go now in the country. But all the same, they put me in prison then for debts, one little Greek from Nezhin. Then Marfa Petrovna came along, bargained and bought me out for thirty thousand silver pieces. (I owed seventy thousand in all.) We were joined in lawful marriage, and she immediately transported me to her country place like some treasure. She was five years older than me, you see. She loved me very much. For seven years I didn't leave the country. And note, she held the document against me for her whole life, in someone else's name, for those thirty thousand, so that if I had thought to rebel against something—immediately into the trap! And she would have done it! With women it all coexists."
"And if not for the document, would you have given her the slip?"
"I don't know what to tell you. The document hardly constrained me. I didn't want to go anywhere, and Marfa Petrovna herself invited me abroad twice, seeing that I was bored. But what for? I'd been abroad before, and it always made me sick. Not that, but there's the dawn breaking, the Bay of Naples, the sea—you look, and somehow you're sad. What's most disgusting is that you're really sad about something! No, it's better in the homeland: here, at least, you blame everyone else and justify yourself. I might go now on an expedition to the North Pole, because j'ai le vin mauvais, and I find drinking disgusting, but there's nothing left except wine. I tried. And what, do they say Berg is going up in an enormous balloon on Sunday in the Yusupov Garden, inviting passengers for a fixed fee, is it true?"
"Well, would you go up?"
"I? No... just..." muttered Svidrigailov, actually seeming to fall into thought.
"What is he really thinking?" thought Raskolnikov.
"No, the document didn't constrain me," Svidrigailov continued pensively, "I didn't leave the country myself. And it's about a year now since Marfa Petrovna returned this document to me on my name day, and even gave me a considerable sum as a gift. She had capital, you see. 'You see how I trust you, Arkady Ivanovich'—really, those were her very words. You don't believe she expressed herself that way? And you know: I became a decent manager in the country; they know me in the district. I also ordered books. Marfa Petrovna approved at first, but then she kept being afraid I would study too much."
"You seem to miss Marfa Petrovna very much?"
"I? Perhaps. Perhaps, really. And by the way, do you believe in ghosts?"
"In what ghosts?"
"In ordinary ghosts, what kind!"
"And do you believe?"
"Yes, perhaps, and no, pour vous plaire... That is, not that no..."
"Do they appear?"
Svidrigailov looked at him somewhat strangely.
"Marfa Petrovna deigns to visit," he said, twisting his mouth into a strange smile.
"How does she deign to visit?"
"She's already come three times. I saw her the first time on the very day of the funeral, an hour after the cemetery. That was on the eve of my departure here. The second time was the day before yesterday, on the road, at dawn, at the Malaya Vishera station; and the third time, two hours ago, in the apartment where I'm staying, in my room; I was alone."
"Awake?"
"Completely. All three times awake. She comes, talks for a minute and leaves through the door; always through the door. You can even hear it."
"Why did I somehow think that something of that sort must be happening to you!" Raskolnikov suddenly said and immediately was surprised that he had said it. He was in strong agitation.
"R-really? You thought that?" Svidrigailov asked in surprise, "did you really? Well, didn't I say that there's some common point between us, eh?"
"You never said that!" Raskolnikov answered sharply and excitedly.
"I didn't?"
"No!"
"It seemed to me I did. Just now, when I came in and saw that you were lying with your eyes closed, pretending—I immediately said to myself: 'That's the very one!'"
"What do you mean: the very one? What are you talking about?" cried Raskolnikov.
"About what? But really, I don't know about what..." Svidrigailov muttered sincerely, and seeming to be confused himself.
They were silent for a minute. Both stared at each other with all their eyes.
"This is all nonsense!" Raskolnikov cried out with vexation. "Well, what does she say to you when she comes?"
"She? Imagine, about the most insignificant trifles, and you'd be surprised at man: this is what angers me, you see. The first time she came in (I was tired, you know: the funeral service, the requiem with the saints, then the litany, a meal—finally I was left alone in my study, lit a cigar, fell into thought), she came in through the door: 'And you, she says, Arkady Ivanovich, in all the bustle today you forgot to wind the clock in the dining room.' And I really had been winding that clock myself every week for all seven years, and if I forgot—she would always remind me. The next day I was already on my way here. I entered at dawn at the station—I dozed through the night, broken, eyes sleepy—I took coffee; I look—Marfa Petrovna suddenly sits down next to me, a deck of cards in her hands: 'Shouldn't I tell your fortune, Arkady Ivanovich, for the journey?' And she was a master at fortune-telling. Well, I'll never forgive myself for not having her tell it! I ran away, frightened, and besides, it's true, just then the bell rang. Today I'm sitting after a wretched dinner from the cookshop, with a heavy stomach—I'm sitting, smoking—suddenly Marfa Petrovna again, comes in all dressed up, in a new green silk dress, with a very long train: 'Good day, Arkady Ivanovich! How do you like my dress? Aniska can't sew like this.' (Aniska is a dressmaker in our village, one of the former serfs, went to Moscow for training—a pretty little girl). She stands, turns in front of me. I examined the dress, then looked attentively at her face: 'Why should you, I say, Marfa Petrovna, come to me over such trifles, trouble yourself.' 'Oh my goodness, dear man, one can't even disturb you!' I say to her, to tease her: 'I want to get married, Marfa Petrovna.' 'That's just like you, Arkady Ivanovich; it's not much honor to you that you, not having managed to bury your wife, immediately set off to get married. And if only you'd choose well, but I know—neither good for her nor for you, you'll only make good people laugh.' She took herself off and left, and her train seemed to rustle. Such nonsense, isn't it?"
"But perhaps you're lying, after all?" Raskolnikov responded.
"I rarely lie," Svidrigailov answered pensively and as if not noticing the rudeness of the question at all.
"And before, before this, had you never seen ghosts?"
"N... no, I saw one, only once in my life, six years ago. I had a house serf, Filka; we had just buried him, I called out, forgetting: 'Filka, my pipe!'—he came in, and went straight to the stand where I keep my pipes. I'm sitting, thinking: 'He's taking revenge on me,' because we had quarreled badly just before his death. 'How dare you, I say, come to me with a torn elbow—out, scoundrel!' He turned, went out and didn't come again. I didn't tell Marfa Petrovna then. I wanted to have a requiem served for him, but felt ashamed."
"Go see a doctor."
"I understand without you that I'm unwell, though, really, I don't know with what; in my opinion, I'm certainly five times healthier than you. I didn't ask you whether you believe that ghosts appear; I asked you: do you believe that there are ghosts?"
"No, I will never believe it!" Raskolnikov cried out with a kind of malice even.
"What do people usually say?" Svidrigailov muttered, as if to himself, looking to the side and inclining his head slightly. "They say: 'You're sick, therefore what appears to you is only nonexistent delirium.' But there's no strict logic here. I agree that ghosts appear only to the sick; but that only proves that ghosts can appear only to the sick, not that they don't exist in themselves."
"Of course not!" Raskolnikov insisted irritably.
"No? You think so?" Svidrigailov continued, slowly looking at him. "Well, what if we reason like this (come, help me now): 'Ghosts are, so to speak, shreds and fragments of other worlds, their beginning. A healthy person, of course, has no reason to see them, because a healthy person is the most earthly person, and therefore must live only this present life, for completeness and order. But as soon as you fall ill, as soon as the normal earthly order in the organism is disturbed, immediately the possibility of another world begins to make itself felt, and the sicker you are, the more contacts with the other world, so that when a person dies completely, he goes directly into the other world.' I've been reasoning about this for a long time. If you believe in a future life, you can believe in this reasoning too."
"I don't believe in a future life," said Raskolnikov.
Svidrigailov sat in thought.
"And what if there are only spiders there or something of that sort," he said suddenly.
"He's mad," thought Raskolnikov.
"Eternity is always presented to us as an idea that can't be understood, something enormous, enormous! But why must it necessarily be enormous? And suddenly, instead of all that, imagine there will be just one little room there, something like a country bathhouse, sooty, with spiders in all the corners, and that's the whole of eternity. You know, sometimes it seems like that to me."
"And can't you, can't you imagine anything more comforting and fairer than that!" Raskolnikov cried out with a painful feeling.
"Fairer? But how do you know, maybe that is fair, and you know, I would definitely make it like that on purpose!" answered Svidrigailov, smiling vaguely.
Some kind of coldness suddenly gripped Raskolnikov at this hideous answer. Svidrigailov raised his head, looked intently at him and suddenly burst out laughing.
"No, just think about this," he shouted, "half an hour ago we hadn't even seen each other, we consider ourselves enemies, there's an unresolved matter between us; we've dropped the matter and look where we've gotten into literature! Well, wasn't I right that we're birds of a feather?"
"Do me a favor," Raskolnikov continued irritably, "allow me to ask you to explain yourself as quickly as possible and inform me why you have honored me with the honor of your visit... and... and... I'm in a hurry, I have no time, I want to go out..."
"By all means, by all means. Your little sister, Avdotya Romanovna, is marrying Mr. Luzhin, Pyotr Petrovich?"
"Can't we somehow avoid any question about my sister and not mention her name? I don't even understand how you dare to pronounce her name in my presence, if you're really Svidrigailov?"
"But I came to talk about her, how can I not mention her?"
"All right; speak, but quickly!"
"I'm certain that you've already formed your opinion of this Mr. Luzhin, my relative by marriage, if you've seen him for even half an hour or heard anything true and accurate about him. Avdotya Romanovna is no match for him. In my opinion, Avdotya Romanovna is sacrificing herself very magnanimously and imprudently in this affair for... for her family. It seemed to me, as a result of everything I heard about you, that you on your part would be very pleased if this marriage could be broken off without violating interests. Now, having met you personally, I'm even certain of it."
"All this is very naive on your part; excuse me, I meant to say: impudent," said Raskolnikov.
"That is, you're expressing that I'm working for my own pocket. Don't worry, Rodion Romanovich, if I were working for my own benefit, I wouldn't speak so directly, I'm not a complete fool. On this score I'll reveal to you a psychological oddity. Just now I, justifying my love for Avdotya Romanovna, said that I was myself the victim. Well, you should know that I now feel no love, n-none at all, so that it's even strange to me, because I really did feel something..."
"From idleness and depravity," Raskolnikov interrupted.
"I really am a depraved and idle man. But your sister has so many advantages that even I couldn't help succumbing to a certain impression. But it's all nonsense, as I now see myself."
"When did you see it?"
"I began to notice earlier, but was finally convinced the day before yesterday, almost at the very moment of arriving in Petersburg. However, even in Moscow I imagined I was coming to seek the hand of Avdotya Romanovna and compete with Mr. Luzhin."
"Excuse me for interrupting you, do me a favor: can't you shorten this and get directly to the purpose of your visit. I'm in a hurry, I need to go out..."
"With the greatest pleasure. Having arrived here and having decided now to undertake a certain... voyage, I wished to make the necessary preliminary arrangements. My children have remained with their aunt; they're rich, and they don't need me personally. And what kind of father am I anyway! For myself I took only what Marfa Petrovna gave me a year ago. It's enough for me. Excuse me, I'm getting to the point right now. Before the voyage, which may perhaps come to pass, I want to finish with Mr. Luzhin too. Not that I can't stand him so terribly, but it was through him, however, that this quarrel of mine with Marfa Petrovna came about, when I learned that she had cooked up this wedding. I now wish to see Avdotya Romanovna, through your mediation, and, if you like, in your very presence, to explain to her, first, that she will not only get not the slightest benefit from Mr. Luzhin, but even certainly will suffer obvious harm. Then, having begged her forgiveness for all these recent unpleasantnesses, I would ask permission to offer her ten thousand rubles and thus facilitate the break with Mr. Luzhin, a break from which, I'm certain, she herself would not be averse, if only the possibility appeared."
"But are you really, really mad!" cried Raskolnikov, not so much even angry as amazed. "How dare you speak like this!"
"I knew you'd cry out; but, first, though I'm not rich, these ten thousand rubles are at my disposal, that is, completely, completely unnecessary to me. If Avdotya Romanovna doesn't accept them, then perhaps I'll use them even more stupidly. That's one. Second: my conscience is completely calm; I'm offering without any calculation. Believe it or not, but later both you and Avdotya Romanovna will know. The point is that I really did cause some trouble and unpleasantness to your most respected sister; therefore, feeling sincere repentance, I sincerely wish—not to buy myself off, not to pay for the unpleasantness, but simply to do something beneficial for her, on the basis that I really didn't take a privilege to do only evil. If there were even a millionth part of calculation in my offer, I wouldn't offer so directly; and I wouldn't offer only ten thousand, when only five weeks ago I was offering her more. Besides, I may very, very soon marry a young lady, and consequently all suspicions of any designs against Avdotya Romanovna should thereby be destroyed. In conclusion I'll say that, marrying Mr. Luzhin, Avdotya Romanovna is taking the same money, only from a different side... Don't be angry, Rodion Romanovich, consider it calmly and coolly."
As he said this, Svidrigailov was himself extremely cool and calm.
"I ask you to finish," said Raskolnikov. "In any case, this is unforgivably insolent."
"Not at all. After this, man can do only evil to man in this world and, on the contrary, has no right to do even a crumb of good, because of empty accepted formalities. That's absurd. If I, for example, died and left this sum to your sister in my will, surely she wouldn't refuse to accept the bequest even then?"
"Very possibly she would."
"Well, no, sir. However, if not, then not, so let it be. But ten thousand is a splendid thing, on occasion. In any case, I ask you to convey what was said to Avdotya Romanovna."
"No, I won't convey it."
"In that case, Rodion Romanovich, I'll be forced to seek a personal meeting myself, and therefore to trouble her."
"And if I do convey it, you won't seek a personal meeting?"
"I don't know, really, what to tell you. I would very much like to see her once."
"Don't hope for it."
"A pity. However, you don't know me. Perhaps we'll become closer."
"You think we'll become closer?"
"And why not?" said Svidrigailov, smiling, stood up and took his hat, "I really didn't so much want to trouble you, and coming here, I wasn't even counting on it very much, although, however, your physiognomy struck me earlier this morning..."
"Where did you see me earlier this morning?" Raskolnikov asked anxiously.
"By chance, sir... It keeps seeming to me that there's something in you that approaches mine... But don't worry, I'm not tedious; I got along with card-sharps, and didn't bore Prince Svirbey, my distant relative and dignitary, and was able to write about Raphael's Madonna in Madame Prilukov's album, and lived with Marfa Petrovna for seven years without leaving, and used to spend nights at Vyazemsky's house on Sennaya in the old days, and may fly in the balloon with Berg."
"Well, all right, sir. Allow me to ask, will you depart soon on your journey?"
"What journey?"
"Well yes, that 'voyage'... You said so yourself."
"The voyage? Ah, yes!.. I did tell you about a voyage, really... Well, that's an extensive question... But if you only knew, however, what you're asking about!" he added and suddenly laughed loudly and shortly. "Perhaps I'll marry instead of the voyage; they're matchmaking a bride for me."
"Here?"
"Yes."
"When did you manage that?"
"But I very much wish to see Avdotya Romanovna once. I seriously ask. Well, goodbye... ah, yes! Here's what I forgot! Convey to your sister, Rodion Romanovich, that in Marfa Petrovna's will she's mentioned for three thousand. That's positively true. Marfa Petrovna made the arrangement a week before her death, and it was done in my presence. In two or three weeks Avdotya Romanovna can receive the money."
"Are you telling the truth?"
"The truth. Convey it. Well, sir, your servant. I'm not living far from you at all."
As he left, Svidrigailov collided in the doorway with Razumikhin.