Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky (famous ebook reader TXT) 📖

I do no harm, but sit in a corner without speaking a word for three days at a time. And that Resslich is a sly hussy, I tell you. I know what she has got in her mind; she thinks I shall get sick of it, abandon my wife and depart, and she’ll get hold of her and make a profit out of her—in our class, of course, or higher. She told me the father was a broken-down retired official, who has been sitting in a chair for the last three years with his legs paralysed. The mamma, she said, was a sensible woman. There is a son serving in the provinces, but he doesn’t help; there is a daughter, who is married, but she doesn’t visit them. And they’ve two little nephews on their hands, as though their own children were not enough, and they’ve taken from school their youngest daughter, a girl who’ll be sixteen in another month, so that then she can be married. She was for me.

We went there. How funny it was! I present myself—a 846 of 967

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landowner, a widower, of a well- known name, with connections, with a fortune. What if I am fifty and she is not sixteen? Who thinks of that? But it’s fascinating, isn’t it? It is fascinating, ha-ha! You should have seen how I talked to the papa and mamma. It was worth paying to have seen me at that moment. She comes in, curtseys, you can fancy, still in a short frock—an unopened bud!

Flushing like a sunset—she had been told, no doubt. I don’t know how you feel about female faces, but to my mind these sixteen years, these childish eyes, shyness and tears of bashfulness are better than beauty; and she is a perfect little picture, too. Fair hair in little curls, like a lamb’s, full little rosy lips, tiny feet, a charmer! … Well, we made friends. I told them I was in a hurry owing to domestic circumstances, and the next day, that is the day before yesterday, we were betrothed. When I go now I take her on my knee at once and keep her there…. Well, she flushes like a sunset and I kiss her every minute. Her mamma of course impresses on her that this is her husband and that this must be so. It’s simply delicious! The present betrothed condition is perhaps better than marriage. Here you have what is called la nature et la vérité ha-ha! I’ve talked to her twice, she is far from a fool. Sometimes she steals a look at me that positively scorches me. Her face is 847 of 967

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like Raphael’s Madonna. You know, the Sistine

Madonna’s face has something fantastic in it, the face of mournful religious ecstasy. Haven’t you noticed it? Well, she’s something in that line. The day after we’d been betrothed, I bought her presents to the value of fifteen hundred roubles—a set of diamonds and another of pearls and a silver dressing-case as large as this, with all sorts of things in it, so that even my Madonna’s face glowed. I sat her on my knee, yesterday, and I suppose rather too unceremoniously—she flushed crimson and the tears started, but she didn’t want to show it. We were left alone, she suddenly flung herself on my neck (for the first time of her own accord), put her little arms round me, kissed me, and vowed that she would be an obedient, faithful, and good wife, would make me happy, would devote all her life, every minute of her life, would sacrifice everything, everything, and that all she asks in return is my respect and that she wants ‘nothing, nothing more from me, no presents.’ You’ll admit that to hear such a confession, alone, from an angel of sixteen in a muslin frock, with little curls, with a flush of maiden shyness in her cheeks and tears of enthusiasm in her eyes is rather fascinating!

Isn’t it fascinating? It’s worth paying for, isn’t it? Well …

listen, we’ll go to see my betrothed, only not just now!’

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‘The fact is this monstrous difference in age and development excites your sensuality! Will you really make such a marriage?’

‘Why, of course. Everyone thinks of himself, and he lives most gaily who knows best how to deceive himself.

Ha-ha! But why are you so keen about virtue? Have mercy on me, my good friend. I am a sinful man. Ha- ha-ha!’

‘But you have provided for the children of Katerina Ivanovna. Though … though you had your own

reasons…. I understand it all now.’

‘I am always fond of children, very fond of them,’

laughed Svidrigaïlov. ‘I can tell you one curious instance of it. The first day I came here I visited various haunts, after seven years I simply rushed at them. You probably notice that I am not in a hurry to renew acquaintance with my old friends. I shall do without them as long as I can. Do you know, when I was with Marfa Petrovna in the country, I was haunted by the thought of these places where anyone who knows his way about can find a great deal. Yes, upon my soul! The peasants have vodka, the educated young people, shut out from activity, waste themselves in impossible dreams and visions and are crippled by theories; Jews have sprung up and are amassing 849 of 967

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money, and all the rest give themselves up to debauchery.

From the first hour the town reeked of its familiar odours.

I chanced to be in a frightful den—I like my dens dirty—it was a dance, so called, and there was a cancan such as I never saw in my day. Yes, there you have progress. All of a sudden I saw a little girl of thirteen, nicely dressed, dancing with a specialist in that line, with another one vis-

à-vis. Her mother was sitting on a chair by the wall. You can’t fancy what a cancan that was! The girl was ashamed, blushed, at last felt insulted, and began to cry. Her partner seized her and began whirling her round and performing before her; everyone laughed and—I like your public, even the cancan public—they laughed and shouted, ‘Serves her right— serves her right! Shouldn’t bring children!’

Well, it’s not my business whether that consoling reflection was logical or not. I at once fixed on my plan, sat down by the mother, and began by saying that I too was a stranger and that people here were ill-bred and that they couldn’t distinguish decent folks and treat them with respect, gave her to understand that I had plenty of money, offered to take them home in my carriage. I took them home and got to know them. They were lodging in a miserable little hole and had only just arrived from the country. She told me that she and her daughter could only 850 of 967

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regard my acquaintance as an honour. I found out that they had nothing of their own and had come to town upon some legal business. I proffered my services and money. I learnt that they had gone to the dancing saloon by mistake, believing that it was a genuine dancing class. I offered to assist in the young girl’s education in French and dancing. My offer was accepted with enthusiasm as an honour—and we are still friendly…. If you like, we’ll go and see them, only not just now.’

‘Stop! Enough of your vile, nasty anecdotes, depraved vile, sensual man!’

‘Schiller, you are a regular Schiller! O la vertu va-t-elle se nicher? But you know I shall tell you these things on purpose, for the pleasure of hearing your outcries!’

‘I dare say. I can see I am ridiculous myself,’ muttered Raskolnikov angrily.

Svidrigaïlov laughed heartily; finally he called Philip, paid his bill, and began getting up.

‘I say, but I am drunk, assez causé ’ he said. ‘It’s been a pleasure.’

‘I should rather think it must be a pleasure!’ cried Raskolnikov, getting up. ‘No doubt it is a pleasure for a worn-out profligate to describe such adventures with a monstrous project of the same sort in his mind—especially 851 of 967

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under such circumstances and to such a man as me…. It’s stimulating!’

‘Well, if you come to that,’ Svidrigaïlov answered, scrutinising Raskolnikov with some surprise, ‘if you come to that, you are a thorough cynic yourself. You’ve plenty to make you so, anyway. You can understand a great deal

… and you can do a great deal too. But enough. I sincerely regret not having had more talk with you, but I shan’t lose sight of you…. Only wait a bit.’

Svidrigaïlov walked out of the restaurant. Raskolnikov walked out after him. Svidrigaïlov was not however very drunk, the wine had affected him for a moment, but it was passing off every minute. He was preoccupied with something of importance and was frowning. He was apparently excited and uneasy in anticipation of something. His manner to Raskolnikov had changed during the last few minutes, and he was ruder and more sneering every moment. Raskolnikov noticed all this, and he too was uneasy. He became very suspicious of Svidrigaïlov and resolved to follow him.

They came out on to the pavement.

‘You go to the right, and I to the left, or if you like, the other way. Only adieu, mon plaisir may we meet again.’

And he walked to the right towards the Hay Market.

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Chapter V

Raskolnikov walked after him.

‘What’s this?’ cried Svidrigaïlov turning round, ‘I thought I said …’

‘It means that I am not going to lose sight of you now.’

‘What?’

Both stood still and gazed at one another, as though measuring their strength.

‘From all your half tipsy stories,’ Raskolnikov observed harshly, ‘I am positive that you have not given up your designs on my sister, but are pursuing them more actively than ever. I have learnt that my sister received a letter this morning. You have hardly been able to sit still all this time…. You may have unearthed a wife on the way, but that means nothing. I should like to make certain myself.’

Raskolnikov could hardly have said himself what he wanted and of what he wished to make certain.

‘Upon my word! I’ll call the police!’

‘Call away!’

Again they stood for a minute facing each other. At last Svidrigaïlov’s face changed. Having satisfied himself that 853 of 967

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Raskolnikov was not frightened at his threat, he assumed a mirthful and friendly air.

‘What a fellow! I purposely refrained from referring to your affair, though I am devoured by curiosity. It’s a fantastic affair. I’ve put it off till another time, but you’re enough to rouse the dead…. Well, let us go, only I warn you beforehand I am only going home for a moment, to get some money; then I shall lock up the flat, take a cab and go to spend the evening at the Islands. Now, now are you going to follow me?’

‘I’m coming to your lodgings, not to see you but Sofya Semyonovna, to say I’m sorry not to have been at the funeral.’

‘That’s as you like, but Sofya Semyonovna is not at home. She has taken the three children to an old lady of high rank, the patroness of some orphan asylums, whom I used to know years ago. I charmed the old lady by depositing a sum of money with her to provide for the three children of Katerina Ivanovna and subscribing to the institution as well. I told her too the story of Sofya Semyonovna in full detail, suppressing nothing. It produced an indescribable effect on her. That’s why Sofya Semyonovna has been invited to call to-day at the X.

Hotel where the lady is staying for the time.’

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‘No matter, I’ll come all the same.’

‘As you like, it’s nothing to