Crime and Punishment (87 page)

‘Aha! So that's it!’ he exclaimed in surprise, still with his ironic leer. ‘Well, that completely alters the course of the matter! You're making it extremely easy for me, Avdotya Romanovna! And where did you get that revolver? Not from Mr Razumikhin, I'll warrant! Pah! Why, that's my own revolver! My old friend! And there was I looking high and low for it!… The shooting lessons I had the honour to give you back on the estate were not wasted, then.’

‘It's not your revolver, it belonged to Marfa Petrovna, whom you murdered, villain! None of the things in her house were yours. I took it when I began to suspect what you might be capable of. Dare to take one step towards me and I promise I shall kill you!’

Dunya was in a frenzy of excitement. She levelled the revolver.

‘Well, and what about your brother? I ask from curiosity,’ Svidrigailov said, still without moving from the spot.

‘Report him to the police, if you like! Don't move! Not one step! I'll shoot! You poisoned your wife, I know that now, you yourself are a murderer!…’

‘So you're firmly convinced I poisoned Marfa Petrovna, are you?’

‘Yes, it was you! You hinted at it to me yourself: you spoke to me of poison… I know you made a trip to town in order to
get it… you'd been keeping it… It was you, it was most certainly you, you… bastard!’

‘Even if it were true, I'd have done it because of you… you'd have been the motive all the same.’

‘That's a lie! I've always hated you, always!’

‘Aha, Avdotya Romanovna! You've evidently forgotten how in the heat of propaganda you yielded and thrilled… I saw it in your little eyes; don't you remember that evening, in the moonlight, as the nightingale was still singing?’

‘That's a lie!’ There was now a glint of fury in Dunya's eyes. ‘It's a lie, you slanderer!’

‘Is it? Well, perhaps it is. I told a lie. One shouldn't remind women of these little things.’ He smiled his ironic smile. ‘I know you're going to shoot me, my pretty little wild creature. Well then, shoot away!’

Dunya brought the revolver up and, deathly pale, her lower lip ashen and trembling, her large, black eyes glittering like fire, looked at him, her resolve now steady, taking aim and waiting for the first movement on his part. Never had he seen her so beautiful. The fire that glittered from her eyes at the moment she had raised the revolver had almost physically scorched him, and his heart contracted with pain. He took a step forward, and the shot rang out. The bullet slipped through his hair and struck the wall behind him. He paused and gave a quiet laugh:

‘The wasp has stung me. She aimed straight at my head… What's this? Blood!’ He produced a handkerchief in order to wipe away the blood that was flowing in a slender rivulet down his right temple; the bullet must have barely grazed the skin of the top of his head. Dunya lowered the revolver and gazed at Svidrigailov, less in terror than in a kind of wild bewilderment. It was as though she herself did not know what she had done, or what was taking place.

‘Oh well, too bad – you missed! Try again, I'm waiting,’ Svidrigailov said quietly, still smiling his ironic smile, though there was a black tinge to it now. ‘Otherwise I'll get my hands on you before you have time to reload!’

Dunya shuddered, quickly reloaded, and again brought the revolver up.

‘Leave me alone!’ she said in despair. ‘I promise you, I'll fire again… I'll… kill you!…’

‘Oh well… at three paces you can't really fail to. But in that case… you won't do it…’ His eyes had begun to glitter, and he took another two paces forward.

Dunya pressed the trigger – the gun misfired.

‘You didn't load it properly. Never mind! You have one cap left. Set the chamber right, I'll wait.’

He stood two paces in front of her, waiting and looking at her with a gaze of wild determination that was inflamed and passionate, and heavy with pain. Dunya understood that he would sooner die than let her go. And… and of course, she would kill him now, at two paces!…

Suddenly she flung the revolver aside.

‘She's given up the idea!’ Svidrigailov said in astonishment, and heaved a deep breath. Something seemed to have instantly lifted from his heart, and it was possibly something other than the mere weight of mortal fear; though he could hardly have been aware of it at that moment. This had come as a deliverance from another, blacker and more wounding emotion which he himself could not have defined in all its force.

He approached Dunya and quietly put his arm round her waist. She offered no resistance, but, trembling all over like a leaf, looked at him with imploring eyes. He tried to say something, but his lips merely grimaced, and no words came out.

‘Let me go!’ Dunya said, imploringly, using the ‘thou’ form.

Svidrigailov started: she had spoken that ‘thou’ somehow differently from the way she had earlier.

‘So you don't love me?’ he asked quietly.

Dunya made a negative sign with her head.

‘And… you can't?… Not ever?’ he whispered with despair.

‘Never!’ Dunya whispered.

There ensued a moment of terrible, dumb conflict within Svidrigailov's soul. With an inexpressible gaze he looked at her. Suddenly he removed his hand from her waist, turned away, walked quickly over to the window and stood in front of it.

Another moment went by.

‘Here is the key!’ (He took it out of the left pocket of his topcoat and placed it behind him on the table without looking at Dunya and without turning round to look at her.) ‘Take it; go, quickly!…’

He gazed stubbornly out of the window.

Dunya went over to the table to fetch the key.

‘Quickly! Quickly!’ Svidrigailov said, still without moving and still without turning round. But in that ‘quickly’ there was, undisguised, an obscure yet terrifying note.

Dunya caught it, snatched up the key, rushed to the door, opened it quickly and tore from the room. Within a moment, like a madwoman, hardly conscious of her actions, she had run down to the Canal and was off along it in the direction of — Bridge.

Svidrigailov continued to stand at the window for about another three minutes; at last he slowly turned round, looked about him and quietly passed the palm of his hand across his brow. A strange smile had distorted his face, a pathetic, sad, enfeebled smile, a smile of despair. The blood, which had dried by now, had left a stain on his palm: he looked at the blood with hatred; then he wetted a towel and washed his temple. The revolver which Dunya had thrown down and which had slid over to the door suddenly caught his gaze. He picked it up and examined it. It was a small, three-chambered pocket revolver of an old make; it still contained two charges and a cap. It could be fired once more. He pondered for a moment, stuffed the revolver in his pocket, took his hat and went out.

All that evening until ten o'clock he spent in various inns and dives, going from one to the other. Somewhere along his way Katya had appeared again, singing another manservants’ ditty about how someone, ‘a villain and a tyrant’, had

Begun to kiss Katya…

Svidrigailov had been buying drinks for Katya, the boy organ-player, the male singers and the serving staff, as well as for two wretched little government scribes. The real reason he had had anything to do with these scribes was that they both had crooked noses: the nose of one was bent to the right, while that of the other was bent to the left. This had impressed Svidrigailov. They had finally lured him into some kind of pleasure garden, where he had paid for their drinks as well as supplying the money for the entrance fee. The garden contained one scraggy fir tree of some three years’ growth and three shrubs. In addition to this, a ‘Vauxhall’
¹
had been built – really just an open-air drinking den, but there it was also possible to obtain tea, and there were, moreover, one or two green tables and chairs. A chorus of inferior singers and some sort of inebriated Munich German who looked like a circus clown, with a red nose, but somehow extremely sad, were trying to entertain the audience. The scribes got into a quarrel with some other scribes, and had been on the point of fighting. Svidrigailov was chosen to be their judge. This function he had carried out for a quarter of an hour, but they shouted so much that there had not been the slightest chance of making any sense of the matter. The only certainty that transpired was that one of them had stolen something and had actually sold whatever it was to some Jew who had turned up; but, having sold it, would not share the proceeds with his companion. The stolen object finally proved to be a teaspoon belonging to the Vauxhall. Its absence was noted in the Vauxhall, and the matter began to assume troublesome proportions. Svidrigailov had paid for the spoon, got up and left the garden. By that time it was about six o'clock. He himself had not drunk one drop of alcohol during all this time and while they had been in the Vauxhall had ordered only tea, and that more for reasons of propriety than anything else. Meanwhile a murky, oppressive evening wore on. Towards ten o'clock fearsome thunderclouds moved in from all sides; there was a crack of thunder and the rain came sluicing down like a waterfall. The water did not fall in drops, but lashed the earth in cascading spurts. Every moment or so there were flashes of lightning, and one could count up to five in each of them. Wet to the skin, he went back to his rooms,
locked himself in, opened the writing-desk, took out all his money and tore up two or three documents. Then, stuffing the money in his pocket, he began to change his clothes, but, looking out of the window and listening to the rain and thunder, took his hat and went out, leaving his rooms unlocked. He went straight along to Sonya's. She was back.

She was not alone; around her were the four small children of Kapernaumov. Sofya Semyonovna was giving them tea. She greeted Svidrigailov in deferential silence, eyed his drenched clothing with surprise, but said not a word. The children all instantly ran away in indescribable terror.

Svidrigailov took a seat at the table and asked Sonya to sit down beside him. She timidly made ready to listen.

‘Sofya Semyonovna, it's possible that I may be leaving for America,’ Svidrigailov said, ‘and since this is probably the last time we shall see each other, I have come to make certain arrangements. Well, so you saw that lady today? I know what she said to you, there's no need to repeat it.’ (Sonya began to make a motion, and blushed.) ‘These people have a certain cast of mind. As regards your small sisters and brother, they really have been provided for, and the money that is due to them has been entrusted for each of them, under signature, into safe hands in the proper quarters. Actually, I think you ought to take these signed receipts and keep them, just in case. Here, take them! Well then, that's that. Here are three five per cent bonds, worth three thousand roubles in all. I want you to take these for yourself, solely for yourself, and let it be agreed between us that no one shall know of it, whatever may come to your ears later on. This money will be necessary to you, because, Sofya Semyonovna, to live as you have been living is not seemly, and in any case now you have no need to do so.’

‘I'm so much in your debt, sir, and so are my orphans and my dead stepmother,’ Sonya said, hurriedly, ‘that if I haven't yet thanked you properly, you… mustn't think…’

‘Oh, there, there, that will do!’

‘But you know, Arkady Ivanovich, this money – I'm very grateful to you, of course, but I really don't need it now. If I've only myself to support, I can always do that, please don't think
me ungrateful: if you want to be really generous, then you should use this money to…’

‘To give to you, to you, Sofya Semyonovna, and please take it without too many words, because I really haven't the time. You're going to need it. Rodion Romanovich has two roads open to him: either a bullet in the forehead or Vladimirka.’
²
(Sonya gave him a wild look and began to tremble.) ‘Don't worry, I know it all, I've heard it from his own lips, and I'm not a gossip; I shan't tell anyone. That was sensible advice you gave him that time, when you told him to go and give himself up. It would be far more advantageous to him. Well, if it turns out to be Vladimirka – he'll go off there, and you'll follow him, I expect? That's right, isn't it? Isn't it? Well, and if that's the case, then you really will need the money. You'll need it for him – do you see what I mean? In giving it to you, I'll also be giving it to him. What's more, you've promised Amalia Ivanovna to pay her the money she's owed; I mean, I heard you say you would. Why do you take all these contracts and obligations onto your shoulders in such an ill-considered manner, Sofya Semyonovna? After all, it was Katerina Ivanovna who owed the money to that German woman, not you, so you oughtn't to give a spit for the German woman. You won't make your way in the world if you carry on like that. Well, if anyone should ask you – oh, tomorrow or the day after tomorrow – if you've seen me or have any information about me (and ask you they will), then please don't mention that I paid this visit to you, and under no circumstances show the money to anyone or tell them I gave it you. Well, goodbye now.’ (He got up from his chair.) ‘Give my greetings to Rodion Romanych. Oh, and by the way: if I were you, I'd give that money to Mr Razumikhin to look after for the time being. You know Mr Razumikhin, don't you? Of course you do. He's not a bad sort of fellow. So take it to him, tomorrow or… when the time comes. And until then hide it somewhere far from prying eyes.’

Sonya also leapt up from her chair, and she looked at him in fear. She wanted very much to say something, ask a certain question, but in those first few moments did not dare to begin it, and indeed, did not know how to.

‘You're not… you're not going out in rain like that, are you, sir?’

‘I say, it's not much good a chap setting off for America if he's afraid of the rain, hee-hee-hee! Goodbye, Sofya Semyonovna, my dear! Live and live long, you'll stand others in good stead. And before I forget… please tell Mr Razumikhin that I bow to him. Put it in just those words: say, “Arkady Ivanovich Svidrigailov bows to you.” Be sure you get it right.’

He went out, leaving Sonya in a state of bewilderment, fear and a kind of dark, vague suspicion.