PART 6 // chapter 3-1

[모나리자]

그는 서둘러 스비드리가일로프의 집으로 향했다. 그는 그 남자에게 무엇을 바랄지 몰랐다. 하지만 그 남자는 그에게 숨겨진 힘을 가지고 있었다. 한 번 그것을 알아차린 그는 쉴 수 없었고, 이제 그 때가 왔다. 가는 길에 한 가지 의문이 그를 특히 걱정시켰다. 스비드리가일로프가 포르피리의 집에 갔을까? 그가 판단할 수 있는 한, 그는 그가 가지 않았다고 맹세할 것이다. 그는 거듭거듭 생각했고, 포르피리의 방문을 살펴보았다. 아니, 그는 가지 않았다. 물론 그는 가지 않았다. 하지만 아직 가지 않았다면, 그는 갈 것인가? 그동안 그는 당장은 갈 수 없다고 생각했다. 왜? 그는 설명할 수 없었지만, 할 수 있었다면, 지금 당장 그것에 대해 많은 생각을 낭비하지 않았을 것이다.

모든 것이 그를 걱정시켰고 동시에 그는 그것에 주의를 기울일 수 없었다. 이상하게도 아무도 그것을 믿지 않았을 것이다. 하지만 그는 자신의 당장의 미래에 대해 희미하고 모호한 불안을 느꼈을 뿐이다. 또 다른, 훨씬 더 중요한 불안이 그를 괴롭혔다. 그것은 자신과 관련이 있었지만, 다른, 더 중요한 방식으로. 게다가 그는 엄청난 도덕적 피로를 의식했지만, 그날 아침 그의 마음은 최근보다 더 잘 작동하고 있었다. 그리고 일어난 모든 일 이후에, 이 새로운 사소한 어려움에 맞서 싸우는 것이 가치가 있었을까?

예를 들어, 스비드리가일로프가 포르피리네에 가지 않도록 조종하는 것이 가치가 있었을까? 조사하고, 사실을 확인하고,

스비드리가일로프와 같은 사람에 시간을 낭비하는 것이 가치가 있었을까? 오, 그는 그 모든 것에 얼마나 싫증이 났을까! 그런데도 그는 스비드리가일로프에게 서두르고 있었다. 그는 그에게서 새로운 것을 기대하고 있었을까? 정보나 탈출 수단? 사람들은 짚을 잡는 법이다! 운명이었을까, 아니면 그들을 하나로 모으는 본능이었을까? 아마도 피로, 절망일 뿐이었을 것이다. 아마도 스비드리가일로프가 아니라 그에게 필요한 다른 사람이었을 것이고, 스비드리가일로프는 그저 우연히 나타났을 것이다. 소냐? 하지만 지금 소냐에게 가서 뭘 해야 할까? 다시 그녀의 눈물을 구걸하기 위해서? 그는 소냐도 두려웠다.

소냐는 돌이킬 수 없는 선고처럼 그의 앞에 서 있었다. 그는 자신의 길을 가야 하거나 그녀의 길을 가야 한다. 특히 그 순간 그는 그녀를 보는 것이 마땅하지 않다고 느꼈다. 아니, 스비드리가일로프를 시도하는 것이 낫지 않을까? 그리고 그는 어떤 이유에서인지 오랫동안 그를 만나야 한다고 느꼈다는 것을 마음속으로 인정하지 않을 수 없었다. 하지만 그들은 무슨 공통점이 있을까? 그들의 악행은 전혀 같은 종류가 아닐 수 없었다. 게다가 그 남자는 매우 불쾌했고, 분명히 타락했으며, 의심할 여지 없이 교활하고 사기성이 강했으며, 아마도 악의적일 수도 있었다.

그에 대한 그런 이야기들이 있었다. 그가 카테리나 이바노브나의 아이들과 친구가 된 것은 사실이지만, 어떤 동기로, 무슨 의미인지 누가 알 수 있을까? 그 남자는 항상 어떤 계획, 어떤 프로젝트를 가지고 있었다. 라스콜니코프의 마음속에 끊임없이 맴돌았던 또 다른 생각이 있었고, 그것은 그를 크게 불안하게 만들었다. 너무 고통스러워서 그는 그것을 없애기 위해 뚜렷한 노력을 했습니다. 그는 때때로 스비드리가일로프가 그의 발자취를 따라가는 것 같다고 생각했습니다.

스비드리가일로프는 자신의 비밀을 알아냈고 두니아를 노리고 있었다. 그가 여전히 비밀을 알고 있다면 어떨까? 그가 알고 있다는 것은 거의 확실하지 않은가? 그리고 자신의 비밀을 알게 된 후

그에게 권력을 얻은 후, 그것을 두니아에 대한 무기로 사용한다면 어떨까? 이 생각은 때때로 그의 꿈을 괴롭혔지만, 스비드리가일로프에게 가는 길만큼 생생하게 그에게 나타난 적은 없었다.

그 생각 자체가 그를 우울한 분노로 이끌었다. 우선, 이것은 모든 것을, 심지어 자신의 위치까지도 바꿀 것이다. 그는 즉시 두니아에게 자신의 비밀을 고백해야 할 것이다. 그는 두니아가 성급한 행동을 하는 것을 막기 위해 자신을 내주어야 할까? 편지? 오늘 아침 두니아는 편지를 받았다. 그녀는 상트페테르부르크에서 누구에게서 편지를 받을 수 있을까? 아마도 루진? 라주미힌이 그녀를 보호하기 위해 거기에 있었던 것은 사실이지만, 라주미힌은 그녀의 위치에 대해 아무것도 몰랐다. 아마도 라주미힌에게 말하는 것이 그의 의무였을까? 그는 혐오감을 가지고 그것에 대해 생각했다.

어쨌든 그는 가능한 한 빨리 스비드리가일로프를 만나야 한다고 마침내 결심했습니다. 다행히도, 그가 문제의 핵심을 파악할 수만 있다면 인터뷰의 세부 사항은 별로 중요하지 않았습니다. 하지만 스비드리가일로프가 할 수 있다면... 그가 두니아를 상대로 음모를 꾸민다면... 라스콜니코프는 그 달에 겪은 일로 너무 지쳐서 그런 질문을 한 가지 방법으로만 결정할 수 있었습니다. "그럼 그를 죽여야겠다." 그는 차가운 절망 속에서 생각했습니다. 갑자기 괴로움이 그의 마음을 억누르고, 그는 거리 한가운데에 서서 자신이 어디에 있는지, 어느 방향으로 가고 있는지 주변을 둘러보기 시작했습니다.

그는 헤이 마켓에서 30~40걸음 떨어진 X. 프로스펙트에 있었습니다.

왼쪽에 있는 집의 2층 전체가 선술집으로 사용되었습니다. 모든 창문이 활짝 열려 있었습니다. 창문에서 움직이는 인물로 보아 방은 가득 차서 넘쳐났습니다. 노래 소리, 클라리넷과 바이올린 소리, 터키 드럼 소리가 들렸다. 그는 여성들이 비명을 지르는 소리를 들을 수 있었다. 그는 왜 X로 왔는지 궁금해하며 뒤돌아보려고 했다.

Prospect, 갑자기 끝 창문 중 하나에서 그는 Svidrigaïlov가 열린 창문 바로 안의 티테이블에 앉아 파이프를 입에 물고 있는 것을 보았다. Raskolnikov는 무섭게 당황했고 거의 겁에 질렸다. Svidrigaïlov는 조용히 그를 지켜보고 면밀히 살폈고, Raskolnikov에게 당장 눈에 띄는 것은 일어나서 눈에 띄지 않게 빠져나가려는 듯했다. Raskolnikov는 즉시 그를 보지 못한 척했지만, 무심코 시선을 돌리고 있는 척하면서 눈꼬치로 그를 지켜보았다.

그의 심장이 격렬하게 뛰었다. 그러나 Svidrigaïlov가 보이고 싶어하지 않는다는 것은 분명했다. 그는 파이프를 입에서 빼고 몸을 숨기려고 했지만, 일어나서 의자를 뒤로 옮기자 라스콜니코프가 자신을 보고 지켜보고 있다는 것을 갑자기 깨달은 듯했다. 두 사람 사이에서 오간 일은 라스콜니코프의 방에서 처음 만났을 때와 크게 같았다. 교활한 미소가 스비드리가일로프의 얼굴에 떠올랐고 점점 더 커졌다. 각자는 서로가 자신을 보고 지켜보고 있다는 것을 알고 있었다.

마침내 스비드리가일로프가 큰 소리로 웃었다. "좋아요, 좋아요, 들어오세요. 내가 여기 있어요!" 그는 창문에서 소리쳤다. 라스콜니코프는 선술집으로 올라갔다. 그는 스비드리가일로프를 작은 뒷방에서 발견했는데, 그곳은 상인, 사무원, 온갖 사람들이 20개의 작은 테이블에 앉아 차를 마시고 있었고,

가수들의 합창단이 절박하게

울부짖는 소리가 들렸다. 멀리서 당구공이 딸각거리는 소리가 들렸다.

스비드리가일로프 앞의 테이블에는 열린 병과 샴페인이 반쯤 채워진 잔이 놓여 있었습니다. 그는 방에서 작은 핸드 오르간을 든 소년과, 18세의 건강해 보이는 붉은 뺨의 소녀를 발견했는데, 그녀는 줄무늬 치마를 접어 올리고 리본이 달린 티롤 모자를 쓰고 있었습니다. 다른 방의 합창에도 불구하고, 그녀는 오르간 반주에 맞춰 다소 허스키한 콘트랄토로 하인들의 홀 노래를 부르고 있었습니다.

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CHAPTER III

He hurried to Svidrigaïlov’s. What he had to hope from that man he did not know. But that man had some hidden power over him. Having once recognised this, he could not rest, and now the time had come. On the way, one question particularly worried him: had Svidrigaïlov been to Porfiry’s? As far as he could judge, he would swear to it, that he had not. He pondered again and again, went over Porfiry’s visit; no, he hadn’t been, of course he hadn’t. But if he had not been yet, would he go? Meanwhile, for the present he fancied he couldn’t. Why? He could not have explained, but if he could, he would not have wasted much thought over it at the moment.

It all worried him and at the same time he could not attend to it. Strange to say, none would have believed it perhaps, but he only felt a faint vague anxiety about his immediate future. Another, much more important anxiety tormented him—it concerned himself, but in a different, more vital way. Moreover, he was conscious of immense moral fatigue, though his mind was working better that morning than it had done of late. And was it worth while, after all that had happened, to contend with these new trivial difficulties?

Was it worth while, for instance, to manoeuvre that Svidrigaïlov should not go to Porfiry’s? Was it worth while to investigate, to ascertain the facts, to waste time over anyone like

Svidrigaïlov? Oh, how sick he was of it all! And yet he was hastening to Svidrigaïlov; could he be expecting something new from him, information, or means of escape? Men will catch at straws! Was it destiny or some instinct bringing them together? Perhaps it was only fatigue, despair; perhaps it was not Svidrigaïlov but some other whom he needed, and Svidrigaïlov had simply presented himself by chance. Sonia? But what should he go to Sonia for now? To beg her tears again? He was afraid of Sonia, too.

Sonia stood before him as an irrevocable sentence. He must go his own way or hers. At that moment especially he did not feel equal to seeing her. No, would it not be better to try Svidrigaïlov? And he could not help inwardly owning that he had long felt that he must see him for some reason. But what could they have in common? Their very evil-doing could not be of the same kind. The man, moreover, was very unpleasant, evidently depraved, undoubtedly cunning and deceitful, possibly malignant.

Such stories were told about him. It is true he was befriending Katerina Ivanovna’s children, but who could tell with what motive and what it meant? The man always had some design, some project. There was another thought which had been continually hovering of late about Raskolnikov’s mind, and causing him great uneasiness. It was so painful that he made distinct efforts to get rid of it. He sometimes thought that Svidrigaïlov was dogging his footsteps.

Svidrigaïlov had found out his secret and had had designs on Dounia. What if he had them still? Wasn’t it practically certain that he had? And what if, having learnt his secret

and so having gained power over him, he were to use it as a weapon against Dounia? This idea sometimes even tormented his dreams, but it had never presented itself so vividly to him as on his way to Svidrigaïlov.

The very thought moved him to gloomy rage. To begin with, this would transform everything, even his own position; he would have at once to confess his secret to Dounia. Would he have to give himself up perhaps to prevent Dounia from taking some rash step? The letter? This morning Dounia had received a letter. From whom could she get letters in Petersburg? Luzhin, perhaps? It’s true Razumihin was there to protect her, but Razumihin knew nothing of the position. Perhaps it was his duty to tell Razumihin? He thought of it with repugnance.

In any case he must see Svidrigaïlov as soon as possible, he decided finally. Thank God, the details of the interview were of little consequence, if only he could get at the root of the matter; but if Svidrigaïlov were capable... if he were intriguing against Dounia—then... Raskolnikov was so exhausted by what he had passed through that month that he could only decide such questions in one way; “then I shall kill him,” he thought in cold despair. A sudden anguish oppressed his heart, he stood still in the middle of the street and began looking about to see where he was and which way he was going.

He found himself in X. Prospect, thirty or forty paces from the Hay Market, through which he had come. The whole second storey of

the house on the left was used as a tavern. All the windows were wide open; judging from the figures moving at the windows, the rooms were full to overflowing. There were sounds of singing, of clarionet and violin, and the boom of a Turkish drum. He could hear women shrieking. He was about to turn back wondering why he had come to the X.

Prospect, when suddenly at one of the end windows he saw Svidrigaïlov, sitting at a tea-table right in the open window with a pipe in his mouth. Raskolnikov was dreadfully taken aback, almost terrified. Svidrigaïlov was silently watching and scrutinising him and, what struck Raskolnikov at once, seemed to be meaning to get up and slip away unobserved. Raskolnikov at once pretended not to have seen him, but to be looking absent-mindedly away, while he watched him out of the corner of his eye.

His heart was beating violently. Yet, it was evident that Svidrigaïlov did not want to be seen. He took the pipe out of his mouth and was on the point of concealing himself, but as he got up and moved back his chair, he seemed to have become suddenly aware that Raskolnikov had seen him, and was watching him. What had passed between them was much the same as what happened at their first meeting in Raskolnikov’s room. A sly smile came into Svidrigaïlov’s face and grew broader and broader. Each knew that he was seen and watched by the other.

At last Svidrigaïlov broke into a loud laugh. “Well, well, come in if you want me; I am here!” he shouted from the window. Raskolnikov went up into the tavern. He found Svidrigaïlov in a tiny back room, adjoining the saloon in which merchants, clerks and numbers of people of all sorts were drinking tea at twenty little tables to the desperate

bawling of a chorus of singers. The click of billiard balls could be heard in the distance.

On the table before Svidrigaïlov stood an open bottle and a glass half full of champagne. In the room he found also a boy with a little hand organ, a healthy-looking red-cheeked girl of eighteen, wearing a tucked-up striped skirt, and a Tyrolese hat with ribbons. In spite of the chorus in the other room, she was singing some servants’ hall song in a rather husky contralto, to the accompaniment of the organ.

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