PART 6 // chapter 6-3

[모나리자]

"차가 있나요?" 스비드리가일로프가 물었다. "네, 선생님." "다른 게 있나요?" "송아지 고기, 보드카, 짭짤한 음식." "차와 송아지 고기를 가져다 주세요." "그리고 다른 건 필요 없나요?" 그는 놀란 듯 물었다. "아무것도, 아무것도." 누더기 차림의 남자는 완전히 환멸을 느낀 듯 떠났다. "좋은 곳이겠구나." 스비드리가일로프가 생각했다. "내가 왜 몰랐을까? 카페 샹탄에서 온 것 같고, 그 과정에서 모험을 한 것 같아. 누가 묵었는지 알아보면 재밌을 것 같아." 그는 촛불을 켜고 방을 더 주의 깊게 살펴보았다.

너무 낮은 음조라 스비드리가일로프는 그냥 서 있을 수밖에 없었다. 창문이 하나 있었다. 침대는 매우 더러웠고, 얼룩덜룩한 의자와 테이블이 거의 가득 찼다. 벽은 마치 판자로 만든 것처럼 보였고, 초라한 종이로 덮여 있었고, 너무 찢어지고 먼지가 묻어서 무늬를 구별할 수 없었지만, 일반적인 색상인 노란색은 여전히 ​​알아볼 수 있었습니다. 벽 중 하나는 경사진 천장으로 인해 짧게 잘려 있었지만, 방은 다락방이 아니라 계단 바로 아래였습니다. 스비드리가일로프는 촛불을 내려놓고 침대에 앉아 생각에 잠겼습니다. 하지만 옆방에서 가끔씩 큰 소리로 들리는 이상하고 끈질긴 중얼거림이 그의 주의를 끌었습니다.

그가 방에 들어간 순간부터 중얼거림은 그치지 않았습니다. 그는 귀를 기울였습니다. 누군가가 꾸중하고 거의 눈물을 흘리며 꾸중했지만, 그는 단 한 명의 목소리만 들었습니다. 스비드리가일로프는 일어나서 손으로 빛을 가렸고, 벽의 틈을 통해 빛이 보였습니다. 그는 올라가서 들여다보았습니다. 그의 방보다 다소 큰 방에는 두 명의 거주자가 있었습니다. 그 중 한 명은 곱슬머리에 얼굴이 빨갛게 달아오른 남자로, 외투도 입지 않고 다리를 벌려 균형을 유지한 채 연설가의 자세로 서 있었고, 가슴을 치고 있었습니다.

그는 다른 한 명을 거지라고, 전혀 서 있을 자리가 없다고 비난했습니다. 그는 다른 한 명을 도랑에서 꺼냈고, 원할 때 꺼내도 된다고 선언했고, 오직 신의 손가락만이 모든 것을 보고 있다고 말했습니다. 그의 비난의 대상은 의자에 앉아 있었고, 재채기를 몹시 하고 싶어도 할 수 없는 사람의 태도를 보였습니다. 그는 때때로 어리둥절해하며 연설자를 쳐다보았지만, 그가 무슨 말을 하는지 전혀 알지 못했고 거의 알아들을 수 없었습니다.

테이블 위에서 촛불이 타오르고 있었습니다. 와인잔, 거의 비어 있는 보드카 병, 빵과 오이, 오래된 차 찌꺼기가 있는 잔들이 있었습니다. 스비드리가일로프는 이를 주의 깊게 응시한 후 무관심하게 돌아서서 침대에 앉았다.

누더기 차림의 시중드는 사람이 차를 가지고 돌아와서 더 이상 원하는 것이 없느냐고 다시 물었고, 다시 부정적인 대답을 듣고 결국 물러섰다.

스비드리가일로프는 몸을 따뜻하게 하기 위해 차 한 잔을 마시려고 서둘렀지만 아무것도 먹을 수 없었다. 그는 열이 나기 시작했다. 그는 코트를 벗고 담요를 두르고 침대에 누웠다. 그는 짜증이 났다. "이번에는 몸이 건강했으면 좋았을 텐데." 그는 미소를 지으며 생각했다. 방은 좁았고, 촛불은 희미하게 타올랐고, 밖에서는 바람이 울부짖었고, 그는 구석에서 쥐가 긁는 소리를 들었고 방에는 쥐와 가죽 냄새가 났다. 그는 일종의 몽상에 빠져 있었다. 한 가지 생각이 다른 생각을 낳았다.

그는 상상력을 무언가에 고정하고 싶은 갈망을 느꼈다. "창문 아래에 정원이겠지." 그는 생각했다. "나무 소리가 난다. 폭풍우가 치는 밤에 어둠 속에서 나무 소리가 나는 게 싫어! 나무 소리는 사람을 끔찍하게 만든다." 그는 방금 페트로프스키 공원을 지날 때 얼마나 싫어했는지 기억해냈다. 그것은 그에게 리틀 네바 강 위의 다리를 떠올리게 했고, 그는 거기에 서 있을 때와 마찬가지로 다시 추위를 느꼈다.

"나는 물을 좋아한 적이 없다." 그는 생각했다. "풍경 속에서도." 그는 갑자기 이상한 생각에 다시 미소를 지었다. "분명히 지금은 취향과 편안함에 대한 모든 질문이 중요하지 않아야 하지만, 나는 더욱 까다로워졌다. 마치 그런 경우에 특별한 장소를 고르는 동물처럼. 나는 페트로프스키 공원에 가야 했어! 어둡고 차가웠던 모양이구나, 하하! 마치 기분 좋은 감각을 찾고 있는 것처럼!... 그런데, 왜 촛불을 끄지 않았을까?" 그는 불을 껐다. "그들은 옆집에서 자러 갔어." 그는 생각했다. 문틈에 불이 보이지 않았다. "자, 마르파 페트로브나, 지금이 네가 나타날 때야. 어둡고, 네가 있어야 할 때고 장소야. 하지만 지금은 네가 오지 않을 거야!"

그는 갑자기 두니아에 대한 계획을 실행하기 한 시간 전에 라스콜니코프에게 그녀를 라주미힌에게 맡기라고 권고했던 일을 떠올렸다.

"내가 정말로 그렇게 말했을 거야, 라스콜니코프가 추측했듯이, 나 자신을 놀리려고. 하지만 라스콜니코프는 얼마나 사기꾼인가! 그는 많은 것을 겪었어. 그는 자신의 헛소리를 극복하고 나면 성공적인 사기꾼이 될지도 몰라. 하지만 지금은 삶에 너무 열중하고 있어. 이 젊은이들은 그런 면에서 경멸받을 만해. 하지만, 그 녀석을 교수형에 처해! 그가 스스로를 기쁘게 하게 두어. 그건 나와는 상관없는 일이야." 그는 잠들 수 없었다. 두니아의 모습이 점차 그의 앞에 떠올랐고, 떨림이 그를 덮쳤다.

"아니, 지금 이 모든 걸 포기해야겠어." 그는 생각하며 몸을 일으켰다. "다른 걸 생각해야겠어. 이상하고 웃기잖아. 나는 누구에게도 큰 증오심을 품은 적이 없고, 나 자신을 복수하고 싶어한 적도 없고, 그건 나쁜 징조야, 나쁜 징조야, 나쁜 징조야. 나는 다투는 것도 좋아하지 않았고, 화를 낸 적도 없어. 그것도 나쁜 징조야. 그리고 내가 방금 그녀에게 한 약속도. 젠장! 하지만 누가 알겠어? 어쩌면 그녀는 나를 새로운 남자로 만들었을지도...

" 그는 이를 갈고 다시 침묵 속으로 가라앉았다. 다시 두니아의 모습이 그의 앞에 떠올랐다. 마치 처음 총을 쏜 후, 그녀가 공포에 질려 리볼버를 내리고 그를 멍하니 바라보던 때와 같았다. 그가 그녀를 두 번이나 붙잡았을 때, 그가 상기시키지 않았다면 그녀는 자신을 방어하기 위해 손을 들지 않았을 것이다. 그는 그 순간 그녀가 불쌍하다는 생각이 들었고, 가슴이 쿵쾅거리는 것을 느꼈다는 것을 떠올렸다... "아이고! 젠장, 또 이런 생각이네! 이걸 치워야겠어!"

그는 졸고 있었다. 열에 떨리는 떨림이 멈췄고, 갑자기 무언가가 침대보 아래에서 그의 팔과 다리를 지나가는 듯했다. 그는 몸을 떨었다. "으악! 걸어!

쥐인 것 같아." 그는 생각했다. "내가 테이블에 둔 송아지고기야." 그는 담요를 벗고 일어나 추워지는 게 두려웠지만, 갑자기 불쾌한 무언가가 다시 그의 다리를 지나갔다. 그는 담요를 벗고 촛불을 켰다.

열에 떨리는 오한에 몸을 떨며 몸을 숙여 침대를 살펴보았다. 아무것도 없었다. 그는 담요를 흔들었고 갑자기 쥐 한 마리가 시트 위로 뛰어올랐다. 그는 그것을 잡으려고 했지만, 쥐는 침대를 떠나지 않고 지그재그로 이리저리 달려가 그의 손가락 사이로 미끄러져 들어가 그의 손을 지나 갑자기 베개 아래로 달려들었다. 그는 베개를 내던졌지만, 순간적으로 무언가가 그의 가슴 위로 뛰어올라 그의 몸 위로, 그리고 셔츠 아래로 등을 타고 내려오는 것을 느꼈다. 그는 긴장하며 떨며 깨어났다.

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“Is there tea?” asked Svidrigaïlov. “Yes, sir.” “What else is there?” “Veal, vodka, savouries.” “Bring me tea and veal.” “And you want nothing else?” he asked with apparent surprise. “Nothing, nothing.” The ragged man went away, completely disillusioned. “It must be a nice place,” thought Svidrigaïlov. “How was it I didn’t know it? I expect I look as if I came from a café chantant and have had some adventure on the way. It would be interesting to know who stayed here?” He lighted the candle and looked at the room more carefully.

It was a room so low-pitched that Svidrigaïlov could only just stand up in it; it had one window; the bed, which was very dirty, and the plain-stained chair and table almost filled it up. The walls looked as though they were made of planks, covered with shabby paper, so torn and dusty that the pattern was indistinguishable, though the general colour—yellow—could still be made out. One of the walls was cut short by the sloping ceiling, though the room was not an attic but just under the stairs. Svidrigaïlov set down the candle, sat down on the bed and sank into thought. But a strange persistent murmur which sometimes rose to a shout in the next room attracted his attention.

The murmur had not ceased from the moment he entered the room. He listened: someone was upbraiding and almost tearfully scolding, but he heard only one voice. Svidrigaïlov got up, shaded the light with his hand and at once he saw light through a crack in the wall; he went up and peeped through. The room, which was somewhat larger than his, had two occupants. One of them, a very curly-headed man with a red inflamed face, was standing in the pose of an orator, without his coat, with his legs wide apart to preserve his balance, and smiting himself on the breast.

He reproached the other with being a beggar, with having no standing whatever. He declared that he had taken the other out of the gutter and he could turn him out when he liked, and that only the finger of Providence sees it all. The object of his reproaches was sitting in a chair, and had the air of a man who wants dreadfully to sneeze, but can’t. He sometimes turned sheepish and befogged eyes on the speaker, but obviously had not the slightest idea what he was talking about and scarcely heard it.

A candle was burning down on the table; there were wine-glasses, a nearly empty bottle of vodka, bread and cucumber, and glasses with the dregs of stale tea. After gazing attentively at this, Svidrigaïlov turned away indifferently and sat down on the bed.

The ragged attendant, returning with the tea, could not resist asking him again whether he didn’t want anything more, and again receiving a negative reply, finally withdrew.

Svidrigaïlov made haste to drink a glass of tea to warm himself, but could not eat anything. He began to feel feverish. He took off his coat and, wrapping himself in the blanket, lay down on the bed. He was annoyed. “It would have been better to be well for the occasion,” he thought with a smile. The room was close, the candle burnt dimly, the wind was roaring outside, he heard a mouse scratching in the corner and the room smelt of mice and of leather. He lay in a sort of reverie: one thought followed another.

He felt a longing to fix his imagination on something. “It must be a garden under the window,” he thought. “There’s a sound of trees. How I dislike the sound of trees on a stormy night, in the dark! They give one a horrid feeling.” He remembered how he had disliked it when he passed Petrovsky Park just now. This reminded him of the bridge over the Little Neva and he felt cold again as he had when standing there.

“I never have liked water,” he thought, “even in a landscape,” and he suddenly smiled again at a strange idea: “Surely now all these questions of taste and comfort ought not to matter, but I’ve become more particular, like an animal that picks out a special place... for such an occasion. I ought to have gone into the Petrovsky Park! I suppose it seemed dark, cold, ha-ha! As though I were seeking pleasant sensations!... By the way, why haven’t I put out the candle?” he blew it out. “They’ve gone to bed next door,” he thought, not seeing the light at the crack. “Well, now, Marfa Petrovna, now is the time for you to turn up; it’s dark, and the very time and place for you. But now you won’t come!”

He suddenly recalled how, an hour before carrying out his design on Dounia, he had recommended Raskolnikov to trust her to Razumihin’s keeping.

“I suppose I really did say it, as Raskolnikov guessed, to tease myself. But what a rogue that Raskolnikov is! He’s gone through a good deal. He may be a successful rogue in time when he’s got over his nonsense. But now he’s too eager for life. These young men are contemptible on that point. But, hang the fellow! Let him please himself, it’s nothing to do with me.” He could not get to sleep. By degrees Dounia’s image rose before him, and a shudder ran over him.

“No, I must give up all that now,” he thought, rousing himself. “I must think of something else. It’s queer and funny. I never had a great hatred for anyone, I never particularly desired to avenge myself even, and that’s a bad sign, a bad sign, a bad sign. I never liked quarrelling either, and never lost my temper—that’s a bad sign too. And the promises I made her just now, too—Damnation! But—who knows?—perhaps she would have made a new man of me somehow....

” He ground his teeth and sank into silence again. Again Dounia’s image rose before him, just as she was when, after shooting the first time, she had lowered the revolver in terror and gazed blankly at him, so that he might have seized her twice over and she would not have lifted a hand to defend herself if he had not reminded her. He recalled how at that instant he felt almost sorry for her, how he had felt a pang at his heart... “Aïe! Damnation, these thoughts again! I must put it away!”

He was dozing off; the feverish shiver had ceased, when suddenly something seemed to run over his arm and leg under the bedclothes. He started. “Ugh! hang it! I believe it’s a

mouse,” he thought, “that’s the veal I left on the table.” He felt fearfully disinclined to pull off the blanket, get up, get cold, but all at once something unpleasant ran over his leg again. He pulled off the blanket and lighted the candle.

Shaking with feverish chill he bent down to examine the bed: there was nothing. He shook the blanket and suddenly a mouse jumped out on the sheet. He tried to catch it, but the mouse ran to and fro in zigzags without leaving the bed, slipped between his fingers, ran over his hand and suddenly darted under the pillow. He threw down the pillow, but in one instant felt something leap on his chest and dart over his body and down his back under his shirt. He trembled nervously and woke up.

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