PART 6 // chapter 6-4

[모나리자]

방은 어두웠다. 그는 침대에 누워서 예전처럼 담요를 두르고 있었다. 창문 아래에서 바람이 울부짖고 있었다. "얼마나 역겹나." 그는 짜증스럽게 생각했다. 그는 일어나서 침대 가장자리에 등을 창문 쪽으로 향하게 앉았다. "전혀 자지 않는 게 낫겠다." 그는 결정했다. 하지만 창문에서 차갑고 축축한 바람이 불어왔다. 그는 일어나지 않고 담요를 끌어안고 몸을 감쌋다. 그는 아무것도 생각하지 않았고 생각하고 싶지 않았다.

하지만 한 가지 이미지가 떠올랐고, 시작도 끝도 없는 불일관한 생각의 조각들이 그의 마음을 스쳐 지나갔다. 그는 졸음에 빠져들었다. 아마도 추위나 습기, 어둠, 아니면 창문 아래에서 울부짖으며 나무를 흔드는 바람이 일종의 지속적인 환상에 대한 갈망을 불러일으켰을 것이다. 그는 계속 꽃 이미지에 머물렀고, 매력적인 꽃밭, 밝고 따뜻하고 거의 더운 날, 휴일인 삼위일체절을 상상했다. 향기로운 꽃으로 뒤덮인 영국식의 호화로운 시골 별장, 집 주변에는 화단이 펼쳐져 있었습니다. 덩굴 식물로 둘러싸인 현관은 장미 화단으로 둘러싸여 있었습니다.

풍부한 양탄자로 덮인 가볍고 시원한 계단은 도자기 화분에 담긴 희귀한 식물로 장식되어 있었습니다. 그는 특히 창문에서 부드럽고 하얗고 향기로운 수선화가 밝고 녹색이며 두껍고 긴 줄기 위로 구부러져 있는 것을 보았습니다. 그는 그들로부터 멀어지고 싶지 않았지만 계단을 올라가 크고 높은 응접실로 들어갔고 다시 모든 곳, 창문, 발코니 문, 발코니 자체에 꽃이 있었습니다. 바닥에는 갓 자른 향기로운 건초가 흩어져 있었고 창문은 열려 있었으며 상쾌하고 시원하고 가벼운 공기가 방으로 들어왔습니다. 새들이 창문 아래에서 지저귀고 있었고 방 한가운데에는 흰색 새틴 수의로 덮인 테이블 위에 관이 서 있었습니다.

관은 하얀 실크로 덮여 있었고, 두꺼운 하얀 주름 장식으로 가장자리가 장식되어 있었습니다. 꽃으로 장식된 화환이 사방을 둘러싸고 있었습니다. 꽃 사이에 하얀 모슬린 드레스를 입은 소녀가 누워 있었고, 그녀는 팔을 교차하고 가슴에 눌렀는데, 마치 대리석으로 조각한 것 같았습니다. 하지만 그녀의 느슨한 금발 머리는 젖어 있었습니다. 그녀의 머리에는 장미 화환이 걸려 있었습니다. 그녀의 얼굴의 엄격하고 이미 딱딱한 윤곽은 마치 대리석으로 조각한 것 같았고, 그녀의 창백한 입술에 떠오른 미소는 엄청난 유치하지 않은 비참함과 슬픈 호소로 가득 차 있었습니다. 스비드리가일로프는 그 소녀를 알고 있었습니다. 관 옆에는 신성한 이미지도, 타오르는 촛불도 없었습니다. 기도하는 소리도 없었습니다. 그 소녀는 스스로 익사했습니다.

그녀는 겨우 열네 살이었지만, 그녀의 마음은 찢어졌습니다. 그리고 그녀는 자신을 파괴했고, 그 유치한 영혼을 놀라게 하고 놀라게 한 모욕에 짓밟혔고, 그 천사의 순수함을 부당한 수치심으로 더럽혔으며, 그녀에게서 절망의 마지막 비명을 찢었습니다.

어두운 밤에 추위와 습기 속에서 바람이 울부짖는 동안 무시당하고 잔인하게 무시당했습니다.... 스비드리가일로프는 정신을 차리고 침대에서 일어나 창문으로 갔습니다. 그는 걸쇠를 더듬어 열었습니다. 바람이 작은 방으로 맹렬하게 휘몰아쳐 들어와 그의 얼굴과 가슴을 찔렀습니다. 셔츠로만 가려져 있었고, 마치 서리가 내린 것처럼 보였습니다.

창문 아래에는 정원 같은 것이 있었을 것이고, 분명히 즐거운 정원이었을 것이다. 거기에도 아마 낮에는 티테이블과 노래가 있었을 것이다. 지금은 나무와 덤불에서 빗방울이 창문으로 날아들었다. 마치 지하실처럼 어두워서 그는 물체의 어두운 흐릿한 부분만 알아볼 수 있었다. 스비드리가일로프는 팔꿈치를 창틀에 대고 몸을 숙이고 5분간 어둠 속을 응시했다. 대포의 굉음과 두 번째 포탄 소리가 밤의 어둠 속에서 울려 퍼졌다. "아, 신호다! 강물이 넘쳐나고 있다." 그는 생각했다. "아침이 되면 아래쪽 거리를 따라 소용돌이치며 지하실과 지하실을 침수시킬 것이다.

지하실 쥐들이 헤엄쳐 나갈 것이고, 사람들은 쓰레기를 위층으로 끌고 가면서 비와 바람에 욕설을 퍼부을 것이다. 지금 몇 시인가?" 그는 거의 생각하지도 않았는데, 근처 어딘가에서 벽의 시계가 서둘러 똑딱거리며 3시를 쳤다. "아하! 한 시간 후면 밝아질 거야! 왜 기다리지? 나는 바로 공원으로 갈게. 비가 내린 큰 덤불을 골라서 어깨에 닿자마자 수백만 개의 물방울이 머리에 떨어지게 할 거야."

그는 창문에서 떨어져 창문을 닫고, 촛불을 켜고, 조끼와 외투, 모자를 쓰고, 촛불을 들고 복도로 나가서 촛불 끄트머리와 온갖 쓰레기 속에서 어딘가에서 잠들어 있을 누더기 차림의 종업원을 찾아 방값을 지불하고 호텔을 떠났다. "최고의 순간이야.

더 나은 것을 선택할 수 없었어." 그는 아무도 보이지 않는 길고 좁은 복도를 한참 걸었고, 그저 외치려고 했을 때, 낡은 찬장과 문 사이의 어두운 구석에서 갑자기 살아있는 듯한 이상한 물체가 눈에 띄었다.

그는 촛불을 들고 몸을 숙여 다섯 살도 안 된 어린 소녀가 떨며 울고 있는 것을 보았는데, 옷은 젖은 집용 플란넬 천처럼 젖어 있었다. 그녀는 스비드리가일로프를 두려워하지 않는 듯했지만, 커다랗고 검은 눈으로 그를 멍하니 쳐다보았다. 그녀는 가끔씩 아이들이 오랫동안 울다가 위로를 받기 시작할 때 하듯이 흐느끼기도 했다. 그 아이의 얼굴은 창백하고 피곤했고, 추위에 멍했다. "어떻게 여기 왔을까? 여기 숨어서 밤새 잠을 자지 못했을 거야."

그는 그녀에게 질문하기 시작했다. 그 아이는 갑자기 활기를 띠며, 아기 언어로 지껄였다. "엄마"에 대한 무언가와 "엄마가 때릴 거야"에 대한 무언가, 그리고 그녀가 "깨운" 컵에 대한 무언가에 대한 무언가. 그 아이는 멈추지 않고 지껄였다.

그는 그녀의 말을 통해 그녀가 소외된 아이라는 것을 짐작할 수 있었다. 그녀의 어머니는 아마도 호텔에 근무하는 술 취한 요리사였을 것이고, 그녀를 때리고 놀라게 했을 것이다. 그 아이가 엄마의 컵을 깨뜨렸고 너무 무서워서 전날 저녁에 도망쳤고, 오랫동안 비오는 바깥 어딘가에 숨었다가 마침내 여기로 들어와 찬장 뒤에 숨어서 밤을 보냈고, 습기와 어둠, 그리고 그 때문에 심하게 맞을까봐 울고 떨었습니다.

그는 그녀를 팔에 안고 방으로 돌아가 침대에 앉히고 옷을 벗기기 시작했습니다. 그녀가 신었던 찢어진 신발은

양말 없는 발이 마치 밤새 웅덩이에 서 있었던 것처럼 젖어 있었습니다. 그는 그녀의 옷을 벗긴 후 그녀를 침대에 눕히고 덮고 머리부터 아래로 담요로 그녀를 감쌋습니다. 그녀는 즉시 잠이 들었습니다.

그러고 나서 그는 다시 쓸쓸한 생각에 잠겼습니다. "나 자신을 괴롭히는 게 얼마나 어리석은가." 그는 갑자기 억눌린 짜증과 함께 결정했습니다. "얼마나 어리석은가!" 그는 화가 나서 촛불을 들고 누더기 옷을 입은 시중드는 사람을 다시 찾아가 서둘러 떠났다.

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The room was dark. He was lying on the bed and wrapped up in the blanket as before. The wind was howling under the window. “How disgusting,” he thought with annoyance. He got up and sat on the edge of the bedstead with his back to the window. “It’s better not to sleep at all,” he decided. There was a cold damp draught from the window, however; without getting up he drew the blanket over him and wrapped himself in it. He was not thinking of anything and did not want to think.

But one image rose after another, incoherent scraps of thought without beginning or end passed through his mind. He sank into drowsiness. Perhaps the cold, or the dampness, or the dark, or the wind that howled under the window and tossed the trees roused a sort of persistent craving for the fantastic. He kept dwelling on images of flowers, he fancied a charming flower garden, a bright, warm, almost hot day, a holiday—Trinity day. A fine, sumptuous country cottage in the English taste overgrown with fragrant flowers, with flower beds going round the house; the porch, wreathed in climbers, was surrounded with beds of roses.

A light, cool staircase, carpeted with rich rugs, was decorated with rare plants in china pots. He noticed particularly in the windows nosegays of tender, white, heavily fragrant narcissus bending over their bright, green, thick long stalks. He was reluctant to move away from them, but he went up the stairs and came into a large, high drawing-room and again everywhere—at the windows, the doors on to the balcony, and on the balcony itself—were flowers. The floors were strewn with freshly-cut fragrant hay, the windows were open, a fresh, cool, light air came into the room. The birds were chirruping under the window, and in the middle of the room, on a table covered with a white satin shroud, stood a coffin.

The coffin was covered with white silk and edged with a thick white frill; wreaths of flowers surrounded it on all sides. Among the flowers lay a girl in a white muslin dress, with her arms crossed and pressed on her bosom, as though carved out of marble. But her loose fair hair was wet; there was a wreath of roses on her head. The stern and already rigid profile of her face looked as though chiselled of marble too, and the smile on her pale lips was full of an immense unchildish misery and sorrowful appeal. Svidrigaïlov knew that girl; there was no holy image, no burning candle beside the coffin; no sound of prayers: the girl had drowned herself.

She was only fourteen, but her heart was broken. And she had destroyed herself, crushed by an insult that had appalled and amazed that childish soul, had smirched that angel purity with unmerited disgrace and torn from her a last scream of despair,

unheeded and brutally disregarded, on a dark night in the cold and wet while the wind howled.... Svidrigaïlov came to himself, got up from the bed and went to the window. He felt for the latch and opened it. The wind lashed furiously into the little room and stung his face and his chest, only covered with his shirt, as though with frost.

Under the window there must have been something like a garden, and apparently a pleasure garden. There, too, probably there were tea-tables and singing in the daytime. Now drops of rain flew in at the window from the trees and bushes; it was dark as in a cellar, so that he could only just make out some dark blurs of objects. Svidrigaïlov, bending down with elbows on the window-sill, gazed for five minutes into the darkness; the boom of a cannon, followed by a second one, resounded in the darkness of the night. “Ah, the signal! The river is overflowing,” he thought. “By morning it will be swirling down the street in the lower parts, flooding the basements and cellars.

The cellar rats will swim out, and men will curse in the rain and wind as they drag their

rubbish to their upper storeys. What time is it now?” And he had hardly thought it when, somewhere near, a clock on the wall, ticking away hurriedly, struck three. “Aha! It will be light in an hour! Why wait? I’ll go out at once straight to the park. I’ll choose a great bush there drenched with rain, so that as soon as one’s shoulder touches it, millions of drops drip on one’s head.”

He moved away from the window, shut it, lighted the candle, put on his waistcoat, his overcoat and his hat and went out, carrying the candle, into the passage to look for the ragged attendant who would be asleep somewhere in the midst of candle-ends and all sorts of rubbish,to pay him for the room and leave the hotel.“It’s the best minute;I couldn’t

choose a better.” He walked for some time through a long narrow corridor without finding anyone and was just going to call out, when suddenly in a dark corner between an old cupboard and the door he caught sight of a strange object which seemed to be alive.

He bent down with the candle and saw a little girl, not more than five years old, shivering and crying, with her clothes as wet as a soaking house-flannel. She did not seem afraid of Svidrigaïlov, but looked at him with blank amazement out of her big black eyes. Now and then she sobbed as children do when they have been crying a long time, but are beginning to be comforted. The child’s face was pale and tired, she was numb with cold. “How can she have come here? She must have hidden here and not slept all night.”

He began questioning her. The child suddenly becoming animated, chattered away in her baby language, something about “mammy” and that “mammy would beat her,” and about some cup that she had “bwoken.” The child chattered on without stopping.

He could only guess from what she said that she was a neglected child, whose mother, probably a drunken cook, in the service of the hotel, whipped and frightened her; that the child had broken a cup of her mother’s and was so frightened that she had run away the evening before, had hidden for a long while somewhere outside in the rain, at last had made her way in here, hidden behind the cupboard and spent the night there, crying and trembling from the damp, the darkness and the fear that she would be badly beaten for it.

He took her in his arms, went back to his room, sat her on the bed, and began undressing her. The torn shoes which she had on her

stockingless feet were as wet as if they had been standing in a puddle all night. When he had undressed her, he put her on the bed, covered her up and wrapped her in the blanket from her head downwards. She fell asleep at once.

Then he sank into dreary musing again. “What folly to trouble myself,” he decided suddenly with an oppressive feeling of annoyance. “What idiocy!” In vexation he took up the candle to go and look for the ragged attendant again and make haste to go away.

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