PART I // chapter 5-1

[모나리자]

"물론, 최근에 라주미힌에게 가서 일자리를 구하고, 레슨이나 뭔가를 부탁하고 싶었어..." 라스콜니코프는 생각했다. "하지만 지금 그가 나에게 무슨 도움이 될 수 있을까? 그가 나에게 레슨을 해준다고 가정해 보자. 그가 마지막 푼돈이라도 있다면 나에게 나눠주고, 내가 부츠를 사서 레슨을 할 만큼 정돈할 수 있도록... 흠...

그럼 어떻게 해야 할까? 내가 번 돈 몇 푼으로 뭘 해야 할까? 지금은 그게 싫다. 라주미힌에 가는 건 정말 터무니없는 짓이야..." 왜 지금 라주미힌에 가는지 그 의문은 자신이 알고 있는 것보다 더 그를 불안하게 만들었다. 그는 이 겉보기에 평범한 행동에서 어떤 불길한 의미를 불안하게 찾고 있었다.

"라주미힌만으로 모든 것을 바로잡고 벗어날 길을 찾을 수 있었을까?" 그는 어리둥절해하며 스스로에게 물었다. 그는 숙고하며 이마를 문질렀고, 이상하게도 오랜 숙고 끝에 갑자기 마치 자발적으로, 우연인 듯 환상적인 생각이 그의 머릿속에 떠올랐다. "음... 라주미힌네에 가자." 그는 마치 마지막 결심을 한 듯 침착하게 한꺼번에 말했다. "물론 라주미힌네에 갈 거야. 하지만... 지금은 아니야. 그에게 갈 거야... 그것이 끝나고 모든 것이 새로 시작될 다음 날에..."

그리고 갑자기 그는 자신이 무슨 생각을 하고 있는지 깨달았다. "그것이 끝나고 나서" 그는 소리치며 자리에서 벌떡 일어났다. "하지만 그것이 정말 일어날까? 정말로 일어날 수 있을까?" 그는 자리를 떠나 거의 달려갔다. 그는 집으로 돌아갈 생각이었지만, 집에 가는 생각이 갑자기 강렬한 혐오감을 불러일으켰다. 그 구멍에서, 그의 그 끔찍한 작은 찬장에서, 이 모든 것이 지난 한 달 동안 그에게서 자라났다. 그리고 그는 무작위로 걸었다. 그의 긴장된 떨림은 그를 떨게 하는 열병으로 바뀌었다. 더위에도 불구하고 그는 추위를 느꼈다.

그는 어떤 내면의 갈망에서 거의 무의식적으로, 주의를 돌릴 무언가를 찾는 듯, 앞에 있는 모든 사물을 응시하기 시작했다. 하지만 그는 성공하지 못했고, 매 순간 생각에 잠겼다.

그는 깜짝 놀라 다시 고개를 들어 주변을 둘러보았고, 방금 무슨 생각을 하고 있었는지, 심지어 어디로 가고 있는지도 금세 잊어버렸다. 이런 식으로 그는 바실리예프스키 오스트로프를 가로질러 걸어가서 레서 네바로 나와 다리를 건너 섬으로 향했다.

처음에는 도시의 먼지와 그를 둘러싸고 무거운 짐을 지고 있는 거대한 집들 때문에 지친 눈에 푸르고 상쾌한 기운이 느껴졌다.

여기에는 선술집도, 숨 막힐 듯한 친밀감도, 악취도 없었다. 하지만 이 새로운 즐거운 감각은 곧 병적인 과민성으로 바뀌었다. 때때로 그는 푸른 잎사귀 사이에 서 있는 밝게 칠해진 여름 별장 앞에 멈춰 서서, 울타리 너머로 바라보았고, 멀리서 베란다와 발코니에 있는 단정한 차림의 여성들과 정원에서 뛰어다니는 아이들을 보았다. 특히 꽃들이 그의 주의를 끌었다. 그는 무엇보다도 오랫동안 꽃을 바라보았다.

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CHAPTER V

“Of course, I’ve been meaning lately to go to Razumihin’s to ask for work, to ask him to get me lessons or something...” Raskolnikov thought, “but what help can he be to me now? Suppose he gets me lessons, suppose he shares his last farthing with me, if he

has any farthings, so that I could get some boots and make myself tidy

enough to give lessons... hm...

Well and what then? What shall I do with the few coppers I earn? That’s not what I want now. It’s really absurd for me to go to Razumihin....” The question why he was now going to Razumihin agitated him even more than he was himself aware; he kept uneasily seeking for some sinister significance in this apparently ordinary action.

“Could I have expected to set it all straight and to find a way out by means of Razumihin alone?” he asked himself in perplexity. He pondered and rubbed his forehead, and, strange to say, after long musing, suddenly, as if it were spontaneously and by chance, a fantastic thought came into his head. “Hm... to Razumihin’s,” he said all at once, calmly, as though he had reached a final determination. “I shall go to Razumihin’s of course, but... not now. I shall go to him... on the next day after It, when It will be over and everything will begin afresh....”

And suddenly he realised what he was thinking. “After It,” he shouted, jumping up from the seat, “but is It really going to happen? Is it possible it really will happen?” He left the seat, and went off almost at a run; he meant to turn back, homewards, but the thought of going home suddenly filled him with intense loathing; in that hole, in that awful little cupboard of his, all this had for a month past been growing up in him; and he walked on at random. His nervous shudder had passed into a fever that made him feel shivering; in spite of the heat he felt cold.

With a kind of effort he began almost unconsciously, from some inner craving, to stare at all the objects before him, as though looking for something to distract his attention; but he did not succeed, and kept dropping every moment into brooding.

When with a start he lifted his head again and looked round, he forgot at once what he had just been thinking about and even where he was going. In this way he walked right across Vassilyevsky Ostrov, came out on to the Lesser Neva, crossed the bridge and turned towards the islands.

The greenness and freshness were at first restful to his weary eyes after the dust of the town and the huge houses that hemmed him in and weighed upon him.

Here there were no taverns, no stifling closeness, no stench. But soon these new pleasant sensations passed into morbid irritability. Sometimes he stood still before a brightly painted summer villa standing among green foliage, he gazed through the fence, he saw in the distance smartly dressed women on the verandahs and balconies, and children running in the gardens. The flowers especially caught his attention; he gazed at them longer than at anything.