PART 2 // chapter 2-4

[모나리자]

그리고 서명을 마치면 3루블이 더 올 것입니다. 그리고 제가 당신을 위해 봉사한다고 생각하지 마십시오. 오히려 반대로, 당신이 들어오자마자 당신이 저를 도울 수 있다는 것을 알았습니다. 우선, 저는 철자가 약하고, 둘째, 저는 때때로 독일어에 완전히 어리둥절해서 대부분 제가 하는 대로 만들어냅니다. 유일한 위안은, 그것이 더 나은 방향으로 바뀔 것이라는 것입니다. 하지만 누가 알겠습니까, 어쩌면 때로는 더 나빠질 수도 있습니다.

받을래요?" 라스콜니코프는 조용히 독일어 시트를 받고 3루블을 받고 아무 말 없이 나갔습니다. 라주미힌은 놀라서 그를 바라보았습니다. 하지만 라스콜니코프가 다음 거리에 도착했을 때, 그는 돌아서서 다시 라주미힌의 계단으로 올라가서 테이블에 독일어 기사와 3루블을 놓고 아무 말 없이 다시 나갔습니다. "미친 소리 하는 거야, 아니면 뭐야?" 라주미힌이 소리치며 마침내 격노했다. "이게 무슨 희극이야? 나도 미칠 거야... 뭐 때문에 날 찾아왔어, 젠장?" "난... 번역은 원치 않아." 라스콜니코프가 계단에서 중얼거렸다. "그럼 도대체 뭘 원하는 거야?" 라주미힌이 위에서 소리쳤다.

라스콜니코프는 침묵 속에 계단을 내려가는 것을 계속했다. "야, 거기! 어디 살고 있어?" 대답이 없었다. "그럼 널 혼란스럽게 만들어!" 하지만 라스콜니코프는 이미 거리로 걸어 나가고 있었다. 니콜라옙스키 다리에서 그는 불쾌한 사건으로 다시 완전히 의식을 되찾았다. 마부가 그에게 두세 번 소리를 지른 후, 말 발굽에 거의 넘어질 뻔한 그의 등을 채찍으로 세게 때렸다. 채찍에 너무 화가 난 그는 난간으로 달려갔다(어떤 알 수 없는 이유로 그는 교통 체증 속에서 다리 한가운데를 걷고 있었다). 그는 화가 나서 이를 악물고 이를 갈았다. 그는 물론 웃음소리를 들었다. "그럴 만한 짓이군!" "감히 말해서 소매치기야."

"확실히 취한 척하고 일부러 바퀴 아래로 들어갔지. 그리고 당신은 그에 대해 책임을 져야 해." "그게 평범한 직업이야." 하지만 난간에 서서 여전히 화가 나고 당황한 표정으로 마차가 물러가는 것을 보고 등을 문지르던 중, 갑자기 누군가가 그의 손에 돈을 쥐어주는 것을 느꼈다. 그는 바라보았다. 손수건과 염소 가죽 신발을 신은 노부인이었고, 모자를 쓰고 녹색 양산을 든 소녀가 있었다.

"그것을 가져가시오, 나의 선한 사람아, 그리스도의 이름으로." 그는 그것을 받았고 그들은 지나갔다. 그것은 20코페크짜리 동전이었다. 그의 옷차림과 외모로 보아 그들은 그를 거리에서 구걸하는 거지로 생각했을 수도 있고, 그가 20코페크를 선물한 것은 그가 당한 타격 덕분일 것이고, 그들은 그를 불쌍히 여겼을 것이다. 그는 20개의 코페크에 손을 얹고, 10걸음 걸어가서 네바 강을 향해 돌아서서 궁전을 바라보았다. 하늘은 구름 한 점 없었고 물은 거의 밝은 파란색이었는데, 네바 강에서는 보기 드문 광경이었다.

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And when you have finished the signature there will be another three roubles for you. And please don’t think I am doing you a service; quite the contrary, as soon as you came in, I saw how you could help me; to begin with, I am weak in spelling, and secondly, I am sometimes utterly adrift in German, so that I make it up as I go along for the most part. The only comfort is, that it’s bound to be a change for the better. Though who can tell, maybe it’s sometimes for the worse.

Will you take it?” Raskolnikov took the German sheets in silence, took the three roubles and without a word went out. Razumihin gazed after him in astonishment. But when Raskolnikov was in the next street, he turned back, mounted the stairs to Razumihin’s again and laying on the table the German article and the three roubles, went out again, still without uttering a word. “Are you raving, or what?” Razumihin shouted, roused to fury at last. “What farce is this? You’ll drive me crazy too... what did you come to see me for, damn you?” “I don’t want... translation,” muttered Raskolnikov from the stairs. “Then what the devil do you want?” shouted Razumihin from above.

Raskolnikov continued descending the staircase in silence. “Hey, there! Where are you living?” No answer. “Well, confound you then!” But Raskolnikov was already stepping into the street. On the Nikolaevsky Bridge he was roused to full consciousness again by an unpleasant incident. A coachman, after shouting at him two or three times, gave him a violent lash on the back with his whip, for having almost fallen under his horses’ hoofs. The lash so infuriated him that he dashed away to the railing (for some unknown reason he had been walking in the very middle of the bridge in the traffic). He angrily clenched and ground his teeth. He heard laughter, of course. “Serves him right!” “A pickpocket I dare say.”

“Pretending to be drunk, for sure, and getting under the wheels on purpose; and you have to answer for him.” “It’s a regular profession, that’s what it is.” But while he stood at the railing, still looking angry and bewildered after the retreating carriage, and rubbing his back, he suddenly felt someone thrust money into his hand. He looked. It was an elderly woman in a kerchief and goatskin shoes, with a girl, probably her daughter, wearing a hat, and carrying a green parasol.

“Take it, my good man, in Christ’s name.” He took it and they passed on. It was a piece of twenty copecks. From his dress and appearance they might well have taken him for a beggar asking alms in the streets, and the gift of the twenty copecks he doubtless owed to the blow, which made them feel sorry for him. He closed his hand on the twenty copecks, walked on for ten paces, and turned facing the Neva, looking towards the palace. The sky was without a cloud and the water was almost bright blue, which is so rare in the Neva.