PART 2 // chapter 2-5

[모나리자]

성당의 돔은 예배당에서 약 20보 떨어진 다리에서 가장 잘 보이는데, 햇빛에 반짝였고, 맑은 공기 속에서는 돔의 모든 장식이 선명하게 구별되었다. 채찍질로 인한 고통은 사라졌고, 라스콜니코프는 그것을 잊었다. 불안하고 확실하지 않은 한 가지 생각이 그를 완전히 사로잡았다. 그는 가만히 서서 멀리서 오랫동안 집중해서 바라보았다. 이곳은 그에게 특히 친숙했다. 대학에 다닐 때, 그는 수백 번이나—보통 집으로 가는 길에—이 자리에 서서 이 진정으로 웅장한 광경을 바라보았고, 거의 항상 그에게서 모호하고 신비로운 감정을 불러일으키는 데 경탄했다.

그것은 그를 이상하게 차갑게 만들었다. 이 화려한 그림은 그에게 공허하고 생기가 없었다. 그는 매번 자신의 우울하고 수수께끼 같은 인상에 의아해했고, 자신을 불신하며 그것에 대한 설명을 찾는 것을 미루었다. 그는 그 오래된 의심과 난제를 생생하게 떠올렸고, 지금 그것을 떠올린 것이 단순한 우연이 아니라는 것을 그에게 보여주었다. 그는 마치 얼마 전만 해도 자신이 관심을 가졌던 동일한 이론과 그림에 관심을 가질 수 있다고 상상하듯, 이전과 같은 자리에 멈춰 섰다는 것이 이상하고 괴상하게 느껴졌다. 그는 그것이 거의 재밌다고 느꼈지만, 그럼에도 불구하고 그의 가슴을 찢었다.

깊은 곳에서, 멀리 보이지 않는 곳에 지금 그에게 보이는 모든 것—그의 모든 오래된 과거, 그의 오래된 생각, 그의 오래된 문제와 이론, 그의 오래된 인상과 그 그림과 자신과 모든 것, 모든 것... 그는 마치 자신이 위로 날아오르는 것 같았고, 모든 것이 그의 시야에서 사라지는 것 같았다. 무의식적으로 손을 움직이면서 그는 갑자기 주먹에 든 돈 조각을 알아챘다. 그는 손을 펴고 동전을 응시하며 팔을 휘둘러 물속으로 던졌다. 그러고 나서 그는 돌아서 집으로 갔다. 그에게는 그 순간 모든 사람과 모든 것에서 자신을 단절한 것 같았다. 그가 집에 도착했을 때 저녁이 다가왔으므로 그는 약 6시간을 걸었을 것이다. 그는 어떻게, 어디서 돌아왔는지 기억하지 못했다.

옷을 벗고, 과속된 말처럼 떨면서, 그는 소파에 누워서, 외투를 몸에 두르고, 즉시 망각 속으로 가라앉았다.... 그는 무서운 비명 소리에 깨어났을 때 황혼이었다. 세상에, 얼마나 비명인가! 그런 부자연스러운 소리, 그런 울부짖음, 통곡, 갈기, 눈물, 때림, 저주를 그는 들어본 적이 없었다.

그는 그런 잔혹함, 그런 광란을 상상할 수 없었다. 그는 공포에 질려 침대에 앉아 거의 고통에 기절할 뻔했다. 그러나 싸움, 통곡, 저주는 점점 더 커졌다. 그리고 그는 엄청난 놀라움으로 집주인의 목소리를 들었다. 그녀는 울부짖고, 비명을 지르고, 통곡했다. 빠르고, 서둘러, 불분명하게, 그래서 그는 그녀가 무슨 말을 하는지 알아들을 수 없었다. 그녀는 틀림없이 구걸하고 있었다. 그녀는 계단에서 무자비하게 구타당하고 있었기 때문에, 구타당하지 않기를 바랐다.

그녀를 공격한 자의 목소리는 악의와 분노로 인해 너무나 끔찍해서 거의 꽥꽥거리는 소리와 같았다. 하지만 그도 무언가를 말하고 있었고, 똑같이 빠르고 모호하게 서두르며 혀를 차고 있었다. 갑자기 라스콜니코프가 떨었다. 그는 그 목소리를 알아봤다. 일리야 페트로비치의 목소리였다. 일리야 페트로비치가 여기 있고 집주인을 때리고 있다! 그는 그녀를 발로 차고, 그녀의 머리를 계단에 부딪히고 있다. 그것은 분명하다. 소리와 비명과 쿵 하는 소리로 알 수 있다. 어때, 세상이 뒤집힌 걸까? 그는 모든 층과 모든 계단에서 사람들이 떼지어 달려오는 소리를 들을 수 있었다. 그는 목소리, 외침, 두드리는 소리, 문 두드리는 소리를 들었다.

"하지만 왜, 왜, 어떻게 그럴 수 있을까?" 그는 반복했다.

미쳐버린 게 아닐까 진지하게 생각했다. 하지만 아니, 그는 너무나 또렷하게 들었다! 그리고 그들은 그에게 다가와서, "의심할 바 없이... 그게 전부야... 어제 일이야... 세상에!" 그는 문을 걸쇠로 잠갔겠지만, 손을 들어올릴 수가 없었다... 게다가, 소용없을 것이다. 공포가 얼음처럼 그의 심장을 움켜쥐고, 그를 고문하고 마비시켰다....

하지만 마침내 이 모든 소동은 약 10분 동안 계속된 후 점차 가라앉기 시작했다. 집주인은 신음하고 신음했고, 일리야 페트로비치는 여전히 위협과 저주를 퍼부었다.... 하지만 마침내 그도 조용해진 듯했고, 이제는 그의 목소리가 들리지 않았다. "그가 떠났을 수 있을까? 세상에!" 그렇다, 그리고 지금 집주인도 떠나고 있다. 여전히 울고 신음하며... 그리고 그녀의 문이 쾅 닫혔다.... 이제 군중은 계단에서 각자의 방으로 가며, 소리치고, 논쟁하고, 서로를 부르고, 목소리를 높여서 소리를 지르고, 속삭이는 소리로 낮추었다. 그들은 분명 여러 명 있었을 겁니다. 거의 그 블록의 모든 수감자들 말입니다. "하지만, 세상에, 어떻게 그럴 수 있었을까요! 그리고 왜, 왜 그가 여기 왔을까요!"

The cupola of the cathedral, which is seen at its best from the bridge about twenty paces from the chapel, glittered in the sunlight, and in the pure air every ornament on it could be clearly distinguished. The pain from the lash went off, and Raskolnikov forgot about it; one uneasy and not quite definite idea occupied him now completely. He stood still, and gazed long and intently into the distance; this spot was especially familiar to him. When he was attending the university, he had hundreds of times—generally on his way home—stood still on this spot, gazed at this truly magnificent spectacle and almost always marvelled at a vague and mysterious emotion it roused in him.

It left him strangely cold; this gorgeous picture was for him blank and lifeless. He wondered every time at his sombre and enigmatic impression and, mistrusting himself, put off finding the explanation of it. He vividly recalled those old doubts and perplexities, and it seemed to him that it was no mere chance that he recalled them now. It struck him as strange and grotesque, that he should have stopped at the same spot as before, as though he actually imagined he could think the same thoughts, be interested in the same theories and pictures that had interested him... so short a time ago. He felt it almost amusing, and yet it wrung his heart.

Deep down, hidden far away out of sight all that seemed to him now—all his old past, his old thoughts, his old problems and theories, his old impressions and that picture and himself and all, all.... He felt as though he were flying upwards, and everything were vanishing from his sight. Making an unconscious movement with his hand, he suddenly became aware of the piece of money in his fist. He opened his hand, stared at the coin, and with a sweep of his arm flung it into the water; then he turned and went home. It seemed to him, he had cut himself off from everyone and from everything at that moment. Evening was coming on when he reached home, so that he must have been walking about six hours. How and where he came back he did not remember.

Undressing, and quivering like an overdriven horse, he lay down on the sofa, drew his greatcoat over him, and at once sank into oblivion.... It was dusk when he was waked up by a fearful scream. Good God, what a scream! Such unnatural sounds, such howling, wailing, grinding, tears, blows and curses he had never heard.

He could never have imagined such brutality, such frenzy. In terror he sat up in bed, almost swooning with agony. But the fighting, wailing and cursing grew louder and louder. And then to his intense amazement he caught the voice of his landlady. She was howling, shrieking and wailing, rapidly, hurriedly, incoherently, so that he could not make out what she was talking about; she was beseeching, no doubt, not to be beaten, for she was being mercilessly beaten on the stairs.

The voice of her assailant was so horrible from spite and rage that it was almost a croak; but he, too, was saying something, and just as quickly and indistinctly, hurrying and spluttering. All at once Raskolnikov trembled; he recognised the voice—it was the voice of Ilya Petrovitch. Ilya Petrovitch here and beating the landlady! He is kicking her, banging her head against the steps—that’s clear, that can be told from the sounds, from the cries and the thuds. How is it, is the world topsy-turvy? He could hear people running in crowds from all the storeys and all the staircases; he heard voices, exclamations, knocking, doors banging.

“But why, why, and how could it be?” he repeated,

thinking seriously that he had gone mad. But no, he heard too distinctly! And they would come to him then next, “for no doubt... it’s all about that... about yesterday.... Good God!” He would have fastened his door with the latch, but he could not lift his hand... besides, it would be useless. Terror gripped his heart like ice, tortured him and numbed him....

But at last all this uproar, after continuing about ten minutes, began gradually to subside. The landlady was moaning and groaning; Ilya Petrovitch was still uttering threats and curses.... But at last he, too, seemed to be silent, and now he could not be heard. “Can he have gone away? Good Lord!” Yes, and now the landlady is going too, still weeping and moaning... and then her door slammed.... Now the crowd was going from the stairs to their rooms, exclaiming, disputing, calling to one another, raising their voices to a shout, dropping them to a whisper. There must have been numbers of them—almost all the inmates of the block. “But, good God, how could it be! And why, why had he come here!”