PART 2 // chapter 4-1

[모나리자]

CHAPTER IV 

조시모프는 키가 크고 뚱뚱한 남자로, 뚱뚱하고 무색이며 깨끗이 면도한 얼굴에 곧은 아마색 머리카락을 가지고 있었습니다. 그는 안경을 썼고, 살찐 손가락에는 큰 금반지를 끼고 있었습니다. 그는 27살이었습니다. 그는 밝은 회색 유행의 느슨한 코트와 가벼운 여름 바지를 입고 있었고, 모든 것이 느슨하고 유행에 맞으며 깔끔했습니다. 그의 린넨은 나무랄 데 없었고, 시계 체인은 컸습니다. 그는 느긋하고 태연했지만, 동시에 열심히 자유롭고 느긋했습니다. 그는 자신의 자존심을 숨기려고 노력했지만, 그것은 모든 순간에 드러났습니다.

그의 모든 지인들은 그가 지루하다고 생각했지만, 그는 일에 능숙하다고 말했습니다. "오늘 두 번이나 형님을 찾아갔어요. 알다시피, 그는 제정신을 차렸어요." 라주미힌이 외쳤습니다. "알겠어요, 알겠어요. 그리고 지금 우리는 어떤 기분인가요?" 조시모프가 라스콜니코프에게 말하며 주의 깊게 그를 지켜보다가 소파 발치에 앉아 가능한 한 편안하게 자리를 잡았다. "그는 여전히 우울해." 라주미힌이 말을 이었다. "방금 그의 린넨을 갈아입혔는데 거의 울 뻔했어." "아주 자연스러운 일이야. 그가 원하지 않았다면 미루었을 거야... 그의 맥박은 일류야.

아직도 머리가 아프니?" "저는 괜찮아요, 완벽하게 괜찮아요!" 라스콜니코프가 긍정적이고 짜증스럽게 선언했다. 그는 소파에서 일어나 반짝이는 눈으로 그들을 바라보았지만, 곧바로 베개에 몸을 묻고 벽으로 돌아섰다. 조시모프는 그를 주의 깊게 지켜보았다. "아주 좋아... 잘 지내고 있어요." 그는 게으르게 말했다. "그는 뭐 먹었어?" 그들은 그에게 말하며 그가 무엇을 먹었는지 물었다. "그는 뭐든 먹을 수 있어... 수프, 차... 버섯과 오이, 물론, 그에게 주면 안 돼; 고기도 먹지 않는 게 좋겠고... 하지만 그걸 말할 필요는 없어!" 라주미힌과 그는 서로를 바라보았다. "더 이상 약이나 다른 건 없어. 내일 다시 볼게. 어쩌면 오늘이라도... 하지만 상관없어..." "내일 저녁에 산책을 시켜줄게." 라주미힌이 말했다.

"우리는 유수포프 정원에 가고 그다음에는 크리스털 궁전에 갈 거야." "내일은 전혀 방해하고 싶지 않지만, 잘 모르겠어... 조금은, 어쩌면... 하지만 두고 보자." "아, 얼마나 귀찮은 일이야! 오늘 밤에 이사 파티가 있어. 여기서 한 걸음 떨어진 곳이야. 그가 올 수 없니? 소파에 누워도 돼. 네가 올 거야?" 라주미힌이 조시모프에게 말했다. "잊지 마, 약속했잖아." "좋아, 나중에. 뭐 할 거야?" "아, 아무것도 아니야. 차, 보드카, 청어. 파이는 먹을 거야... 우리 친구들만." "그리고 누구?"

"이곳의 모든 이웃, 거의 모든 새로운 친구들, 내 늙은 삼촌을 제외하고, 그리고 그도 새로운 사람이야. 어제 상트페테르부르크에 와서 일을 좀 봤어. 우리는 5년에 한 번 만나." "그는 뭐야?" "그는 평생 우체국장으로 일하며 침체기를 겪었어. 약간의 연금을 받고 있어. 그는 65세야. 말할 것도 없지... 하지만 나는 그를 좋아해.

여기 수사부장인 포르피리 페트로비치... 하지만 너는 그를 알고 있지." "그도 네 친척이야?" "아주 먼 친척이야. 하지만 왜 찌푸리고 있니? 한 번 싸웠으니까, 그때는 오지 않을래?" "난 그 사람이 전혀 신경 안 써." "그래서 더 좋지. 글쎄, 학생, 교사, 공무원, 음악가, 장교, 그리고 자메토프가 있을 거야." "제발, 너나 그 사람이" 조시모프가 라스콜니코프에게 고개를 끄덕였다. "이 자메토프와 공통점이 뭔지 말해봐." "오, 당신은 특별한 신사입니다!

원칙! 당신은 마치 스프링에 의해 움직이는 것처럼 원칙에 따라 일합니다. 당신은 스스로를 위해 돌아서려고 하지 않을 것입니다. 사람이 좋은 사람이라면, 그것이 내가 따르는 유일한 원칙입니다. 자메토프는 즐거운 사람입니다." "그는 뇌물을 받습니다." "음, 그는 받습니다! 그리고 그게 뭐예요? 그가 뇌물을 받든 상관없습니다." 라주미힌은 부자연스럽게 짜증을 내며 외쳤습니다. "나는 그가 뇌물을 받는 것을 칭찬하지 않습니다. 나는 그가 자신의 방식으로 좋은 사람이라고 말할 뿐입니다! 하지만 모든 면에서 사람을 본다면—좋은 사람이 많이 남아 있습니까? 왜,

나는 구운 양파만큼 가치가 없을 것입니다... 아마도 당신을 포함해서." "그것은 너무 적습니다. 나는 당신을 위해 두 개를 줄 것입니다." "그리고 나는 당신을 위해 하나 이상을 줄 수 없습니다. 더 이상 당신의 농담은 그만! 자메토프는 소년에 불과합니다. 나는 그의 머리카락을 잡아당길 수 있고 그를 밀어내는 것이 아니라 끌어야 합니다. 남자를 밀어내는 방식으로는, 특히 소년을 밀어내는 방식으로는 결코 남자를 발전시킬 수 없습니다.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

 Zossimov was a tall, fat man with a puffy, colourless, clean-shaven face and straight flaxen hair. He wore spectacles, and a big gold ring on his fat finger. He was twenty-seven. He had on a light grey fashionable loose coat, light summer trousers, and everything about him loose, fashionable and spick and span; his linen was irreproachable, his watch-chain was massive. In manner he was slow and, as it were, nonchalant, and at the same time studiously free and easy; he made efforts to conceal his self-importance, but it was apparent at every instant.   

 All his acquaintances found him tedious, but said he was clever at his work. “I’ve been to you twice to-day, brother. You see, he’s come to himself,” cried Razumihin. “I see, I see; and how do we feel now, eh?” said Zossimov to Raskolnikov, watching him carefully and, sitting down at the foot of the sofa, he settled himself as comfortably as he could. “He is still depressed,” Razumihin went on. “We’ve just changed his linen and he almost cried.”

“That’s very natural; you might have put it off if he did not wish it.... His pulse is first-rate.

Is your head still aching, eh?” “I am well, I am perfectly well!” Raskolnikov declared positively and irritably. He raised himself on the sofa and looked at them with glittering eyes, but sank back on to the pillow at once and turned to the wall. Zossimov watched him intently. “Very good.... Going on all right,” he said lazily. “Has he eaten anything?” They told him, and asked what he might have. “He may have anything... soup, tea... mushrooms and cucumbers, of course, you must not give him; he’d better not have meat either, and... but no need to tell you that!” Razumihin and he looked at each other. “No more medicine or anything. I’ll look at him again to-morrow. Perhaps, to-day even... but never mind...” “To-morrow evening I shall take him for a walk,” said Razumihin.

“We are going to the Yusupov garden and then to the Palais de Crystal.” “I would not disturb him to-morrow at all, but I don’t know... a little, maybe... but we’ll see.” “Ach, what a nuisance! I’ve got a house-warming party to-night; it’s only a step from here. Couldn’t he come? He could lie on the sofa. You are coming?” Razumihin said to Zossimov. “Don’t forget, you promised.” “All right, only rather later. What are you going to do?” “Oh, nothing—tea, vodka, herrings. There will be a pie... just our friends.” “And who?”

“All neighbours here, almost all new friends, except my old uncle, and he is new too—he only arrived in Petersburg yesterday to see to some business of his. We meet once in five years.” “What is he?” “He’s been stagnating all his life as a district postmaster; gets a little pension. He is sixty-five—not worth talking about.... But I am fond of him.

Porfiry Petrovitch, the head of the Investigation Department here... But you know him.” “Is he a relation of yours, too?” “A very distant one. But why are you scowling? Because you quarrelled once, won’t you come then?” “I don’t care a damn for him.” “So much the better. Well, there will be some students, a teacher, a government clerk, a musician, an officer and Zametov.” “Do tell me, please, what you or he”—Zossimov nodded at Raskolnikov—“can have in common with this Zametov?” “Oh, you particular gentleman!

Principles! You are worked by principles, as it were by springs; you won’t venture to turn round on your own account. If a man is a nice fellow, that’s the only principle I go upon. Zametov is a delightful person.” “Though he does take bribes.” “Well, he does! and what of it? I don’t care if he does take bribes,” Razumihin cried with unnatural irritability. “I don’t praise him for taking bribes. I only say he is a nice man in his own way! But if one looks at men in all ways—are there many good ones left? Why,

I am sure I shouldn’t be worth a baked onion myself... perhaps with you thrown in.” “That’s too little; I’d give two for you.” “And I wouldn’t give more than one for you. No more of your jokes! Zametov is no more than a boy. I can pull his hair and one must draw him not repel him. You’ll never improve a man by repelling him, especially a boy.