PART 2 // chapter 5-1

[모나리자]

이 신사는 더 이상 젊지 않은, 딱딱하고 뚱뚱한 외모에 조심스럽고 신랄한 표정을 지은 신사였습니다. 그는 문간에 멈춰 서서 공격적이고 숨김없는 놀라움으로 주변을 둘러보며 마치 자신이 어떤 곳에 왔는지 스스로에게 묻는 듯했습니다. 그는 의심스럽고 놀라고 거의 모욕을 느낀 척하며 라스콜니코프의 낮고 좁은 "오두막"을 살폈습니다. 그는 같은 놀라움으로 옷을 벗고, 흐트러진 머리, 씻지 않은 채, 비참하고 더러운 소파에 누워서 그를 뚫어지게 바라보는 라스콜니코프를 응시했습니다.

그런 다음 같은 신중함으로 그는 라주미힌의 무례하고 깔끔하지 않은 몸매와 면도하지 않은 얼굴을 면밀히 살펴보았는데, 그는 자리에서 일어나지 않고도 대담하고 호기심 어린 눈으로 그를 바라보았습니다. 몇 분간 억눌린 침묵이 지속되었고, 예상했듯이 장면이 바뀌었습니다. 아마도 이 "오두막"에서 그들을 압도하려고 시도해도 아무것도 얻을 수 없을 것이라는 분명한 징후를 반영한 ​​신사는 다소 부드러워졌고, 예의 바르게, 하지만 다소 엄격하게, 질문의 모든 음절을 강조하며 조시모프에게 말했다.

"로디온 로마노비치 라스콜리니코프, 학생인가, 아니면 전 학생인가?" 조시모프는 살짝 움직였고, 라주미힌이 예상하지 못했다면 대답했을 것이다. "여기 소파에 누워 있잖아! 뭘 원해?" 이 익숙한 "뭐 원해?"는 거만한 신사의 발에서 땅을 자르는 듯했다. 그는 라주미힌에게 돌아섰지만, 제때 자신을 제지하고 다시 조시모프에게 돌아섰다.

조시모프는 "이 사람이 라스콜리니코프야."라고 중얼거리며 그를 향해 고개를 끄덕였다. 그러고 나서 그는 길게 하품을 하며 입을 최대한 벌렸다. 그런 다음 그는 게으르게 조끼 주머니에 손을 넣고, 둥근 사냥꾼 케이스에서 거대한 금시계를 꺼내어 열어보고, 천천히 게으르게 다시 넣었다. 라스콜니코프 자신은 아무 말 없이 등을 대고 누워서, 이해하지는 못하지만, 낯선 사람을 끈질기게 바라보고 있었다. 이제 그의 얼굴은 종이 위의 이상한 꽃에서 돌아서서, 매우 창백해졌고, 마치 방금 고통스러운 수술을 받았거나 방금 선반에서 꺼낸 것처럼 괴로워하는 표정을 띠고 있었다.

하지만 새로 온 사람은 점차 그의 주의를 끌기 시작했고, 그다음에는 그의 경이로움, 그다음에는 의심, 심지어는 경각심까지 불러일으켰다. 조시모프가 "이 사람이 라스콜니코프입니다"라고 말하자 그는 재빨리 일어나 소파에 앉아 거의 도전적이지만 약하고 끊어지는 듯한 목소리로 말했다.

"그래, 나는 라스콜니코프야! 뭘 원하니?" 방문객은 그를 면밀히 살피고 인상적으로 말했다. "표트르 페트로비치 루진입니다. "내 이름이 당신에게 전혀 알려지지 않았을 거라고 기대할 만한 이유가 있다고 생각합니다." 하지만 전혀 다른 것을 기대했던 라스콜니코프는 마치 처음으로 표트르 페트로비치라는 이름을 듣는 것처럼 멍하니 꿈꾸는 듯이 그를 바라보며 대답하지 않았다. "지금까지 아무런 정보도 받지 못했을 가능성이 있나요?" 표트르 페트로비치가 다소 당황한 듯 물었다.

라스콜니코프는 대답하며 나른하게 베개에 기대고 손을 머리 뒤에 얹고 천장을 응시했다. 루진의 얼굴에 당혹감이 스쳤다. 조시모프와 라주미힌은 그 어느 때보다 호기심 어린 눈으로 그를 응시했고, 마침내 그는 당혹스러움의 징후를 분명히 보였다. "나는 추측하고 계산했습니다." 그는 말을 더듬었다. "10일 이상, 아니 2주 전에 보낸 편지가..." "제가 묻겠습니다. 왜 문간에 서 있습니까?" 라주미힌이 갑자기 말을 가로채었다. "말할 게 있으면 앉으세요. 나스타샤랑 너무 붐비잖아요. 나스타샤, 자리를 비우세요. 여기 의자가 있어요. 끼어들 자리를 찾으세요!"

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This was a gentleman no longer young, of a stiff and portly appearance, and a cautious and sour countenance. He began by stopping short in the doorway, staring about him with offensive and undisguised astonishment, as though asking himself what sort of place he had come to. Mistrustfully and with an affectation of being alarmed and almost affronted, he scanned Raskolnikov’s low and narrow “cabin.” With the same amazement he stared at Raskolnikov, who lay undressed, dishevelled, unwashed, on his miserable dirty sofa, looking fixedly at him.

Then with the same deliberation he scrutinised the uncouth, unkempt figure and unshaven face of Razumihin, who looked him boldly and inquiringly in the face without rising from his seat. A constrained silence lasted for a couple of minutes, and then, as might be expected, some scene-shifting took place. Reflecting, probably from certain fairly unmistakable signs, that he would get nothing in this “cabin” by attempting to overawe them, the gentleman softened somewhat, and civilly, though with some severity, emphasising every syllable of his question, addressed Zossimov:

“Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov, a student, or formerly a student?” Zossimov made a slight movement, and would have answered, had not Razumihin anticipated him. “Here he is lying on the sofa! What do you want?” This familiar “what do you want” seemed to cut the ground from the feet of the pompous gentleman. He was turning to Razumihin, but checked himself in time and turned to Zossimov again.

“This is Raskolnikov,” mumbled Zossimov, nodding towards him. Then he gave a prolonged yawn, opening his mouth as wide as possible. Then he lazily put his hand into his waistcoat-pocket, pulled out a huge gold watch in a round hunter’s case, opened it, looked at it and as slowly and lazily proceeded to put it back. Raskolnikov himself lay without speaking, on his back, gazing persistently, though without understanding, at the stranger. Now that his face was turned away from the strange flower on the paper, it was extremely pale and wore a look of anguish, as though he had just undergone an agonising operation or just been taken from the rack.

But the new-comer gradually began to arouse his attention, then his wonder, then suspicion and even alarm. When Zossimov said “This is Raskolnikov” he jumped up quickly, sat on the sofa and with an almost defiant, but weak and breaking, voice articulated:

“Yes, I am Raskolnikov! What do you want?” The visitor scrutinised him and pronounced impressively: “Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin. I believe I have reason to hope that my name is not wholly unknown to you?” But Raskolnikov, who had expected something quite different, gazed blankly and dreamily at him, making no reply, as though he heard the name of Pyotr Petrovitch for the first time. “Is it possible that you can up to the present have received no information?” asked Pyotr Petrovitch, somewhat disconcerted.

In reply Raskolnikov sank languidly back on the pillow, put his hands behind his head and gazed at the ceiling. A look of dismay came into Luzhin’s face. Zossimov and Razumihin stared at him more inquisitively than ever, and at last he showed unmistakable signs of embarrassment. “I had presumed and calculated,” he faltered, “that a letter posted more than ten days, if not a fortnight ago...” “I say, why are you standing in the doorway?” Razumihin interrupted suddenly. “If you’ve something to say, sit down. Nastasya and you are so crowded. Nastasya, make room. Here’s a chair, thread your way in!”