PART 2 // chapter 6-1

[모나리자]

하지만 그녀가 나가자마자 그는 일어나 문을 걸고, 라주미힌이 그날 저녁에 가져온 소포를 풀고

다시 묶고 옷을 입기 시작했습니다. 이상하게도 그는 즉시 완벽하게 침착해진 듯했습니다. 최근의 섬망이나 최근에 그를 괴롭혔던 공포의 흔적은 없었습니다. 이상하게도 갑자기 침착해진 첫 순간이었습니다. 그의 움직임은 정확하고 확실했습니다. 그 움직임에는 확고한 목적이 분명했습니다. "오늘, 오늘" 그는 중얼거렸습니다. 그는 자신이 여전히 약하다는 것을 알고 있었지만, 강렬한 영적 집중이 그에게 힘과 자신감을 주었습니다.

그는 더욱이 거리에서 쓰러지지 않기를 바랐습니다. 완전히 새로운 옷을 입고 나서 그는 테이블에 놓인 돈을 보고 잠시 생각한 후 주머니에 넣었습니다. 25루블이었습니다. 그는 또한 라주미힌이 옷에 쓴 10루블의 구리 잔돈을 모두 가져갔습니다. 그러고 나서 그는 문을 살며시 열고 나가서 아래층으로 내려가서 열린 주방 문을 들여다보았다.

나스타샤는 그에게 등을 돌리고 서서 집주인의 사모바르를 불고 있었다. 그녀는 아무 소리도 들리지 않았다. 그가 나갈 줄 누가 꿈꿨겠는가? 1분 후 그는 거리에 있었다. 8시가 다 되어 가고 있었고, 해가 지고 있었다. 이전처럼 답답했지만, 그는 냄새나고 먼지가 낀 도시의 공기를 열심히 들이마셨다. 그의 머리는 다소 어지러웠다. 열이 오른 그의 눈과 허약하고 창백하고 노랗게 질린 얼굴에 갑자기 일종의 사나운 에너지가 번쩍였다. 그는 자신이 어디로 가는지 알지 못했고 생각하지 않았다. 그는 오직 한 가지 생각만 했다. "이 모든 것을 오늘, 단번에, 즉시 끝내야 한다. 그것 없이는 집으로 돌아가지 않을 것이다. 왜냐하면 그는 그렇게 계속 살지 않을 것이기 때문이다." 어떻게, 무엇으로 끝낼까? 그는 그것에 대해 전혀 몰랐고, 생각하고 싶지도 않았다. 그는 생각하며 차를 몰고 떠났다. 생각이 그를 괴롭혔다.

그가 아는 ​​전부, 느낀 전부는 모든 것이 "어떤 식으로든" 바뀌어야 한다는 것뿐이었다. 그는 필사적이고 흔들리지 않는 자신감과 결의로 반복했다. 그는 오랜 습관에 따라 헤이 마켓 방향으로 평소처럼 걸어갔다. 배럴 오르간을 든 검은 머리의 청년이 작은 잡화점 앞 길에 서서 매우 감상적인 노래를 부르고 있었다. 그는 15세 소녀와 함께 있었는데, 그녀는 그 앞 보도에 서 있었다. 그녀는 크리놀린, 맨틀, 불꽃색 깃털이 달린 밀짚모자를 쓰고 있었는데, 모두 매우 낡고 초라했다. 거리 노래로 인해 갈라지고 거칠어진 강하고 다소 기분 좋은 목소리로 그녀는 가게에서 동전을 받을 희망으로 노래를 불렀다.

라스콜니코프는 두세 명의 청취자와 합류하여 5코펙짜리 동전을 꺼내 소녀의 손에 쥐어주었다. 그녀는 감상적인 고조음으로 갑자기 말을 끊고 오르간 연주자에게 "어서요"라고 날카롭게 소리쳤고, 둘 다 다음 가게로 향했습니다.

"거리 음악 좋아하세요?" 라스콜니코프가 말하며 옆에 멍하니 서 있던 중년 남성에게 말을 걸었습니다. 그 남자는 놀라서 의아해하며 그를 바라보았습니다. "거리 오르간으로 노래하는 걸 듣는 걸 좋아해요." 라스콜니코프가 말했고, 그의 태도는 이상하게도 주제와 어울리지 않는 듯했습니다. "저는 차갑고 어둡고 축축한 가을 저녁을 좋아해요. 축축할 테니까요. 지나가는 사람들이 모두 창백한 녹색의 병든 얼굴을 하고 있을 때요. 아니면 더 좋은 건 젖은 눈이 똑바로 내리고, 바람이 불지 않을 때요. 무슨 말인지 알겠죠? 그리고 가로등이 비추고 있을 때요..." "모르겠어요.... 실례합니다..." 낯선 사람이 질문과 라스콜니코프의 이상한 태도에 겁먹고 중얼거리며 길 건너편으로 건너갔습니다.

라스콜니코프는 똑바로 걸어가서 헤이 마켓 모퉁이에 도착했는데, 행상인과 그의 아내가 리자베타와 이야기를 나누던 곳이었다. 하지만 지금은 그곳에 없었다. 그는 그 장소를 알아차리고 멈춰서서 주변을 둘러보고 옥수수 장신구 가게 앞에 입을 벌리고 서 있는 붉은 셔츠를 입은 젊은이에게 말을 걸었다. "이 모퉁이에 아내와 함께 노점을 차리는 남자가 있지 않나요?" "여기에는 온갖 사람들이 노점을 차리고 있어요." 그 젊은이가 라스콜니코프를 거만하게 쳐다보며 대답했다.

"이름이 뭐였지?" "이름이 뭐였지." "당신도 자라이스키 사람이 아니신가요? 어느 지방이신가요?" 그 젊은이는 다시 라스콜니코프를 바라보았다. "지방이 아니라 지구입니다, 각하. 저를 용서해 주세요, 각하!" "저 위에 선술집이 있나요?" "네, 식당이고 당구장도 있고 공주님들도 있어요... 라라!" 라스콜니코프는 광장을 가로질러 걸었다. 그 구석에는 농민들이 빽빽이 모여 있었다.

그는 가장 두꺼운 부분으로 들어가 얼굴을 바라보았다. 그는 사람들과 대화하고 싶은 책임감 없는 충동을 느꼈다. 하지만 농민들은 그를 전혀 신경 쓰지 않았다. 그들은 모두 무리 지어 소리치고 있었다. 그는 서서 조금 생각한 후 V 방향으로 오른쪽으로 방향을 틀었다. 그는 종종 시장에서 사도비 거리로 이어지는 각도로 꺾인 작은 거리를 건넜다.

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But as soon as she went out, he got up, latched the door, undid the parcel

which Razumihin had brought in that evening and had tied up again and began dressing. Strange to say, he seemed immediately to have become perfectly calm; not a trace of his recent delirium nor of the panic fear that had haunted him of late. It was the first moment of a strange sudden calm. His movements were precise and definite; a firm purpose was evident in them. “To-day, to-day,” he muttered to himself. He understood that he was still weak, but his intense spiritual concentration gave him strength and self-confidence.

He hoped, moreover, that he would not fall down in the street. When he had dressed in entirely new clothes, he looked at the money lying on the table, and after a moment’s thought put it in his pocket. It was twenty-five roubles. He took also all the copper change from the ten roubles spent by Razumihin on the clothes. Then he softly unlatched the door, went out, slipped downstairs and glanced in at the open kitchen door.

Nastasya was standing with her back to him, blowing up the landlady’s samovar. She heard nothing. Who would have dreamed of his going out, indeed? A minute later he was in the street. It was nearly eight o’clock, the sun was setting. It was as stifling as before, but he eagerly drank in the stinking, dusty town air. His head felt rather dizzy; a sort of savage energy gleamed suddenly in his feverish eyes and his wasted, pale and yellow face. He did not know and did not think where he was going, he had one thought only: “that all this must be ended to-day, once for all, immediately; that he would not return home without it, because he would not go on living like that.” How, with what to make an end? He had not an idea about it, he did not even want to think of it. He drove away thought; thought tortured him.

All he knew, all he felt was that everything must be changed “one way or another,” he repeated with desperate and immovable self-confidence and determination. From old habit he took his usual walk in the direction of the Hay Market. A dark-haired young man with a barrel organ was standing in the road in front of a little general shop and was grinding out a very sentimental song. He was accompanying a girl of fifteen, who stood on the pavement in front of him. She was dressed up in a crinoline, a mantle and a straw hat with a flame-coloured feather in it, all very old and shabby. In a strong and rather agreeable voice, cracked and coarsened by street singing, she sang in hope of getting a copper from the shop.

Raskolnikov joined two or three listeners, took out a five copeck piece and put it in the girl’s hand. She broke off abruptly on a sentimental high note, shouted sharply to the organ grinder “Come on,” and both moved on to the next shop.

“Do you like street music?” said Raskolnikov, addressing a middle-aged man standing idly by him. The man looked at him, startled and wondering. “I love to hear singing to a street organ,” said Raskolnikov, and his manner seemed strangely out of keeping with the subject—“I like it on cold, dark, damp autumn evenings—they must be damp—when all the passers-by have pale green, sickly faces, or better still when wet snow is falling straight down, when there’s no wind—you know what I mean?—and the street lamps shine through it...” “I don’t know.... Excuse me...” muttered the stranger, frightened by the question and Raskolnikov’s strange manner, and he crossed over to the other side of the street.

Raskolnikov walked straight on and came out at the corner of the Hay Market, where the huckster and his wife had talked with Lizaveta; but they were not there now. Recognising the place, he stopped, looked round and addressed a young fellow in a red shirt who stood gaping before a corn chandler’s shop. “Isn’t there a man who keeps a booth with his wife at this corner?” “All sorts of people keep booths here,” answered the young man, glancing superciliously at Raskolnikov.

“What’s his name?” “What he was christened.” “Aren’t you a Zaraïsky man, too? Which province?” The young man looked at Raskolnikov again. “It’s not a province, your excellency, but a district. Graciously forgive me, your excellency!” “Is that a tavern at the top there?” “Yes, it’s an eating-house and there’s a billiard-room and you’ll find princesses there too.... La-la!” Raskolnikov crossed the square. In that corner there was a dense crowd of peasants.

He pushed his way into the thickest part of it, looking at the faces. He felt an unaccountable inclination to enter into conversation with people. But the peasants took no notice of him; they were all shouting in groups together. He stood and thought a little and took a turning to the right in the direction of V. He had often crossed that little street which turns at an angle, leading from the market-place to Sadovy Street.