PART 2 // chapter 6-2

[모나리자]

최근에 그는 우울할 때면 종종 이 지역을 돌아다니고 싶은 마음이 들었다. 더 우울해질 수 있기를 바랐다. 지금은 아무것도 생각하지 않고 걸어갔다. 그 지점에는 술집과 식당으로 완전히 임대된 건물이 크게 늘어서 있었다. 여자들이 맨머리에 실내복을 입고 끊임없이 드나들었다. 여기저기서 그들은 무리 지어 보도에 모였고, 특히 아래층에 있는 다양한 축제 시설 입구 근처에 모였다. 이 중 하나에서 시끄러운 소음, 노래 소리, 기타 쟁그랑거림, 즐거운 함성이 거리로 흘러나왔다. 많은 여자들이 문 주위로 몰려들었다. 어떤 여자들은 계단에 앉아 있었고, 어떤 여자들은 보도에 있었고, 어떤 여자들은 서서 이야기를 나누고 있었다.

술에 취한 군인이 담배를 피우며 길을 따라 걸어가며 욕설을 퍼부었다. 그는 어딘가로 가려고 하는 듯했지만, 어디인지는 잊어버렸다. 한 거지가 다른 거지와 다투고 있었고, 술에 취한 남자가 길 건너편에 누워 있었다. 라스콜니코프는 쉰 목소리로 이야기하는 여성 무리에 합류했습니다. 그들은 머리를 맨 채로 면 드레스와 염소 가죽 신발을 신고 있었습니다. 40대 여성도 있었고, 17세도 안 된 여성도 있었습니다. 거의 모두 눈이 검게 변했습니다.

그는 아래 술집에서 들리는 노래와 모든 소음과 소란에 이상하게 끌렸습니다.... 누군가가 미친 듯이 춤추며 기타 소리와 경쾌한 곡조를 부르는 얇은 가성음에 발꿈치로 박자를 맞추는 소리가 들렸습니다. 그는 주의 깊게, 우울하게, 몽환적으로 귀를 기울이며 입구에서 몸을 숙이고 포장도로에서 호기심 어린 눈으로 들여다보았습니다. "오, 나의 잘생긴 군인이여, 아무 이유 없이 나를 때리지 마,

" 가수의 얇은 목소리가 떨렸습니다. 라스콜니코프는 모든 것이 그것에 달려 있는 것처럼 자신이 무슨 노래를 부르는지 알아내고 싶은 강한 욕구를 느꼈습니다. "들어가야 할까?" 그는 생각했습니다. "그들은 웃고 있어. 술 때문에. 취할까?" "들어가지 않을래?" 여자 중 한 명이 그에게 물었다.

그녀의 목소리는 여전히 음악적이었고 다른 사람들보다 덜 두껍고, 젊고 역겹지 않았다. 그룹에서 유일한 사람이었다. "왜, 그녀는 예쁘잖아." 그는 몸을 일으켜 그녀를 바라보며 말했다. 그녀는 칭찬에 매우 기뻐하며 미소를 지었다. "당신도 정말 잘생겼어요." 그녀가 말했다. "그는 마른 편이 아니에요!" 다른 여자가 낮은 저음으로 말했다. "방금 병원에서 나왔어?" "그들은 모두 장군의 딸인 듯하지만, 모두 뭉툭한 코를 가지고 있어요." 느슨한 코트를 입고 교활한 미소를 띤 취한 농부가 끼어들었다. "얼마나 쾌활한지 보세요." "따라가!" "내가 갈게, 자기야!" 그리고 그는 아래 술집으로 재빨리 내려갔다. 라스콜니코프는 계속 움직였다. "그렇죠, 선생님." 그 소녀가 그를 향해 소리쳤다. "무슨 일이에요?" 그녀는 망설였다.

"친절한 신사님, 당신과 한 시간을 보내는 건 언제나 기쁠 거예요. 하지만 지금은 부끄러워요. 음료수 한 잔에 6코펙 주세요, 멋진 청년이 있어요!" 라스콜니코프는 먼저 온 것을 그녀에게 주었습니다. 15코펙이었습니다. "아, 얼마나 친절한 신사이신가요!" "이름이 뭐예요?" "두클리다를 달라고 하세요." "음, 너무하네요." 한 여성이 두클리다에게 고개를 저으며 말했습니다. "어떻게 그렇게 부탁할 수 있는지 모르겠어요. 부끄러워서 그만해야 할 것 같아요..." 라스콜니코프는 말하는 사람을 호기심 어린 눈으로 바라보았습니다. 그녀는 30대의 뾰루지가 난 처녀였고, 멍이 들었고, 윗입술이 부어 있었습니다. 그녀는 조용하고 진지하게 비판했습니다. "어디에 있는 거지?" 라스콜니코프가 생각했습니다.

"사형 선고를 받은 사람이 죽기 한 시간 전에 높은 바위 위에서, 좁은 난간 위에서, 서 있을 공간만 있는 곳에서, 바다, 영원한 어둠, 영원한 고독, 그를 둘러싼 영원한 폭풍우 속에서, 평생, 천 년, 영원토록 1제곱 야드의 공간에 서 있어야 한다면, 한꺼번에 죽는 것보다는 그렇게 사는 것이 낫다고 말하거나 생각한다는 것을 어디서 읽었는데? 그저 살기 위해, 살기 위해, 그리고 살기 위해! 인생, 그것이 무엇이든!... 얼마나 사실인가! 세상에, 얼마나 사실인가! 인간은 사악한 존재인가!... 그리고 그것을 가지고 그를 사악하다고 부르는 자는 사악하다." 그는 잠시 후에 덧붙였다. 그는 다른 거리로 갔다.

"바, 팔레 드 크리스탈! 라주미힌은 방금 팔레 드 크리스탈에 대해 이야기하고 있었어. 하지만 내가 원하는 것이 도대체 무엇이었지? 그래, 신문이야.... 조시모프는 신문에서 읽었다고 했어. 너는

신문은 봤어?" 그는 매우 넓고 매우 깨끗한 레스토랑으로 들어갔는데, 여러 개의 방으로 구성되어 있었지만, 방은 다소 비어 있었습니다. 두세 명이 차를 마시고 있었고, 더 멀리 있는 방에는 네 명의 남자가 앉아 샴페인을 마시고 있었습니다. 라스콜니코프는 자메토프가 그들 중 하나라고 생각했지만, 그 거리에서는 확신할 수 없었습니다.

"그럴까?" 그는 생각했습니다. "보드카를 드릴까요?" 웨이터가 물었습니다. "차를 좀 주시고 신문을 가져오세요. 지난 5일 동안의 오래된 신문입니다. 그러면 제가 뭔가를 드리겠습니다." "네, 오늘의 신문입니다. 보드카는 없습니다?" 오래된 신문과 차가 가져왔습니다. 라스콜니코프는 앉아서 신문을 살펴보기 시작했습니다.

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Of late he had often felt drawn to wander about this district, when he felt depressed, that he might feel more so. Now he walked along, thinking of nothing. At that point there is a great block of buildings, entirely let out in dram shops and eating-houses; women were continually running in and out, bare-headed and in their indoor clothes. Here and there they gathered in groups, on the pavement, especially about the entrances to various festive establishments in the lower storeys. From one of these a loud din, sounds of singing, the tinkling of a guitar and shouts of merriment, floated into the street. A crowd of women were thronging round the door; some were sitting on the steps, others on the pavement, others were standing talking.

A drunken soldier, smoking a cigarette, was walking near them in the road, swearing; he seemed to be trying to find his way somewhere, but had forgotten where. One beggar was quarrelling with another, and a man dead drunk was lying right across the road. Raskolnikov joined the throng of women, who were talking in husky voices. They were bare-headed and wore cotton dresses and goatskin shoes. There were women of forty and some not more than seventeen; almost all had blackened eyes.

He felt strangely attracted by the singing and all the noise and uproar in the saloon below.... someone could be heard within dancing frantically, marking time with his heels to the sounds of the guitar and of a thin falsetto voice singing a jaunty air. He listened intently, gloomily and dreamily, bending down at the entrance and peeping inquisitively in from the pavement. “Oh, my handsome soldier Don’t beat me for nothing,

” trilled the thin voice of the singer. Raskolnikov felt a great desire to make out what he was singing, as though everything depended on that. “Shall I go in?” he thought. “They are laughing. From drink. Shall I get drunk?” “Won’t you come in?” one of the women asked him.

Her voice was still musical and less thick than the others, she was young and not repulsive—the only one of the group. “Why, she’s pretty,” he said, drawing himself up and looking at her. She smiled, much pleased at the compliment. “You’re very nice looking yourself,” she said. “Isn’t he thin though!” observed another woman in a deep bass. “Have you just come out of a hospital?” “They’re all generals’ daughters, it seems, but they have all snub noses,” interposed a tipsy peasant with a sly smile on his face, wearing a loose coat. “See how jolly they are.” “Go along with you!” “I’ll go, sweetie!” And he darted down into the saloon below. Raskolnikov moved on. “I say, sir,” the girl shouted after him. “What is it?” She hesitated.

“I’ll always be pleased to spend an hour with you, kind gentleman, but now I feel shy. Give me six copecks for a drink, there’s a nice young man!” Raskolnikov gave her what came first—fifteen copecks. “Ah, what a good-natured gentleman!” “What’s your name?” “Ask for Duclida.” “Well, that’s too much,” one of the women observed, shaking her head at Duclida. “I don’t know how you can ask like that. I believe I should drop with shame....” Raskolnikov looked curiously at the speaker. She was a pock-marked wench of thirty, covered with bruises, with her upper lip swollen. She made her criticism quietly and earnestly. “Where is it,” thought Raskolnikov.

“Where is it I’ve read that someone condemned to death says or thinks, an hour before his death, that if he had to live on some high rock, on such a narrow ledge that he’d only room to stand, and the ocean, everlasting darkness, everlasting solitude, everlasting tempest around him, if he had to remain standing on a square yard of space all his life, a thousand years, eternity, it were better to live so than to die at once! Only to live, to live and live! Life, whatever it may be!... How true it is! Good God, how true! Man is a vile creature!... And vile is he who calls him vile for that,” he added a moment later. He went into another street.

“Bah, the Palais de Cristal! Razumihin was just talking of the Palais de Cristal. But what on earth was it I wanted? Yes, the newspapers.... Zossimov said he’d read it in the papers. Have you

the papers?” he asked, going into a very spacious and positively clean restaurant, consisting of several rooms, which were, however, rather empty. Two or three people were drinking tea, and in a room further away were sitting four men drinking champagne. Raskolnikov fancied that Zametov was one of them, but he could not be sure at that distance.

“What if it is?” he thought. “Will you have vodka?” asked the waiter. “Give me some tea and bring me the papers, the old ones for the last five days, and I’ll give you something.” “Yes, sir, here’s to-day’s. No vodka?” The old newspapers and the tea were brought. Raskolnikov sat down and began to look through them.