English
Hespentthateveningtillteno’clockgoingfromonelowhaunttoanother.Katiatooturnedupandsanganotherguttersong,howacertain“villainandtyrant,”
“begankissingKatia.”
SvidrigailovtreatedKatiaandtheorgan-grinderandsomesingersandthewaitersandtwolittleclerks.
Hewasparticularlydrawntotheseclerksbythefactthattheybothhadcrookednoses,onebenttotheleftandtheothertotheright.
Theytookhimfinallytoapleasuregarden,wherehepaidfortheirentrance.
Therewasonelankythree-year-oldpine-treeandthreebushesinthegarden,besidesa“Vauxhall,”whichwasinrealityadrinking-barwhereteatoowasserved,andtherewereafewgreentablesandchairsstandingroundit.
AchorusofwretchedsingersandadrunkenbutexceedinglydepressedGermanclownfromMunichwitharednoseentertainedthepublic.
Theclerksquarrelledwithsomeotherclerksandafightseemedimminent.
Svidrigailovwaschosentodecidethedispute.
Helistenedtothemforaquarterofanhour,buttheyshoutedsoloudthattherewasnopossibilityofunderstandingthem.
TheonlyfactthatseemedcertainwasthatoneofthemhadstolensomethingandhadevensucceededinsellingitonthespottoaJew,butwouldnotsharethespoilwithhiscompanion.
FinallyitappearedthatthestolenobjectwasateaspoonbelongingtotheVauxhall.
Itwasmissedandtheaffairbegantoseemtroublesome.
Svidrigailovpaidforthespoon,gotup,andwalkedoutofthegarden.Itwasaboutsixo’clock.
Hehadnotdrunkadropofwineallthistimeandhadorderedteamoreforthesakeofappearancesthananything.
Itwasadarkandstiflingevening.Threateningstorm-cloudscameovertheskyaboutteno’clock.
Therewasaclapofthunder,andtheraincamedownlikeawaterfall.
Thewaterfellnotindrops,butbeatontheearthinstreams.
Therewereflashesoflightningeveryminuteandeachflashlastedwhileonecouldcountfive.
Drenchedtotheskin,hewenthome,lockedhimselfin,openedthebureau,tookoutallhismoneyandtoreuptwoorthreepapers.
Then,puttingthemoneyinhispocket,hewasabouttochangehisclothes,but,lookingoutofthewindowandlisteningtothethunderandtherain,hegaveuptheidea,tookuphishatandwentoutoftheroomwithoutlockingthedoor.HewentstraighttoSonia.Shewasathome.
Shewasnotalone:thefourKapernaumovchildrenwerewithher.Shewasgivingthemtea.
ShereceivedSvidrigailovinrespectfulsilence,lookingwonderinglyathissoakingclothes.
Thechildrenallranawayatonceinindescribableterror.
SvidrigailovsatdownatthetableandaskedSoniatositbesidehim.Shetimidlypreparedtolisten.
“ImaybegoingtoAmerica,SofyaSemyonovna,”saidSvidrigailov,“andasIamprobablyseeingyouforthelasttime,Ihavecometomakesomearrangements.Well,didyouseetheladyto-day?
Iknowwhatshesaidtoyou,youneednottellme.”(Soniamadeamovementandblushed.)
“Thosepeoplehavetheirownwayofdoingthings.
Astoyoursistersandyourbrother,theyarereallyprovidedforandthemoneyassignedtothemI’veputintosafekeepingandhavereceivedacknowledgments.
Youhadbettertakechargeofthereceipts,incaseanythinghappens.Here,takethem!Wellnow,that’ssettled.
Herearethree5-per-centbondstothevalueofthreethousandroubles.
Takethoseforyourself,entirelyforyourself,andletthatbestrictlybetweenourselves,sothatnooneknowsofit,whateveryouhear.
Youwillneedthemoney,fortogoonlivingintheoldway,SofyaSemyonovna,isbad,andbesidesthereisnoneedforitnow.”
“Iamsomuchindebtedtoyou,andsoarethechildrenandmystepmother,”saidSoniahurriedly,“andifI’vesaidsolittle…pleasedon’tconsider…”
“That’senough!that’senough!”
“Butasforthemoney,ArkadyIvanovitch,Iamverygratefultoyou,butIdon’tneeditnow.Icanalwaysearnmyownliving.Don’tthinkmeungrateful.Ifyouaresocharitable,thatmoney….”
“It’sforyou,foryou,SofyaSemyonovna,andpleasedon’twastewordsoverit.Ihaven’ttimeforit.Youwillwantit.
RodionRomanovitchhastwoalternatives:abulletinthebrainorSiberia.”
(Sonialookedwildlyathim,andstarted.)
“Don’tbeuneasy,IknowallaboutitfromhimselfandIamnotagossip;Iwon’ttellanyone.
Itwasgoodadvicewhenyoutoldhimtogivehimselfupandconfess.Itwouldbemuchbetterforhim.
Well,ifitturnsouttobeSiberia,hewillgoandyouwillfollowhim.That’sso,isn’tit?Andifso,you’llneedmoney.
You’llneeditforhim,doyouunderstand?
Givingittoyouisthesameasmygivingittohim.
Besides,youpromisedAmaliaIvanovnatopaywhat’sowing.Iheardyou.
Howcanyouundertakesuchobligationssoheedlessly,SofyaSemyonovna?
ItwasKaterinaIvanovna’sdebtandnotyours,soyououghtnottohavetakenanynoticeoftheGermanwoman.
Youcan’tgetthroughtheworldlikethat.
Ifyouareeverquestionedaboutme—to-morroworthedayafteryouwillbeasked—don’tsayanythingaboutmycomingtoseeyounowanddon’tshowthemoneytoanyoneorsayawordaboutit.Well,nowgood-bye.”(Hegotup.)“MygreetingstoRodionRomanovitch.
Bytheway,you’dbetterputthemoneyforthepresentinMr.Razumihin’skeeping.YouknowMr.Razumihin?Ofcourseyoudo.He’snotabadfellow.
Takeittohimto-morrowor…whenthetimecomes.Andtillthen,hideitcarefully.”
SoniatoojumpedupfromherchairandlookedindismayatSvidrigailov.Shelongedtospeak,toaskaquestion,butforthefirstmomentsshedidnotdareanddidnotknowhowtobegin.
“Howcanyou…howcanyoubegoingnow,insuchrain?”
“Why,bestartingforAmerica,andbestoppedbyrain!Ha,ha!Good-bye,SofyaSemyonovna,mydear!
Liveandlivelong,youwillbeofusetoothers.
Bytheway…tellMr.RazumihinIsendmygreetingstohim.
TellhimArkadyIvanovitchSvidrigailovsendshisgreetings.Besureto.”
Hewentout,leavingSoniainastateofwonderinganxietyandvagueapprehension.
Itappearedafterwardsthatonthesameevening,attwentypasteleven,hemadeanotherveryeccentricandunexpectedvisit.Therainstillpersisted.
Drenchedtotheskin,hewalkedintothelittleflatwheretheparentsofhisbetrothedlived,inThirdStreetinVassilyevskyIsland.
Heknockedsometimebeforehewasadmitted,andhisvisitatfirstcausedgreatperturbation;butSvidrigailovcouldbeveryfascinatingwhenheliked,sothatthefirst,andindeedveryintelligentsurmiseofthesensibleparentsthatSvidrigailovhadprobablyhadsomuchtodrinkthathedidnotknowwhathewasdoingvanishedimmediately.
ThedecrepitfatherwaswheeledintoseeSvidrigailovbythetenderandsensiblemother,whoasusualbegantheconversationwithvariousirrelevantquestions.
Sheneveraskedadirectquestion,butbeganbysmilingandrubbingherhandsandthen,ifshewereobligedtoascertainsomething—forinstance,whenSvidrigailovwouldliketohavethewedding—shewouldbeginbyinterestedandalmosteagerquestionsaboutParisandthecourtlifethere,andonlybydegreesbroughttheconversationroundtoThirdStreet.
Onotheroccasionsthishadofcoursebeenveryimpressive,butthistimeArkadyIvanovitchseemedparticularlyimpatient,andinsistedonseeinghisbetrothedatonce,thoughhehadbeeninformed,tobeginwith,thatshehadalreadygonetobed.Thegirlofcourseappeared.
SvidrigailovinformedheratoncethathewasobligedbyveryimportantaffairstoleavePetersburgforatime,andthereforebroughtherfifteenthousandroublesandbeggedheracceptthemasapresentfromhim,ashehadlongbeenintendingtomakeherthistriflingpresentbeforetheirwedding.
Thelogicalconnectionofthepresentwithhisimmediatedepartureandtheabsolutenecessityofvisitingthemforthatpurposeinpouringrainatmidnightwasnotmadeclear.
Butitallwentoffverywell;eventheinevitableejaculationsofwonderandregret,theinevitablequestionswereextraordinarilyfewandrestrained.
Ontheotherhand,thegratitudeexpressedwasmostglowingandwasreinforcedbytearsfromthemostsensibleofmothers.
Svidrigailovgotup,laughed,kissedhisbetrothed,pattedhercheek,declaredhewouldsooncomeback,andnoticinginhereyes,togetherwithchildishcuriosity,asortofearnestdumbinquiry,reflectedandkissedheragain,thoughhefeltsincereangerinwardlyatthethoughtthathispresentwouldbeimmediatelylockedupinthekeepingofthemostsensibleofmothers.
Hewentaway,leavingthemallinastateofextraordinaryexcitement,butthetendermamma,speakingquietlyinahalfwhisper,settledsomeofthemostimportantoftheirdoubts,concludingthatSvidrigailovwasagreatman,amanofgreataffairsandconnectionsandofgreatwealth—therewasnoknowingwhathehadinhismind.
Hewouldstartoffonajourneyandgiveawaymoneyjustasthefancytookhim,sothattherewasnothingsurprisingaboutit.
Ofcourseitwasstrangethathewaswetthrough,butEnglishmen,forinstance,areevenmoreeccentric,andallthesepeopleofhighsocietydidn’tthinkofwhatwassaidofthemanddidn’tstandonceremony.
Possibly,indeed,hecamelikethatonpurposetoshowthathewasnotafraidofanyone.
Aboveall,notawordshouldbesaidaboutit,forGodknowswhatmightcomeofit,andthemoneymustbelockedup,anditwasmostfortunatethatFedosya,thecook,hadnotleftthekitchen.
Andaboveallnotawordmustbesaidtothatoldcat,MadameResslich,andsoonandsoon.
Theysatupwhisperingtilltwoo’clock,butthegirlwenttobedmuchearlier,amazedandrathersorrowful.
Svidrigailovmeanwhile,exactlyatmidnight,crossedthebridgeonthewaybacktothemainland.
Therainhadceasedandtherewasaroaringwind.
Hebeganshivering,andforonemomenthegazedattheblackwatersoftheLittleNevawithalookofspecialinterest,eveninquiry.
Buthesoonfeltitverycold,standingbythewater;heturnedandwenttowardsY.Prospect.
Hewalkedalongthatendlessstreetforalongtime,almosthalfanhour,morethanoncestumblinginthedarkonthewoodenpavement,butcontinuallylookingforsomethingontherightsideofthestreet.
Hehadnoticedpassingthroughthisstreetlatelythattherewasahotelsomewheretowardstheend,builtofwood,butfairlylarge,anditsnameherememberedwassomethinglikeAdrianople.
Hewasnotmistaken:thehotelwassoconspicuousinthatGod-forsakenplacethathecouldnotfailtoseeiteveninthedark.
Itwasalong,blackenedwoodenbuilding,andinspiteofthelatehourtherewerelightsinthewindowsandsignsoflifewithin.
Hewentinandaskedaraggedfellowwhomethiminthecorridorforaroom.
Thelatter,scanningSvidrigailov,pulledhimselftogetherandledhimatoncetoacloseandtinyroominthedistance,attheendofthecorridor,underthestairs.Therewasnoother,allwereoccupied.Theraggedfellowlookedinquiringly.
“Istheretea?”askedSvidrigailov.
“Yes,sir.”
“Whatelseisthere?”
“Veal,vodka,savouries.”
“Bringmeteaandveal.”
“Andyouwantnothingelse?”heaskedwithapparentsurprise.
“Nothing,nothing.”
Theraggedmanwentaway,completelydisillusioned.
“Itmustbeaniceplace,”thoughtSvidrigailov.“HowwasitIdidn’tknowit?
IexpectIlookasifIcamefromacaféchantantandhavehadsomeadventureontheway.
Itwouldbeinterestingtoknowwhostayhere?”
Helightedthecandleandlookedattheroommorecarefully.
Itwasaroomsolow-pitchedthatSvidrigailovcouldonlyjuststandupinit;ithadonewindow;thebed,whichwasverydirty,andtheplain-stainedchairandtablealmostfilleditup.
Thewallslookedasthoughtheyweremadeofplanks,coveredwithshabbypaper,sotornanddustythatthepatternwasindistinguishable,thoughthegeneralcolour—yellow—couldstillbemadeout.
Oneofthewallswascutshortbytheslopingceiling,thoughtheroomwasnotanatticbutjustunderthestairs.
Svidrigailovsetdownthecandle,satdownonthebedandsankintothought.
Butastrangepersistentmurmurwhichsometimesrosetoashoutinthenextroomattractedhisattention.
Themurmurhadnotceasedfromthemomentheenteredtheroom.
Helistened:someonewasupbraidingandalmosttearfullyscolding,butheheardonlyonevoice.
Svidrigailovgotup,shadedthelightwithhishandandatoncehesawlightthroughacrackinthewall;hewentupandpeepedthrough.
Theroom,whichwassomewhatlargerthanhis,hadtwooccupants.
Oneofthem,averycurly-headedmanwitharedinflamedface,wasstandingintheposeofanorator,withouthiscoat,withhislegswideaparttopreservehisbalance,andsmitinghimselfonthebreast.
Hereproachedtheotherwithbeingabeggar,withhavingnostandingwhatever.
Hedeclaredthathehadtakentheotheroutofthegutterandhecouldturnhimoutwhenheliked,andthatonlythefingerofProvidenceseesitall.
Theobjectofhisreproacheswassittinginachair,andhadtheairofamanwhowantsdreadfullytosneeze,butcan’t.
Hesometimesturnedsheepishandbefoggedeyesonthespeaker,butobviouslyhadnottheslightestideawhathewastalkingaboutandscarcelyheardit.
Acandlewasburningdownonthetable;therewerewine-glasses,anearlyemptybottleofvodka,breadandcucumber,andglasseswiththedregsofstaletea.
Aftergazingattentivelyatthis,Svidrigailovturnedawayindifferentlyandsatdownonthebed.
Theraggedattendant,returningwiththetea,couldnotresistaskinghimagainwhetherhedidn’twantanythingmore,andagainreceivinganegativereply,finallywithdrew.
Svidrigailovmadehastetodrinkaglassofteatowarmhimself,butcouldnoteatanything.Hebegantofeelfeverish.
Hetookoffhiscoatand,wrappinghimselfintheblanket,laydownonthebed.Hewasannoyed.
“Itwouldhavebeenbettertobewellfortheoccasion,”hethoughtwithasmile.
Theroomwasclose,thecandleburntdimly,thewindwasroaringoutside,heheardamousescratchinginthecornerandtheroomsmeltofmiceandofleather.
Helayinasortofreverie:onethoughtfollowedanother.
Hefeltalongingtofixhisimaginationonsomething.
“Itmustbeagardenunderthewindow,”hethought.“There’sasoundoftrees.
HowIdislikethesoundoftreesonastormynight,inthedark!Theygiveoneahorridfeeling.”
HerememberedhowhehaddislikeditwhenhepassedPetrovskyParkjustnow.
ThisremindedhimofthebridgeovertheLittleNevaandhefeltcoldagainashehadwhenstandingthere.
“Ineverhavelikedwater,”hethought,“eveninalandscape,”andhesuddenlysmiledagainatastrangeidea:“Surelynowallthesequestionsoftasteandcomfortoughtnottomatter,butI’vebecomemoreparticular,likeananimalthatpicksoutaspecialplace…forsuchanoccasion.
IoughttohavegoneintothePetrovskyPark!Isupposeitseemeddark,cold,ha-ha!
AsthoughIwereseekingpleasantsensations!
...Bytheway,whyhaven’tIputoutthecandle?”heblewitout.
“They’vegonetobednextdoor,”hethought,notseeingthelightatthecrack.
“Well,now,MarfaPetrovna,nowisthetimeforyoutoturnup;it’sdark,andtheverytimeandplaceforyou.Butnowyouwon’tcome!”
Hesuddenlyrecalledhow,anhourbeforecarryingouthisdesignonDounia,hehadrecommendedRaskolnikovtotrusthertoRazumihin’skeeping.
“IsupposeIreallydidsayit,asRaskolnikovguessed,toteasemyself.ButwhataroguethatRaskolnikovis!He’sgonethroughagooddeal.
Hemaybeasuccessfulrogueintimewhenhe’sgotoverhisnonsense.Butnowhe’stooeagerforlife.
Theseyoungmenarecontemptibleonthatpoint.But,hangthefellow!
Lethimpleasehimself,it’snothingtodowithme.”
Hecouldnotgettosleep.BydegreesDounia’simagerosebeforehim,andashudderranoverhim.
“No,Imustgiveupallthatnow,”hethought,rousinghimself.“Imustthinkofsomethingelse.It’squeerandfunny.
Ineverhadagreathatredforanyone,Ineverparticularlydesiredtoavengemyselfeven,andthat’sabadsign,abadsign,abadsign.
Ineverlikedquarrellingeither,andneverlostmytemper—that’sabadsigntoo.
AndthepromisesImadeherjustnow,too—Damnation!But—whoknows?
—perhapsshewouldhavemadeanewmanofmesomehow….”
Hegroundhisteethandsankintosilenceagain.
AgainDounia’simagerosebeforehim,justasshewaswhen,aftershootingthefirsttime,shehadloweredtherevolverinterrorandgazedblanklyathim,sothathemighthaveseizedhertwiceoverandshewouldnothaveliftedahandtodefendherselfifhehadnotremindedher.
Herecalledhowatthatinstanthefeltalmostsorryforher,howhehadfeltapangathisheart…
“Aïe!Damnation,thesethoughtsagain!Imustputitaway!”
Hewasdozingoff;thefeverishshiverhadceased,whensuddenlysomethingseemedtorunoverhisarmandlegunderthebedclothes.Hestarted.“Ugh!hangit!
Ibelieveit’samouse,”hethought,“that’sthevealIleftonthetable.”
Hefeltfearfullydisinclinedtopullofftheblanket,getup,getcold,butallatoncesomethingunpleasantranoverhislegagain.
Hepulledofftheblanketandlightedthecandle.
Shakingwithfeverishchillhebentdowntoexaminethebed:therewasnothing.
Heshooktheblanketandsuddenlyamousejumpedoutonthesheet.
Hetriedtocatchit,butthemouserantoandfroinzigzagswithoutleavingthebed,slippedbetweenhisfingers,ranoverhishandandsuddenlydartedunderthepillow.
Hethrewdownthepillow,butinoneinstantfeltsomethingleaponhischestanddartoverhisbodyanddownhisbackunderhisshirt.Hetremblednervouslyandwokeup.
Theroomwasdark.Hewaslyingonthebedandwrappedupintheblanketasbefore.Thewindwashowlingunderthewindow.“Howdisgusting,”hethoughtwithannoyance.
Hegotupandsatontheedgeofthebedsteadwithhisbacktothewindow.
“It’sbetternottosleepatall,”hedecided.
Therewasacolddampdraughtfromthewindow,however;withoutgettinguphedrewtheblanketoverhimandwrappedhimselfinit.
Hewasnotthinkingofanythinganddidnotwanttothink.
Butoneimageroseafteranother,incoherentscrapsofthoughtwithoutbeginningorendpassedthroughhismind.Hesankintodrowsiness.
Perhapsthecold,orthedampness,orthedark,orthewindthathowledunderthewindowandtossedthetreesrousedasortofpersistentcravingforthefantastic.
Hekeptdwellingonimagesofflowers,hefanciedacharmingflowergarden,abright,warm,almosthotday,aholiday—Trinityday.
Afine,sumptuouscountrycottageintheEnglishtasteovergrownwithfragrantflowers,withflowerbedsgoingroundthehouse;theporch,wreathedinclimbers,wassurroundedwithbedsofroses.
Alight,coolstaircase,carpetedwithrichrugs,wasdecoratedwithrareplantsinchinapots.
Henoticedparticularlyinthewindowsnosegaysoftender,white,heavilyfragrantnarcissusbendingovertheirbright,green,thicklongstalks.
Hewasreluctanttomoveawayfromthem,buthewentupthestairsandcameintoalarge,highdrawing-roomandagaineverywhere—atthewindows,thedoorsontothebalcony,andonthebalconyitself—wereflowers.
Thefloorswerestrewnwithfreshly-cutfragranthay,thewindowswereopen,afresh,cool,lightaircameintotheroom.
Thebirdswerechirrupingunderthewindow,andinthemiddleoftheroom,onatablecoveredwithawhitesatinshroud,stoodacoffin.
Thecoffinwascoveredwithwhitesilkandedgedwithathickwhitefrill;wreathsofflowerssurroundeditonallsides.
Amongtheflowerslayagirlinawhitemuslindress,withherarmscrossedandpressedonherbosom,asthoughcarvedoutofmarble.
Butherloosefairhairwaswet;therewasawreathofrosesonherhead.
Thesternandalreadyrigidprofileofherfacelookedasthoughchiselledofmarbletoo,andthesmileonherpalelipswasfullofanimmenseunchildishmiseryandsorrowfulappeal.
Svidrigailovknewthatgirl;therewasnoholyimage,noburningcandlebesidethecoffin;nosoundofprayers:thegirlhaddrownedherself.
Shewasonlyfourteen,butherheartwasbroken.
Andshehaddestroyedherself,crushedbyaninsultthathadappalledandamazedthatchildishsoul,hadsmirchedthatangelpuritywithunmeriteddisgraceandtornfromheralastscreamofdespair,unheededandbrutallydisregarded,onadarknightinthecoldandwetwhilethewindhowled….
Svidrigailovcametohimself,gotupfromthebedandwenttothewindow.Hefeltforthelatchandopenedit.
Thewindlashedfuriouslyintothelittleroomandstunghisfaceandhischest,onlycoveredwithhisshirt,asthoughwithfrost.
Underthewindowtheremusthavebeensomethinglikeagarden,andapparentlyapleasuregarden.
There,too,probablythereweretea-tablesandsinginginthedaytime.
Nowdropsofrainflewinatthewindowfromthetreesandbushes;itwasdarkasinacellar,sothathecouldonlyjustmakeoutsomedarkblursofobjects.
Svidrigailov,bendingdownwithelbowsonthewindow-sill,gazedforfiveminutesintothedarkness;theboomofacannon,followedbyasecondone,resoundedinthedarknessofthenight.“Ah,thesignal!Theriverisoverflowing,”hethought.
“Bymorningitwillbeswirlingdownthestreetinthelowerparts,floodingthebasementsandcellars.
Thecellarratswillswimout,andmenwillcurseintherainandwindastheydragtheirrubbishtotheirupperstoreys.Whattimeisitnow?”
Andhehadhardlythoughtitwhen,somewherenear,aclockonthewall,tickingawayhurriedly,struckthree.
“Aha!Itwillbelightinanhour!Whywait?
I’llgooutatoncestraighttothepark.
I’llchooseagreatbushtheredrenchedwithrain,sothatassoonasone’sshouldertouchesit,millionsofdropsdriponone’shead.”
Hemovedawayfromthewindow,shutit,lightedthecandle,putonhiswaistcoat,hisovercoatandhishatandwentout,carryingthecandle,intothepassagetolookfortheraggedattendantwhowouldbeasleepsomewhereinthemidstofcandle-endsandallsortsofrubbish,topayhimfortheroomandleavethehotel.
“It’sthebestminute;Icouldn’tchooseabetter.”
Hewalkedforsometimethroughalongnarrowcorridorwithoutfindinganyoneandwasjustgoingtocallout,whensuddenlyinadarkcornerbetweenanoldcupboardandthedoorhecaughtsightofastrangeobjectwhichseemedtobealive.
Hebentdownwiththecandleandsawalittlegirl,notmorethanfiveyearsold,shiveringandcrying,withherclothesaswetasasoakinghouse-flannel.
ShedidnotseemafraidofSvidrigailov,butlookedathimwithblankamazementoutofherbigblackeyes.
Nowandthenshesobbedaschildrendowhentheyhavebeencryingalongtime,butarebeginningtobecomforted.
Thechild’sfacewaspaleandtired,shewasnumbwithcold.“Howcanshehavecomehere?
Shemusthavehiddenhereandnotsleptallnight.”Hebeganquestioningher.
Thechildsuddenlybecominganimated,chatteredawayinherbabylanguage,somethingabout“mammy”andthat“mammywouldbeather,”andaboutsomecupthatshehad“bwoken.”
Thechildchatteredonwithoutstopping.
Hecouldonlyguessfromwhatshesaidthatshewasaneglectedchild,whosemother,probablyadrunkencook,intheserviceofthehotel,whippedandfrightenedher;thatthechildhadbrokenacupofhermother’sandwassofrightenedthatshehadrunawaytheeveningbefore,hadhiddenforalongwhilesomewhereoutsideintherain,atlasthadmadeherwayinhere,hiddenbehindthecupboardandspentthenightthere,cryingandtremblingfromthedamp,thedarknessandthefearthatshewouldbebadlybeatenforit.
Hetookherinhisarms,wentbacktohisroom,satheronthebed,andbeganundressingher.
Thetornshoeswhichshehadonherstockinglessfeetwereaswetasiftheyhadbeenstandinginapuddleallnight.
Whenhehadundressedher,heputheronthebed,coveredherupandwrappedherintheblanketfromherheaddownwards.Shefellasleepatonce.Thenhesankintodrearymusingagain.
“Whatfollytotroublemyself,”hedecidedsuddenlywithanoppressivefeelingofannoyance.“Whatidiocy!”
Invexationhetookupthecandletogoandlookfortheraggedattendantagainandmakehastetogoaway.“Damnthechild!”
hethoughtasheopenedthedoor,butheturnedagaintoseewhetherthechildwasasleep.Heraisedtheblanketcarefully.
Thechildwassleepingsoundly,shehadgotwarmundertheblanket,andherpalecheekswereflushed.
Butstrangetosaythatflushseemedbrighterandcoarserthantherosycheeksofchildhood.
“It’saflushoffever,”thoughtSvidrigailov.
Itwasliketheflushfromdrinking,asthoughshehadbeengivenafullglasstodrink.
Hercrimsonlipswerehotandglowing;butwhatwasthis?
Hesuddenlyfanciedthatherlongblackeyelasheswerequivering,asthoughthelidswereopeningandaslycraftyeyepeepedoutwithanunchildlikewink,asthoughthelittlegirlwerenotasleep,butpretending.Yes,itwasso.Herlipspartedinasmile.
Thecornersofhermouthquivered,asthoughsheweretryingtocontrolthem.
Butnowshequitegaveupalleffort,nowitwasagrin,abroadgrin;therewassomethingshameless,provocativeinthatquiteunchildishface;itwasdepravity,itwasthefaceofaharlot,theshamelessfaceofaFrenchharlot.
Nowbotheyesopenedwide;theyturnedaglowing,shamelessglanceuponhim;theylaughed,invitedhim….
Therewassomethinginfinitelyhideousandshockinginthatlaugh,inthoseeyes,insuchnastinessinthefaceofachild.“What,atfiveyearsold?”
Svidrigailovmutteredingenuinehorror.“Whatdoesitmean?”
Andnowsheturnedtohim,herlittlefaceallaglow,holdingoutherarms….“Accursedchild!”
Svidrigailovcried,raisinghishandtostrikeher,butatthatmomenthewokeup.
Hewasinthesamebed,stillwrappedintheblanket.Thecandlehadnotbeenlighted,anddaylightwasstreaminginatthewindows.
“I’vehadnightmareallnight!”Hegotupangrily,feelingutterlyshattered;hisbonesached.
Therewasathickmistoutsideandhecouldseenothing.Itwasnearlyfive.Hehadoverslepthimself!
Hegotup,putonhisstilldampjacketandovercoat.
Feelingtherevolverinhispocket,hetookitoutandthenhesatdown,tookanotebookoutofhispocketandinthemostconspicuousplaceonthetitlepagewroteafewlinesinlargeletters.
Readingthemover,hesankintothoughtwithhiselbowsonthetable.
Therevolverandthenotebooklaybesidehim.
Someflieswokeupandsettledontheuntouchedveal,whichwasstillonthetable.
Hestaredatthemandatlastwithhisfreerighthandbegantryingtocatchone.
Hetriedtillhewastired,butcouldnotcatchit.
Atlast,realisingthathewasengagedinthisinterestingpursuit,hestarted,gotupandwalkedresolutelyoutoftheroom.Aminutelaterhewasinthestreet.
Athickmilkymisthungoverthetown.SvidrigailovwalkedalongtheslipperydirtywoodenpavementtowardstheLittleNeva.
HewaspicturingthewatersoftheLittleNevaswolleninthenight,PetrovskyIsland,thewetpaths,thewetgrass,thewettreesandbushesandatlastthebush….
Hebeganill-humouredlystaringatthehouses,tryingtothinkofsomethingelse.
Therewasnotacabmanorapasser-byinthestreet.
Thebrightyellow,wooden,littlehouseslookeddirtyanddejectedwiththeirclosedshutters.
Thecoldanddamppenetratedhiswholebodyandhebegantoshiver.
Fromtimetotimehecameacrossshopsignsandreadeachcarefully.
Atlasthereachedtheendofthewoodenpavementandcametoabigstonehouse.
Adirty,shiveringdogcrossedhispathwithitstailbetweenitslegs.
Amaninagreatcoatlayfacedownwards;deaddrunk,acrossthepavement.Helookedathimandwenton.Ahightowerstoodupontheleft.“Bah!”heshouted,“hereisaplace.WhyshoulditbePetrovsky?
Itwillbeinthepresenceofanofficialwitnessanyway….”
Healmostsmiledatthisnewthoughtandturnedintothestreetwheretherewasthebighousewiththetower.
Atthegreatclosedgatesofthehouse,alittlemanstoodwithhisshoulderleaningagainstthem,wrappedinagreysoldier’scoat,withacopperAchilleshelmetonhishead.
HecastadrowsyandindifferentglanceatSvidrigailov.
Hisfaceworethatperpetuallookofpeevishdejection,whichissosourlyprintedonallfacesofJewishracewithoutexception.
Theyboth,SvidrigailovandAchilles,staredateachotherforafewminuteswithoutspeaking.
AtlastitstruckAchillesasirregularforamannotdrunktobestandingthreestepsfromhim,staringandnotsayingaword.
“Whatdoyouwanthere?”hesaid,withoutmovingorchanginghisposition.
“Nothing,brother,goodmorning,”answeredSvidrigailov.
“Thisisn’ttheplace.”
“Iamgoingtoforeignparts,brother.”
“Toforeignparts?”
“ToAmerica.”
“America.”
Svidrigailovtookouttherevolverandcockedit.Achillesraisedhiseyebrows.
“Isay,thisisnottheplaceforsuchjokes!”
“Whyshouldn’titbetheplace?”
“Becauseitisn’t.”
“Well,brother,Idon’tmindthat.It’sagoodplace.Whenyouareasked,youjustsayhewasgoing,hesaid,toAmerica.”
Heputtherevolvertohisrighttemple.
“Youcan’tdoithere,it’snottheplace,”criedAchilles,rousinghimself,hiseyesgrowingbiggerandbigger.
Svidrigailovpulledthetrigger.
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