罪与罚——Crime and Punishment中英文对照【完结】_派派后花园

用户中心 游戏论坛 社区服务
发帖 回复
阅读:6363 回复:59

[Novel] 罪与罚——Crime and Punishment中英文对照【完结】

刷新数据 楼层直达
峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 40楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第六章
When he remembered the scene afterwards, this is how Raskolnikov saw it.
The noise behind the door increased, and suddenly the door was opened a little.
"What is it?" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, annoyed. "Why, I gave orders . . ."
For an instant there was no answer, but it was evident that there were several persons at the door, and that they were apparently pushing somebody back.
"What is it?" Porfiry Petrovitch repeated, uneasily.
"The prisoner Nikolay has been brought," someone answered.
"He is not wanted! Take him away! Let him wait! What's he doing here? How irregular!" cried Porfiry, rushing to the door.
"But he . . ." began the same voice, and suddenly ceased.
Two seconds, not more, were spent in actual struggle, then someone gave a violent shove, and then a man, very pale, strode into the room.
This man's appearance was at first sight very strange. He stared straight before him, as though seeing nothing. There was a determined gleam in his eyes; at the same time there was a deathly pallor in his face, as though he were being led to the scaffold. His white lips were faintly twitching.
He was dressed like a workman and was of medium height, very young, slim, his hair cut in round crop, with thin spare features. The man whom he had thrust back followed him into the room and succeeded in seizing him by the shoulder; he was a warder; but Nikolay pulled his arm away.
Several persons crowded inquisitively into the doorway. Some of them tried to get in. All this took place almost instantaneously.
"Go away, it's too soon! Wait till you are sent for! . . . Why have you brought him so soon?" Porfiry Petrovitch muttered, extremely annoyed, and as it were thrown out of his reckoning.
But Nikolay suddenly knelt down.
"What's the matter?" cried Porfiry, surprised.
"I am guilty! Mine is the sin! I am the murderer," Nikolay articulated suddenly, rather breathless, but speaking fairly loudly.
For ten seconds there was silence as though all had been struck dumb; even the warder stepped back, mechanically retreated to the door, and stood immovable.
"What is it?" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, recovering from his momentary stupefaction.
"I . . . am the murderer," repeated Nikolay, after a brief pause.
"What . . . you . . . what . . . whom did you kill?" Porfiry Petrovitch was obviously bewildered.
Nikolay again was silent for a moment.
"Alyona Ivanovna and her sister Lizaveta Ivanovna, I . . . killed . . . with an axe. Darkness came over me," he added suddenly, and was again silent.
He still remained on his knees. Porfiry Petrovitch stood for some moments as though meditating, but suddenly roused himself and waved back the uninvited spectators. They instantly vanished and closed the door. Then he looked towards Raskolnikov, who was standing in the corner, staring wildly at Nikolay and moved towards him, but stopped short, looked from Nikolay to Raskolnikov and then again at Nikolay, and seeming unable to restrain himself darted at the latter.
"You're in too great a hurry," he shouted at him, almost angrily. "I didn't ask you what came over you. . . . Speak, did you kill them?"
"I am the murderer. . . . I want to give evidence," Nikolay pronounced.
"Ach! What did you kill them with?"
"An axe. I had it ready."
"Ach, he is in a hurry! Alone?"
Nikolay did not understand the question.
"Did you do it alone?"
"Yes, alone. And Mitka is not guilty and had no share in it."
"Don't be in a hurry about Mitka! A-ach! How was it you ran downstairs like that at the time? The porters met you both!"
"It was to put them off the scent . . . I ran after Mitka," Nikolay replied hurriedly, as though he had prepared the answer.
"I knew it!" cried Porfiry, with vexation. "It's not his own tale he is telling," he muttered as though to himself, and suddenly his eyes rested on Raskolnikov again.
He was apparently so taken up with Nikolay that for a moment he had forgotten Raskolnikov. He was a little taken aback.
"My dear Rodion Romanovitch, excuse me!" he flew up to him, "this won't do; I'm afraid you must go . . . it's no good your staying . . . I will . . . you see, what a surprise! . . . Good-bye!"
And taking him by the arm, he showed him to the door.
"I suppose you didn't expect it?" said Raskolnikov who, though he had not yet fully grasped the situation, had regained his courage.
"You did not expect it either, my friend. See how your hand is trembling! He-he!"
"You're trembling, too, Porfiry Petrovitch!"
"Yes, I am; I didn't expect it."
They were already at the door; Porfiry was impatient for Raskolnikov to be gone.
"And your little surprise, aren't you going to show it to me?" Raskolnikov said, sarcastically.
"Why, his teeth are chattering as he asks, he-he! You are an ironical person! Come, till we meet!"
"I believe we can say /good-bye/!"
"That's in God's hands," muttered Porfiry, with an unnatural smile.
As he walked through the office, Raskolnikov noticed that many people were looking at him. Among them he saw the two porters from /the/ house, whom he had invited that night to the police station. They stood there waiting. But he was no sooner on the stairs than he heard the voice of Porfiry Petrovitch behind him. Turning round, he saw the latter running after him, out of breath.
"One word, Rodion Romanovitch; as to all the rest, it's in God's hands, but as a matter of form there are some questions I shall have to ask you . . . so we shall meet again, shan't we?"
And Porfiry stood still, facing him with a smile.
"Shan't we?" he added again.
He seemed to want to say something more, but could not speak out.
"You must forgive me, Porfiry Petrovitch, for what has just passed . . . I lost my temper," began Raskolnikov, who had so far regained his courage that he felt irresistibly inclined to display his coolness.
"Don't mention it, don't mention it," Porfiry replied, almost gleefully. "I myself, too . . . I have a wicked temper, I admit it! But we shall meet again. If it's God's will, we may see a great deal of one another."
"And will get to know each other through and through?" added Raskolnikov.
"Yes; know each other through and through," assented Porfiry Petrovitch, and he screwed up his eyes, looking earnestly at Raskolnikov. "Now you're going to a birthday party?"
"To a funeral."
"Of course, the funeral! Take care of yourself, and get well."
"I don't know what to wish you," said Raskolnikov, who had begun to descend the stairs, but looked back again. "I should like to wish you success, but your office is such a comical one."
"Why comical?" Porfiry Petrovitch had turned to go, but he seemed to prick up his ears at this.
"Why, how you must have been torturing and harassing that poor Nikolay psychologically, after your fashion, till he confessed! You must have been at him day and night, proving to him that he was the murderer, and now that he has confessed, you'll begin vivisecting him again. 'You are lying,' you'll say. 'You are not the murderer! You can't be! It's not your own tale you are telling!' You must admit it's a comical business!"
"He-he-he! You noticed then that I said to Nikolay just now that it was not his own tale he was telling?"
"How could I help noticing it!"
"He-he! You are quick-witted. You notice everything! You've really a playful mind! And you always fasten on the comic side . . . he-he! They say that was the marked characteristic of Gogol, among the writers."
"Yes, of Gogol."
"Yes, of Gogol. . . . I shall look forward to meeting you."
"So shall I."
Raskolnikov walked straight home. He was so muddled and bewildered that on getting home he sat for a quarter of an hour on the sofa, trying to collect his thoughts. He did not attempt to think about Nikolay; he was stupefied; he felt that his confession was something inexplicable, amazing--something beyond his understanding. But Nikolay's confession was an actual fact. The consequences of this fact were clear to him at once, its falsehood could not fail to be discovered, and then they would be after him again. Till then, at least, he was free and must do something for himself, for the danger was imminent.
But how imminent? His position gradually became clear to him. Remembering, sketchily, the main outlines of his recent scene with Porfiry, he could not help shuddering again with horror. Of course, he did not yet know all Porfiry's aims, he could not see into all his calculations. But he had already partly shown his hand, and no one knew better than Raskolnikov how terrible Porfiry's "lead" had been for him. A little more and he /might/ have given himself away completely, circumstantially. Knowing his nervous temperament and from the first glance seeing through him, Porfiry, though playing a bold game, was bound to win. There's no denying that Raskolnikov had compromised himself seriously, but no /facts/ had come to light as yet; there was nothing positive. But was he taking a true view of the position? Wasn't he mistaken? What had Porfiry been trying to get at? Had he really some surprise prepared for him? And what was it? Had he really been expecting something or not? How would they have parted if it had not been for the unexpected appearance of Nikolay?
Porfiry had shown almost all his cards--of course, he had risked something in showing them--and if he had really had anything up his sleeve (Raskolnikov reflected), he would have shown that, too. What was that "surprise"? Was it a joke? Had it meant anything? Could it have concealed anything like a fact, a piece of positive evidence? His yesterday's visitor? What had become of him? Where was he to-day? If Porfiry really had any evidence, it must be connected with him. . . .
He sat on the sofa with his elbows on his knees and his face hidden in his hands. He was still shivering nervously. At last he got up, took his cap, thought a minute, and went to the door.
后来,回忆起当时情况的时候,拉斯科利尼科夫脑海中出现的情景是这样的:
从门外传来的喧闹声突然迅速增大了,房门稍稍开了一条缝。
“怎么回事?”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇恼怒地喊了一声。
“我不是事先就说过……”
有一瞬间听不到回答,不过看得出来,门外有好几个人,而且好像正在把什么人从这里推开。
“那里到底是怎么回事?”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇不安地又问了一遍。
“把犯人尼古拉带来了,”听到了不知是什么人的声音。
“用不着!带走!等一等!……他干吗要来这儿!不守秩序!”波尔菲里冲到门边,大声叫喊。
“可他……”又是那个声音说,可是突然住了声。
一场真正的斗争最多不过持续了两秒种;随后突然好像有什么人用力把什么人推开了,接着有一个面色十分苍白的人迈开大步径直走进了波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇的办公室。
第一眼看上去,这个人的样子很奇怪。他两眼直盯着前面,可是好像什么人也没看见。他眼里露出坚决果断的神情,同时脸上却蒙着一层像死人般苍白的白色,仿佛正在把他押赴刑场似的。他那双完全苍白的嘴唇微微发抖。
他还很年轻,穿得像个平民,中等身材,很瘦,周围的头发剪去一圈,前面的头发聋拉下来,面庞清秀,好像瘦得厉害。那个被他突然推开的人首先跟着他往屋里跑来,而且已经抓住了他的肩膀:这是一个押送他的卫兵;但是尼古拉猛一挣,又一次从他手里挣脱出来。
门口拥挤看好几个好奇的人。其中有几个拚命想往屋里挤。上述一切几乎是在一瞬间发生的。
“带走,还早着呢!先等着,等着叫你们进来!……为什么不到时候就把他带来了?”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇仿佛给弄得不知所措了,极其恼怒地、含糊不清地低声说。但是尼古拉突然跪下了。
“你这是干什么?”波尔菲里惊讶地喊了一声。
“我有罪!是我的罪过!我是杀人凶手!”尼古拉突然说,好像有点儿上气不接下气,不过说话的声音相当响亮。
沉默持续了约摸十来秒种,大家似乎都惊呆了;就连那个押送他的卫兵也急忙躲开,不再到尼古拉跟前去,不由自主地退到门边,站住不动了。
“怎么回事?”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇呆了一会儿,清醒过来,高声问。
“我是……杀人凶手……”尼古拉稍沉默了一下,又说了一遍。
“怎么……你……怎么…你杀了谁?”
波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇显然惊惶失措了。
尼古拉又稍沉默了一会儿。
“阿廖娜·伊万诺芙娜和她妹妹莉扎薇塔,是我……用斧头……杀死的。我一时糊涂……”他突然加上一句,又不作声了。他一直跪着。
波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇站了一会儿,好像在沉思,但是突然又很快行动起来,挥手赶开那些不请自来的证人。那些人转瞬间就不见了,门也掩上了。随后他朝站在角落里惊奇地望着尼古拉的拉斯科利尼科夫看了一眼,向他走去,但是突然又站住了,看了看他,立刻又把自己的目光转移到尼古拉身上,然后又去看拉斯科利尼科夫,然后又去看尼古拉,突然仿佛激动起来,又去责骂尼古拉。
“你干吗要先跟我说什么一时糊涂?”他几乎是恶狠狠地冲着他高声大喊。“我还没有问你:你是不是糊涂了……你说:
是你杀的吗?”
“我是杀人凶手……我招认……”尼古拉说。
“哎—呀!你用什么杀的?”
“斧头。我准备好的。”
“唉,急什么!你一个人?”
尼古拉没听懂这个问题。
“你一个人杀的?”
“我一个人。米季卡没有罪,他跟这事毫不相干。”
“先别急着谈米季卡!唉……”
“你是怎么,嗯,当时你是怎么从楼上跑下来的?管院子的不是遇到了你们两个人吗?”
“当时……我和米季卡跑下去……这是我为了转移别人的注意力,”尼古拉好像事先准备好了似的,急急忙忙地回答。
“嗯,这就是了!”波尔菲里恶狠狠地喊了一声,“他说的不是实话!”他自言自语似地喃喃地说,突然又看到了拉斯科利尼科夫。
看来,他全神贯注地在问尼古拉,有一会儿工夫甚至忘记了拉斯科利尼科夫。现在他突然醒悟,甚至发窘了……
“罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇,老兄!请原谅,”他匆匆朝他走去,“不能这样;请吧……您在这儿没什么事了……我自己……您看,多么出乎意外的事!请吧!”
说着挽住他的手,向他指了指房门。
“这您大概没料到吧?”拉斯科利尼科夫说,他当然还没弄清这是怎么回事,不过已经大大振作起来。
“老兄,您也没料到吧。瞧,您的手抖得多厉害啊!嘿——
嘿!”
“您也在发抖嘛,波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇。”
“我也在发抖;没料到啊!……”
他们已经站在门口了。波尔菲里急不可耐地等着拉斯科利尼科夫走开。
“意外的礼物不让我看了吗?”拉斯科利尼科夫突然说。
“还说俏皮话呢,可是牙齿还在嘴里捉对儿厮打,嘿——
嘿!您真是个爱讽刺人的人!好啦,再见。”
“照我看,还是说别了吧!”
“那就看情况了,那就看情况了!”波尔菲里喃喃地说,撇着嘴,好像在微笑。
经过办公室的时候,拉斯科利尼科夫注意到,很多人都凝神注视着他。在前室里,他在那儿的一群人中认出了那幢房子里两个管院子的,那天夜里他曾叫他们一起去见警察分局的局长。他们站在那里,不知在等着什么。但是他刚刚走到楼梯上,突然又听到身后有波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇说话的声音。他一回头,看到波尔菲里跑得气喘吁吁地追上了他。
“还有一句话,罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇;其余的事情嘛,看情况而定,不过按手续说嘛,有些问题还得问问您……那么我们还会见面的,就这样吧。”
波尔菲里面带微笑,站到了他的面前。
“就这样吧,”他又说了一遍。
可以看出,他还想再说点儿什么,可是不知为什么没有说出来。
“波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇,请您原谅我刚才说的那些话……我太急躁了,”拉斯科利尼科夫说,已经完全振作起来,忍不住想炫耀一下,说两句漂亮话。
“没关系,没关系……”波尔菲里几乎是高兴地附和说。
“我自己也……脾气太坏,我很抱歉,我很抱歉!那么我们还会见面的。如果情况需要,那么还会见好多次面!……”
“最后我们也能互相了解吗?”拉斯科利尼科夫接住话茬说。
“最后我们一定能互相了解,”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇随声附和说,说着眯缝起眼睛,神情严肃地看了看他。“现在去参加命名日吗?”
“去参加葬礼。”
“啊,对了,是去参加葬礼!您可要多加保重呀,保重自己的身体……”
“我可不知道该祝您什么!”拉斯科利尼科夫接住话茬说,他已经开始下楼了,可是又回过头来,对波尔菲里说,“祝您获得很大的成功吧,您要知道,您的职务多么富有喜剧性啊!”
“为什么富有喜剧性呢?”本来已经转身要走的波尔菲里立刻竖起耳朵来听着。
“那还用说吗,您想必是用您那套办法,在心理上折磨这个可怜的米科尔卡,让他精神上痛苦不堪,直到他招认为止;您想必是不分昼夜都在向他证明:‘你是杀人凶手,你是杀人凶手……’可是,现在他招认了,您又要详详细细、一点一点地给他分析说:‘你说谎,凶手不是你!你不可能是凶手!你说的不是实话!’嗯,这样一来,您的职务怎么会不富有喜剧性呢?”
“嘿——嘿——嘿!您真的听见我刚才对尼古拉说,他‘说的不是实话’了?”
“怎么会听不见呢?”
“嘿——嘿!您真敏锐,敏锐。什么您都会注意到!真是个会开玩笑的人!正好碰到最富有喜剧性的那根弦上……嘿——嘿!据说,作家当中只有果戈理最具有这个特点。”
“是的,只有果戈理。”
“是的,只有果戈理……最愉快地再见。”
“最愉快地再见……”
拉斯科利尼科夫一直回家去了。他是那么心烦意乱,那么困惑不解,回到家里,倒在沙发上,就这样坐了一刻钟的样子,只不过是在休息,竭力想让思想多少集中起来。他不想去考虑尼古拉的问题:他觉得,他吃了一惊;尼古拉的供词中有某一点是无法解释的,令人感到惊讶,现在他无论如何也无法理解。不过尼古拉的供认是千真万确的事实。这一事实的后果他却立刻就明白了:谎言不可能不被发觉,到那时就又会来找他的麻烦。但是至少在那以前他是自由的,他必须为了自己采取某种行动,因为危险并未过去。
不过危险达到了什么程度呢?情况开始清楚了。他草草地大体上回想了一下刚才会见波尔菲里的情景,不能不又一次吓得浑身发抖。当然,他还不知道波尔菲里的所有目的,不能了解他刚才的所有打算。但是这场游戏中的一部分花招已经暴露出来了,当然,谁也不能像他那样清楚,波尔菲里走的这“步”棋对他来说是多么可怕。再稍一进逼,他就可能完全暴露自己,那可已经是真的暴露无遗了。波尔菲里了解他性格上这种近乎病态的特点,一眼就看透了他,采取的行动虽然过于坚决,却几乎是很有把握的。无疑,拉斯科利尼科夫刚才已经过于暴露了自己,不过毕竟还没接触到事实;这一切还只是相对的。不过现在他对这一切理解得对不对,对不对呢?他是不是理解错了?今天波尔菲里到底想得到什么结果?今天他是不是当真作好了什么准备?究竟是什么准备?他是不是真的在等待什么?如果不是尼古拉使事情发生了出乎意外的转折,今天他们到底会怎样分手呢?”
波尔菲里几乎把他手里的全部牌统统都亮出来了;当然是冒险,不过他都亮出来了,而且(拉斯科利尼科夫一直好像觉得)如果波尔菲里手里当真还有更多的东西,他也会把它全都亮出来的。这“意外的礼物”是什么呢?开玩笑,还是什么别的?这有没有什么意义呢?这后面是不是隐藏着什么类似事实的东西,真正可以证明他有罪的东西?是昨天的那个人吗?他钻到哪里去了?今天他在哪里?要知道,即使波尔菲里掌握了什么真正的罪证,那当然也是因为昨天那个人的关系……
他坐在沙发上,低下了头,胳膊肘支在膝盖上,用双手捂住了脸。全身仍然在神经质地颤抖。最后,他拿起帽子,想了想,向房门走去。
He had a sort of presentiment that for to-day, at least, he might consider himself out of danger. He had a sudden sense almost of joy; he wanted to make haste to Katerina Ivanovna's. He would be too late for the funeral, of course, but he would be in time for the memorial dinner, and there at once he would see Sonia.
He stood still, thought a moment, and a suffering smile came for a moment on to his lips.
"To-day! To-day," he repeated to himself. "Yes, to-day! So it must be. . . ."
But as he was about to open the door, it began opening of itself. He started and moved back. The door opened gently and slowly, and there suddenly appeared a figure--yesterday's visitor /from underground/.
The man stood in the doorway, looked at Raskolnikov without speaking, and took a step forward into the room. He was exactly the same as yesterday; the same figure, the same dress, but there was a great change in his face; he looked dejected and sighed deeply. If he had only put his hand up to his cheek and leaned his head on one side he would have looked exactly like a peasant woman.
"What do you want?" asked Raskolnikov, numb with terror. The man was still silent, but suddenly he bowed down almost to the ground, touching it with his finger.
"What is it?" cried Raskolnikov.
"I have sinned," the man articulated softly.
"How?"
"By evil thoughts."
They looked at one another.
"I was vexed. When you came, perhaps in drink, and bade the porters go to the police station and asked about the blood, I was vexed that they let you go and took you for drunken. I was so vexed that I lost my sleep. And remembering the address we came here yesterday and asked for you. . . ."
"Who came?" Raskolnikov interrupted, instantly beginning to recollect.
"I did, I've wronged you."
"Then you come from that house?"
"I was standing at the gate with them . . . don't you remember? We have carried on our trade in that house for years past. We cure and prepare hides, we take work home . . . most of all I was vexed. . . ."
And the whole scene of the day before yesterday in the gateway came clearly before Raskolnikov's mind; he recollected that there had been several people there besides the porters, women among them. He remembered one voice had suggested taking him straight to the police- station. He could not recall the face of the speaker, and even now he did not recognise it, but he remembered that he had turned round and made him some answer. . . .
So this was the solution of yesterday's horror. The most awful thought was that he had been actually almost lost, had almost done for himself on account of such a /trivial/ circumstance. So this man could tell nothing except his asking about the flat and the blood stains. So Porfiry, too, had nothing but that /delirium/, no facts but this /psychology/ which /cuts both ways/, nothing positive. So if no more facts come to light (and they must not, they must not!) then . . . then what can they do to him? How can they convict him, even if they arrest him? And Porfiry then had only just heard about the flat and had not known about it before.
"Was it you who told Porfiry . . . that I'd been there?" he cried, struck by a sudden idea.
"What Porfiry?"
"The head of the detective department?"
"Yes. The porters did not go there, but I went."
"To-day?"
"I got there two minutes before you. And I heard, I heard it all, how he worried you."
"Where? What? When?"
"Why, in the next room. I was sitting there all the time."
"What? Why, then you were the surprise? But how could it happen? Upon my word!"
"I saw that the porters did not want to do what I said," began the man; "for it's too late, said they, and maybe he'll be angry that we did not come at the time. I was vexed and I lost my sleep, and I began making inquiries. And finding out yesterday where to go, I went to-day. The first time I went he wasn't there, when I came an hour later he couldn't see me. I went the third time, and they showed me in. I informed him of everything, just as it happened, and he began skipping about the room and punching himself on the chest. 'What do you scoundrels mean by it? If I'd known about it I should have arrested him!' Then he ran out, called somebody and began talking to him in the corner, then he turned to me, scolding and questioning me. He scolded me a great deal; and I told him everything, and I told him that you didn't dare to say a word in answer to me yesterday and that you didn't recognise me. And he fell to running about again and kept hitting himself on the chest, and getting angry and running about, and when you were announced he told me to go into the next room. 'Sit there a bit,' he said. 'Don't move, whatever you may hear.' And he set a chair there for me and locked me in. 'Perhaps,' he said, 'I may call you.' And when Nikolay'd been brought he let me out as soon as you were gone. 'I shall send for you again and question you,' he said."
"And did he question Nikolay while you were there?"
"He got rid of me as he did of you, before he spoke to Nikolay."
The man stood still, and again suddenly bowed down, touching the ground with his finger.
"Forgive me for my evil thoughts, and my slander."
"May God forgive you," answered Raskolnikov.
And as he said this, the man bowed down again, but not to the ground, turned slowly and went out of the room.
"It all cuts both ways, now it all cuts both ways," repeated Raskolnikov, and he went out more confident than ever.
"Now we'll make a fight for it," he said, with a malicious smile, as he went down the stairs. His malice was aimed at himself; with shame and contempt he recollected his "cowardice."
他多少有点儿预感,至少今天,他几乎肯定可以认为自己没有危险了。突然,他心中几乎感到一阵喜悦:他想赶快到卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜那里去。要去参加葬礼,当然已经迟了,不过去参加酬客宴还来得及,而在那里,他立刻就能见到索尼娅了。
他站下来,又想了想,嘴角上勉强露出了痛苦的微笑。
“今天!今天!”他暗自反复说,“是的,今天!应当这样……”
他刚想开门,房门却突然自己开开了。他颤栗起来,赶紧往后一跳。房门慢慢地、轻轻地打开了,突然出现了一个人——昨天那个人从地底下钻出来了。
那人在门口站住了,默默地朝拉斯科利尼科夫看了看,往屋里走进一步。他完全和昨天一模一样,还是那副样子,还是穿着那身衣裳,然而他的脸上和目光中却发生了很厉害的变化:现在他看上去好像有点儿闷闷不乐,稍站了一会儿,深深叹了口气。就只差他没有同时用手掌捂住脸,把头歪到一边,不然就完全像一个乡下女人了。
“您有什么事?”吓得面无人色的拉斯科利尼科夫问。
那人沉默了一会儿,突然向他深深地鞠了一躬,几乎是一躬到地。至少右手的一个手指碰到了地上。
“您这是做什么?”拉斯科利尼科夫惊呼。
“我错了,”那人轻轻地说。
“什么错了?”
“我怀有恶意。”
他们两人互相对望着。
“我很恼怒。那时候您去那里,也许是喝醉了,您叫管院子的去警察局,还问起那摊血,可是没有引起他们的注意,都把您当成了酒鬼,我觉得很气愤。气得觉都睡不着了。我们记住了您的地址,昨天到这儿来过,问起过……”
“谁来过?”拉斯科利尼科夫打断了他,霎时间记起来了。
“也就是说,我得罪您了。”
“那么您是住在那幢房子里?”
“是啊,我就住在那里,当时和他们一道站在大门口,您忘了吗?我是个手艺人,就在那里干活儿,好多年了。我是个制毛皮的工匠,小市民,接了活儿,拿回家里去做……我最恼怒……”
拉斯科利尼科夫突然清清楚楚回想起前天在大门口的那幕情景;他想起,除了两个管院子的,那儿还站着好几个人,有几个是女人。他想起,有一个人的声音提议把他送到警察局去。说话的人的脸像什么样子,他记不起来了,就连现在,他也没能认出来,不过他记得,当时他甚至回答了一句什么,还转过脸去,面对着那个人……
那么,可见昨天的那场恐惧就是这么来的。最可怕的是想到,为了这样一件微不足道的小事,他当真几乎毁了,几乎毁了自己。可见,除了租房子和问起那摊血,这个人不可能说出任何别的东西。可见,除了这些呓语,波尔菲里也没有掌握任何事实,除了可以作不同解释的心理状态,波尔菲里那里并没有任何真正的证据。可见,如果不再出现更多的事实(不应该再出现更多的事实了,不应该了,不应该了!)那么……那么他们能拿他怎么办呢?即使逮捕他,又能用什么来彻底揭穿他呢?而且,可见波尔菲里只不过是现在,只不过是刚刚得知租房子的事,而在这以前,他并不知道这回事。
“这是您今天去对波尔菲里说……说我去过那儿吗?”他高声问,这个突然产生的想法使他吃了一惊。
“哪个波尔菲里?”
“侦查科科长。”
“我对他说了。两个管院子的当时没有去,我去了。”
“今天?”
“就在您去以前不多一会儿。我全都听见了,什么都听见了,听见他是在怎样折磨您。”
“在哪里?听见了什么?什么时候?”
“就在那里,在他的隔板后面,我一直坐在那里。”
“怎么?那么您就是那个意外的礼物吗?这是怎么回事?
请您说说吧!”
“我看到,”那个小市民说,“那两个管院子的不听我的话,不肯去,因为,他们说,时间已经太晚了,大概,局长会生气的,因为去得不是时候,我心里很气,气得睡不着觉,于是就去打听。昨天打听清楚以后,今天就去了。头一次去的时候,他不在。过了一个钟头再去,不接见,第三次去,才让我进去。我把事情的经过原原本本地向他报告了,他在屋里跳了起来,还拿拳头捶自己的胸膛,说:‘你们这些强盗,你们都干了些什么?我要是知道这样的事,我就会派人去把他押了来!’随后,他跑出去,叫了一个人来,跟他躲在旮旯儿里说话,随后又回到我这儿,盘问我,骂我。他狠狠地责备我,说了很多很多;我把什么都向他报告了,还说,听了我昨天的话,您什么也不敢回答我,还说,您没认出我来。这时他又跑来跑去,一直捶打自己的胸膛,大发脾气,又跑来跑去,等到向他报告,说您来了,他说,喂,你到隔板后面去,暂时坐在那儿,不管你听到什么,都不要动,还亲自给我端来一把椅子,把我锁在里面;他说,也许我还要找你。等到带来了尼古拉,您走了以后,他把我也放了,他说:我还需要你,还要问你……”
“他当着你的面审问尼古拉了?”
“放您走了以后,立刻也放我走了,在那以后才开始审问尼古拉。”
那个小市民住了口,突然又一躬到地,手指碰到了地板。
“请宽恕我的诬告和怀恨。”
“上帝会宽恕的,”拉斯科利尼科夫回答,刚说完这句话,那个小市民又向他鞠了一躬,不过已经不是一躬到地,而只是深深地弯下了腰,然后慢慢转身,从屋里走了出去。“一切还都祸福难测,现在一切还都祸福难测啊,”拉斯科利尼科夫反复说,比任何时候都更加大胆地从屋里走了出去。
“现在咱们还要较量一下呢,”他恶狠狠地冷笑着说,说着下楼去了。他恨的是他自己;他怀着鄙夷和惭愧的心情回想起自己的“胆怯”。


峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 41楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第五部第一章
The morning that followed the fateful interview with Dounia and her mother brought sobering influences to bear on Pyotr Petrovitch. Intensely unpleasant as it was, he was forced little by little to accept as a fact beyond recall what had seemed to him only the day before fantastic and incredible. The black snake of wounded vanity had been gnawing at his heart all night. When he got out of bed, Pyotr Petrovitch immediately looked in the looking-glass. He was afraid that he had jaundice. However his health seemed unimpaired so far, and looking at his noble, clear-skinned countenance which had grown fattish of late, Pyotr Petrovitch for an instant was positively comforted in the conviction that he would find another bride and, perhaps, even a better one. But coming back to the sense of his present position, he turned aside and spat vigorously, which excited a sarcastic smile in Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov, the young friend with whom he was staying. That smile Pyotr Petrovitch noticed, and at once set it down against his young friend's account. He had set down a good many points against him of late. His anger was redoubled when he reflected that he ought not to have told Andrey Semyonovitch about the result of yesterday's interview. That was the second mistake he had made in temper, through impulsiveness and irritability. . . . Moreover, all that morning one unpleasantness followed another. He even found a hitch awaiting him in his legal case in the senate. He was particularly irritated by the owner of the flat which had been taken in view of his approaching marriage and was being redecorated at his own expense; the owner, a rich German tradesman, would not entertain the idea of breaking the contract which had just been signed and insisted on the full forfeit money, though Pyotr Petrovitch would be giving him back the flat practically redecorated. In the same way the upholsterers refused to return a single rouble of the instalment paid for the furniture purchased but not yet removed to the flat.
"Am I to get married simply for the sake of the furniture?" Pyotr Petrovitch ground his teeth and at the same time once more he had a gleam of desperate hope. "Can all that be really so irrevocably over? Is it no use to make another effort?" The thought of Dounia sent a voluptuous pang through his heart. He endured anguish at that moment, and if it had been possible to slay Raskolnikov instantly by wishing it, Pyotr Petrovitch would promptly have uttered the wish.
"It was my mistake, too, not to have given them money," he thought, as he returned dejectedly to Lebeziatnikov's room, "and why on earth was I such a Jew? It was false economy! I meant to keep them without a penny so that they should turn to me as their providence, and look at them! foo! If I'd spent some fifteen hundred roubles on them for the trousseau and presents, on knick-knacks, dressing-cases, jewellery, materials, and all that sort of trash from Knopp's and the English shop, my position would have been better and . . . stronger! They could not have refused me so easily! They are the sort of people that would feel bound to return money and presents if they broke it off; and they would find it hard to do it! And their conscience would prick them: how can we dismiss a man who has hitherto been so generous and delicate?. . . . H'm! I've made a blunder."
And grinding his teeth again, Pyotr Petrovitch called himself a fool-- but not aloud, of course.
He returned home, twice as irritated and angry as before. The preparations for the funeral dinner at Katerina Ivanovna's excited his curiosity as he passed. He had heard about it the day before; he fancied, indeed, that he had been invited, but absorbed in his own cares he had paid no attention. Inquiring of Madame Lippevechsel who was busy laying the table while Katerina Ivanovna was away at the cemetery, he heard that the entertainment was to be a great affair, that all the lodgers had been invited, among them some who had not known the dead man, that even Andrey Semyonovitch Lebeziatnikov was invited in spite of his previous quarrel with Katerina Ivanovna, that he, Pyotr Petrovitch, was not only invited, but was eagerly expected as he was the most important of the lodgers. Amalia Ivanovna herself had been invited with great ceremony in spite of the recent unpleasantness, and so she was very busy with preparations and was taking a positive pleasure in them; she was moreover dressed up to the nines, all in new black silk, and she was proud of it. All this suggested an idea to Pyotr Petrovitch and he went into his room, or rather Lebeziatnikov's, somewhat thoughtful. He had learnt that Raskolnikov was to be one of the guests.
Andrey Semyonovitch had been at home all the morning. The attitude of Pyotr Petrovitch to this gentleman was strange, though perhaps natural. Pyotr Petrovitch had despised and hated him from the day he came to stay with him and at the same time he seemed somewhat afraid of him. He had not come to stay with him on his arrival in Petersburg simply from parsimony, though that had been perhaps his chief object. He had heard of Andrey Semyonovitch, who had once been his ward, as a leading young progressive who was taking an important part in certain interesting circles, the doings of which were a legend in the provinces. It had impressed Pyotr Petrovitch. These powerful omniscient circles who despised everyone and showed everyone up had long inspired in him a peculiar but quite vague alarm. He had not, of course, been able to form even an approximate notion of what they meant. He, like everyone, had heard that there were, especially in Petersburg, progressives of some sort, nihilists and so on, and, like many people, he exaggerated and distorted the significance of those words to an absurd degree. What for many years past he had feared more than anything was /being shown up/ and this was the chief ground for his continual uneasiness at the thought of transferring his business to Petersburg. He was afraid of this as little children are sometimes panic-stricken. Some years before, when he was just entering on his own career, he had come upon two cases in which rather important personages in the province, patrons of his, had been cruelly shown up. One instance had ended in great scandal for the person attacked and the other had very nearly ended in serious trouble. For this reason Pyotr Petrovitch intended to go into the subject as soon as he reached Petersburg and, if necessary, to anticipate contingencies by seeking the favour of "our younger generation." He relied on Andrey Semyonovitch for this and before his visit to Raskolnikov he had succeeded in picking up some current phrases. He soon discovered that Andrey Semyonovitch was a commonplace simpleton, but that by no means reassured Pyotr Petrovitch. Even if he had been certain that all the progressives were fools like him, it would not have allayed his uneasiness. All the doctrines, the ideas, the systems, with which Andrey Semyonovitch pestered him had no interest for him. He had his own object--he simply wanted to find out at once what was happening /here/. Had these people any power or not? Had he anything to fear from them? Would they expose any enterprise of his? And what precisely was now the object of their attacks? Could he somehow make up to them and get round them if they really were powerful? Was this the thing to do or not? Couldn't he gain something through them? In fact hundreds of questions presented themselves.
Andrey Semyonovitch was an anaemic, scrofulous little man, with strangely flaxen mutton-chop whiskers of which he was very proud. He was a clerk and had almost always something wrong with his eyes. He was rather soft-hearted, but self-confident and sometimes extremely conceited in speech, which had an absurd effect, incongruous with his little figure. He was one of the lodgers most respected by Amalia Ivanovna, for he did not get drunk and paid regularly for his lodgings. Andrey Semyonovitch really was rather stupid; he attached himself to the cause of progress and "our younger generation" from enthusiasm. He was one of the numerous and varied legion of dullards, of half-animate abortions, conceited, half-educated coxcombs, who attach themselves to the idea most in fashion only to vulgarise it and who caricature every cause they serve, however sincerely.
Though Lebeziatnikov was so good-natured, he, too, was beginning to dislike Pyotr Petrovitch. This happened on both sides unconsciously. However simple Andrey Semyonovitch might be, he began to see that Pyotr Petrovitch was duping him and secretly despising him, and that "he was not the right sort of man." He had tried expounding to him the system of Fourier and the Darwinian theory, but of late Pyotr Petrovitch began to listen too sarcastically and even to be rude. The fact was he had begun instinctively to guess that Lebeziatnikov was not merely a commonplace simpleton, but, perhaps, a liar, too, and that he had no connections of any consequence even in his own circle, but had simply picked things up third-hand; and that very likely he did not even know much about his own work of propaganda, for he was in too great a muddle. A fine person he would be to show anyone up! It must be noted, by the way, that Pyotr Petrovitch had during those ten days eagerly accepted the strangest praise from Andrey Semyonovitch; he had not protested, for instance, when Andrey Semyonovitch belauded him for being ready to contribute to the establishment of the new "commune," or to abstain from christening his future children, or to acquiesce if Dounia were to take a lover a month after marriage, and so on. Pyotr Petrovitch so enjoyed hearing his own praises that he did not disdain even such virtues when they were attributed to him.
Pyotr Petrovitch had had occasion that morning to realise some five- per-cent bonds and now he sat down to the table and counted over bundles of notes. Andrey Semyonovitch who hardly ever had any money walked about the room pretending to himself to look at all those bank notes with indifference and even contempt. Nothing would have convinced Pyotr Petrovitch that Andrey Semyonovitch could really look on the money unmoved, and the latter, on his side, kept thinking bitterly that Pyotr Petrovitch was capable of entertaining such an idea about him and was, perhaps, glad of the opportunity of teasing his young friend by reminding him of his inferiority and the great difference between them.
彼得·彼特罗维奇与杜涅奇卡以及普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜作了那次决定他命运的解释以后,第二天的那个早晨对彼得·彼特罗维奇也起了使他头脑清醒的作用。昨天他还觉得那件事几乎是幻想的产物,虽然事实上已经发生了,可仍然好像是不可能的,现在,尽管他感到极为不快,却不得不渐渐地把它看作木已成舟、无法挽回的事实了。受了伤害的自尊心好似一条毒蛇,整夜在咬噬着他的心。彼得·彼特罗维奇一起床,立刻照了照镜子。他担心,一夜之间是不是会害了黄疸病?然而暂时这方面还没出什么问题,彼得·彼特罗维奇看了看自己轮廓优美、白皙,最近稍有点儿发胖的脸,有一会儿工夫感到宽慰,满怀信心,相信一定能在别的什么地方另找一个未婚妻,大概,还会找到一个更好的;可是他立刻清醒了过来,坚决地往一边吐了口唾沫,这使得与他同住一间房间的年轻朋友安德烈·谢苗诺维奇·列别贾特尼科夫脸上露出了无声的、然而是讥讽的微笑。彼得·彼特罗维奇看到了这个微笑,心里立刻认为,他的年轻朋友这样笑是很不对的。最近他已经发现这个年轻朋友有很多不对的地方。他突然明白了,昨天不该把昨天那件事的结果告诉安德烈·谢苗诺维奇,这样一想,心里感到加倍恼怒。这是他昨天一时冲动,太不善于控制自己的感情,太容易动怒而犯下的第二个错误……随后,好像故意为难似的,这天早晨又接二连三地发生了一些不愉快的事。就连他在参政院里为之多方奔走的那个案件,等待着他的也似乎是败诉。特别惹他生气的是他的房东,为了不久即将结婚,他向这个人租了一套房子,还自己花钱装修了一番;这个房东,这个发了财的德国工匠,无论如何也不同意废除刚刚签订的租约,要求按写进租约的条款,支付全部违约金,尽管彼得·彼特罗维奇交还给他的房子几乎是重新装修过的。家具店的情况也完全一样,虽然定购的家具还没有搬到住宅里去,却无论如何也不肯退还一个卢布的定金。“我可不会为了家具而特意结婚!”彼得·彼特罗维奇咬牙切齿地暗暗地想,同时那个显然已经无望的希望又在他脑子里忽然一闪:“难道这一切真的已经无可挽回地破灭了,结束了吗?难道不能再试一试吗?”一想到杜涅奇卡,这想法再一次诱人地刺痛了他的心。这时他心中痛苦极了,当然,如果现在只要他希望让拉斯科利尼科夫死于非命,就能把他置于死地,那么彼得·彼特罗维奇一定会立刻表示这样的愿望。
“除此而外,我的错误还在于,我根本没给过她们钱,”他边想,边闷闷不乐地走回列别贾特尼科夫的那间小屋去,“见鬼,我为什么这样吝啬?这甚至毫无益处!我想对待她们先苛刻一些,让她们把我看作神明,可她们竟然这样!……呸!……不,如果在这段时间里,譬如说吧,给她们一千五百卢布,在克诺普公司①和英国商店里置办些嫁妆,买些礼物,各式各样的首饰,化妆品、光玉髓,衣料,以及诸如此类的东西,那么事情就会好一些……我们的关系也就牢固一些了!现在她们也就不那么容易拒绝我了!她们就是这样一种人,如果拒绝的话,一定认为有义务把礼物和钱都退还给我;可是要退还是很难的,而且也舍不得!良心也会感到不安,心里会想:怎么,就这样突然把一个直到现在如此慷慨、相当客气的人赶走吗?……嗯哼!我失算了!”彼得·彼特罗维奇又一次咬牙切齿,立刻骂自己是傻瓜——当然是暗自责骂。
--------
①彼得堡的一家服饰用品商店。
得出这样的结论以后,他回到家里,比出去的时候加倍凶恶,加倍恼怒。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜屋里准备酬客宴的情况在某种程度上引起了他的好奇心。还在昨天他就听说要办酬客宴了;甚至记起,好像也邀请了他;可是由于自己有一大堆麻烦事,别的事情他都没去注意。他赶紧去向利佩韦赫泽尔太太打听;卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜不在家(现在她在墓地上),利佩韦赫泽尔太太正在摆开的桌子旁边张罗着;他得知,酬客宴将会办得十分隆重,几乎所有房客都受到了邀请,就连和死者不认识的人也不例外,甚至连安德烈·谢苗诺维奇·列别贾特尼科夫也受到了邀请,尽管以前他和卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜争吵过,最后,还有他,彼得·彼特罗维奇,不但被邀请了,而且甚至是急不可耐地等待着他,因为他几乎是所有房客中一位最重要的客人。阿玛莉娅·伊万诺夫娜①本人也受到十分尊敬的邀请,尽管以前有过许多不愉快的事情;因此现在她在料理一切,忙着张罗,几乎觉得这是一种享乐,而且,她虽然穿着一身丧服,可全都是崭新的绸衣,打扮得既漂亮,又阔气,并为此感到自豪。这些消息和事实提醒了彼得·彼特罗维奇,使他产生了某种想法,于是他回到自己屋里,也就是回到了安德烈·谢苗诺维奇·列别贾特尼科夫的屋里,不知在想什么心事。问题在于,他也得知,邀请的客人当中也有拉斯科利尼科夫。
--------
①前面,马尔梅拉多夫曾说,她的父名是“费多罗芙娜”。
不知为什么,安德烈·谢苗诺维奇整整一早上一直坐在家里。彼得·彼特罗维奇与这位先生建立了某种奇怪的、不过在某种程度上也是相当自然的关系:几乎从一住到这儿来的那天起,彼得·彼特罗维奇就瞧不起他,恨他,而且恨得简直太过分了,可是同时又好像有点儿怕他。彼得·彼特罗维奇一来到彼得堡就住到他这里,并不单单是由于吝啬,想省几个钱,虽说这几乎是主要原因,不过还有另外的原因。还在外省的时候,他就听说,这个由他抚养成人的安德烈·谢苗诺维奇,现在是最进步的青年之一,甚至是一个在某些他很感兴趣的、神话般的小团体里起重要作用的人物。这使彼得·彼特罗维奇感到非常惊讶。这些十分强大、无所不知、蔑视和揭露一切人的小团体,早就使彼得·彼特罗维奇感到恐惧了,这是一种特殊的恐惧,不过,也完全是一种模模糊糊的恐惧。当然,还在外省的时候,对这类事情他不可能形成哪怕是大致符合实际情况的概念。他像大家一样,听说有这么一些进步分子,虚无主义者,揭发者,以及诸如此类的人,在彼得堡,这种人特别多,不过和许多人一样,他也把这些名称的涵义和性质夸大和歪曲到了荒谬的程度。已经有好几年了,他最怕的就是揭发,这也就是使他经常感到过分惶恐不安的最主要的原因,特别是在他梦想把自己的活动转移到彼得堡来的时候。在这方面,他是所谓受过惊吓的,就像小孩子有时受了惊吓一样。几年前,他在外省刚刚开始创业的时候,就遇到过两起无情揭发的事件,所揭发的都是省里相当有威望的大人物,而在他们被揭发以前,他一直依靠他们,把他们当作自己的靠山。一次揭发的结果,是被揭发者特别丢脸,另一次的结果,几乎是引起很大的麻烦。这就是彼得·彼特罗维奇一到彼得堡,决定立刻摸清情况的原因,如有必要,他就要抢先一步,讨好“我们的年轻一代”,以防万一。在这方面,他把希望寄托在安德烈·谢苗诺维奇的身上,而且,譬如说吧,他去探望拉斯科利尼科夫的时候,就已经学会勉强重复那些众所周知的、别人的意见了……
当然,不久他就看出,安德烈·谢苗诺维奇是个极其庸俗、而且有点儿傻头傻脑的人。但这丝毫没有打消彼得·彼特罗维奇的顾虑,也没有使他受到鼓舞。即使他相信,所有进步分子都是这样的傻瓜,他的不安也不会消失。说实在的,对这些学说、思想和制度(安德烈·谢苗诺维奇正是用这些东西猛烈地责难他)他丝毫也不关心。他有他自己的目的。他只需要尽快、立刻弄清:这儿发生过什么事情,是怎样发生的?这些人有势力,还是没有势力?如果他着手做某一件事,他们是揭发他呢,还是不揭发他?如果揭发,那么是为什么揭发,现在到底是要揭发些什么?不仅如此,而且要弄清:如果他们当真有能耐的话,能不能设法博得他们的好感,而且立刻稍微欺骗他们一下?该不该这样做?譬如说,能不能通过他们使自己的事业进展得顺利一些?总之,他面前有成百上千的问题。
这个安德烈·谢苗诺维奇是个体质虚弱、害淋巴结核的人,个子矮小,在某处任职,一头淡黄色的头发,颜色淡得出奇,留着肉饼状的连鬓胡子,并为这胡子感到非常自豪。此外,他几乎经常害眼病。他的心肠相当软,可是说话很自以为是,有时甚至极端傲慢,——如果与他的体形相对照,这几乎总是显得十分好笑。不过,在阿玛莉娅·伊万诺夫娜这儿,他却被看作相当受尊敬的房客中的一个,也就是说,他不酗酒,而且按时缴房租。尽管有这些优点,安德烈·谢苗诺维奇却当真有点儿傻里傻气。他赞成进步思想,加入“我们的年轻一代”,——这是由于年轻人的热情。这是那些多得不可数计的形形色色的庸人、思想极其幼稚、对什么都是一知半解、却又刚愎自用的人们当中的一个,他们转眼之间一定会附和最时髦的流行思想,为的是立刻把它庸俗化,为的是把他们有时的确是以最真诚的方式为之效力的一切漫画化。
然而,列别贾特尼科夫虽然心地十分善良,但在某种程度上也开始对和他同住的这个人,也就是他从前的监护人彼得·彼特罗维奇,感到无法忍受了。所以会发生这种情况,从双方来说,都有点儿偶然,不过却是相互的。不管安德烈·谢苗诺维奇多么单纯而又轻信,可还是开始渐渐看出,彼得·彼特罗维奇在欺骗他,心里暗暗地瞧不起他,看出,“这不完全是他想象中的那个人”。他曾试图向他讲述傅立叶的体系和达尔文的学说,但是彼得·彼特罗维奇,特别是近来,不知为什么,听他讲述的时候,已经带着过于明显的讥讽神情,而最近,甚至骂起人来了。问题在于,他本能地开始看透了,列别贾特尼科夫不仅是个庸俗和有点儿傻气的人,而且也许还是个撒谎的家伙,就是在他自己那个小团体里,他也没有建立任何比较重要的关系,而只不过是多少听到过一些几经转述的东西;不仅如此:也许就连他该做的宣传工作,他也不甚了了,因为他太糊涂,他怎么能做什么揭发者呢!我们顺带说一声,在这一个半星期里,彼得·彼特罗维奇很乐于接受(特别是最初)安德烈·谢苗诺维奇的甚至是非常奇怪的赞扬,也就是,譬如说吧,如果安德烈·谢苗诺维奇说,他打算赞助不久即将在小市民街某处成立的新“公社”①;或者,譬如说吧,认为如果杜涅奇卡在婚后头一个月就想找一个情夫,他也不会干涉;或者,说他不会让自己未来的孩子们受洗礼,等等,等等,对这一类的赞扬,他总是不予否认,而是默不作声。对别人加在他身上的这样一些优点,按照自己的习惯,彼得·彼特罗维奇都不予否认,甚至容许人家这样赞扬他,——不管是什么赞扬,他听着都感到有点儿飘飘然。
He found him incredibly inattentive and irritable, though he, Andrey Semyonovitch, began enlarging on his favourite subject, the foundation of a new special "commune." The brief remarks that dropped from Pyotr Petrovitch between the clicking of the beads on the reckoning frame betrayed unmistakable and discourteous irony. But the "humane" Andrey Semyonovitch ascribed Pyotr Petrovitch's ill-humour to his recent breach with Dounia and he was burning with impatience to discourse on that theme. He had something progressive to say on the subject which might console his worthy friend and "could not fail" to promote his development.
"There is some sort of festivity being prepared at that . . . at the widow's, isn't there?" Pyotr Petrovitch asked suddenly, interrupting Andrey Semyonovitch at the most interesting passage.
"Why, don't you know? Why, I was telling you last night what I think about all such ceremonies. And she invited you too, I heard. You were talking to her yesterday . . ."
"I should never have expected that beggarly fool would have spent on this feast all the money she got from that other fool, Raskolnikov. I was surprised just now as I came through at the preparations there, the wines! Several people are invited. It's beyond everything!" continued Pyotr Petrovitch, who seemed to have some object in pursuing the conversation. "What? You say I am asked too? When was that? I don't remember. But I shan't go. Why should I? I only said a word to her in passing yesterday of the possibility of her obtaining a year's salary as a destitute widow of a government clerk. I suppose she has invited me on that account, hasn't she? He-he-he!"
"I don't intend to go either," said Lebeziatnikov.
"I should think not, after giving her a thrashing! You might well hesitate, he-he!"
"Who thrashed? Whom?" cried Lebeziatnikov, flustered and blushing.
"Why, you thrashed Katerina Ivanovna a month ago. I heard so yesterday . . . so that's what your convictions amount to . . . and the woman question, too, wasn't quite sound, he-he-he!" and Pyotr Petrovitch, as though comforted, went back to clicking his beads.
"It's all slander and nonsense!" cried Lebeziatnikov, who was always afraid of allusions to the subject. "It was not like that at all, it was quite different. You've heard it wrong; it's a libel. I was simply defending myself. She rushed at me first with her nails, she pulled out all my whiskers. . . . It's permissable for anyone, I should hope, to defend himself and I never allow anyone to use violence to me on principle, for it's an act of despotism. What was I to do? I simply pushed her back."
"He-he-he!" Luzhin went on laughing maliciously.
"You keep on like that because you are out of humour yourself. . . . But that's nonsense and it has nothing, nothing whatever to do with the woman question! You don't understand; I used to think, indeed, that if women are equal to men in all respects, even in strength (as is maintained now) there ought to be equality in that, too. Of course, I reflected afterwards that such a question ought not really to arise, for there ought not to be fighting and in the future society fighting is unthinkable . . . and that it would be a queer thing to seek for equality in fighting. I am not so stupid . . . though, of course, there is fighting . . . there won't be later, but at present there is . . . confound it! How muddled one gets with you! It's not on that account that I am not going. I am not going on principle, not to take part in the revolting convention of memorial dinners, that's why! Though, of course, one might go to laugh at it. . . . I am sorry there won't be any priests at it. I should certainly go if there were."
"Then you would sit down at another man's table and insult it and those who invited you. Eh?"
"Certainly not insult, but protest. I should do it with a good object. I might indirectly assist the cause of enlightenment and propaganda. It's a duty of every man to work for enlightenment and propaganda and the more harshly, perhaps, the better. I might drop a seed, an idea. . . . And something might grow up from that seed. How should I be insulting them? They might be offended at first, but afterwards they'd see I'd done them a service. You know, Terebyeva (who is in the community now) was blamed because when she left her family and . . . devoted . . . herself, she wrote to her father and mother that she wouldn't go on living conventionally and was entering on a free marriage and it was said that that was too harsh, that she might have spared them and have written more kindly. I think that's all nonsense and there's no need of softness; on the contrary, what's wanted is protest. Varents had been married seven years, she abandoned her two children, she told her husband straight out in a letter: 'I have realised that I cannot be happy with you. I can never forgive you that you have deceived me by concealing from me that there is another organisation of society by means of the communities. I have only lately learned it from a great-hearted man to whom I have given myself and with whom I am establishing a community. I speak plainly because I consider it dishonest to deceive you. Do as you think best. Do not hope to get me back, you are too late. I hope you will be happy.' That's how letters like that ought to be written!"
"Is that Terebyeva the one you said had made a third free marriage?"
"No, it's only the second, really! But what if it were the fourth, what if it were the fifteenth, that's all nonsense! And if ever I regretted the death of my father and mother, it is now, and I sometimes think if my parents were living what a protest I would have aimed at them! I would have done something on purpose . . . I would have shown them! I would have astonished them! I am really sorry there is no one!"
"To surprise! He-he! Well, be that as you will," Pyotr Petrovitch interrupted, "but tell me this; do you know the dead man's daughter, the delicate-looking little thing? It's true what they say about her, isn't it?"
"What of it? I think, that is, it is my own personal conviction that this is the normal condition of women. Why not? I mean, /distinguons/. In our present society it is not altogether normal, because it is compulsory, but in the future society it will be perfectly normal, because it will be voluntary. Even as it is, she was quite right: she was suffering and that was her asset, so to speak, her capital which she had a perfect right to dispose of. Of course, in the future society there will be no need of assets, but her part will have another significance, rational and in harmony with her environment. As to Sofya Semyonovna personally, I regard her action as a vigorous protest against the organisation of society, and I respect her deeply for it; I rejoice indeed when I look at her!"
"I was told that you got her turned out of these lodgings."
Lebeziatnikov was enraged.
"That's another slander," he yelled. "It was not so at all! That was all Katerina Ivanovna's invention, for she did not understand! And I never made love to Sofya Semyonovna! I was simply developing her, entirely disinterestedly, trying to rouse her to protest. . . . All I wanted was her protest and Sofya Semyonovna could not have remained here anyway!"
"Have you asked her to join your community?"
"You keep on laughing and very inappropriately, allow me to tell you. You don't understand! There is no such role in a community. The community is established that there should be no such roles. In a community, such a role is essentially transformed and what is stupid here is sensible there, what, under present conditions, is unnatural becomes perfectly natural in the community. It all depends on the environment. It's all the environment and man himself is nothing. And I am on good terms with Sofya Semyonovna to this day, which is a proof that she never regarded me as having wronged her. I am trying now to attract her to the community, but on quite, quite a different footing. What are you laughing at? We are trying to establish a community of our own, a special one, on a broader basis. We have gone further in our convictions. We reject more! And meanwhile I'm still developing Sofya Semyonovna. She has a beautiful, beautiful character!"
"And you take advantage of her fine character, eh? He-he!"
"No, no! Oh, no! On the contrary."
"Oh, on the contrary! He-he-he! A queer thing to say!"
"Believe me! Why should I disguise it? In fact, I feel it strange myself how timid, chaste and modern she is with me!"
"And you, of course, are developing her . . . he-he! trying to prove to her that all that modesty is nonsense?"
"Not at all, not at all! How coarsely, how stupidly--excuse me saying so--you misunderstand the word development! Good heavens, how . . . crude you still are! We are striving for the freedom of women and you have only one idea in your head. . . . Setting aside the general question of chastity and feminine modesty as useless in themselves and indeed prejudices, I fully accept her chastity with me, because that's for her to decide. Of course if she were to tell me herself that she wanted me, I should think myself very lucky, because I like the girl very much; but as it is, no one has ever treated her more courteously than I, with more respect for her dignity . . . I wait in hopes, that's all!"
"You had much better make her a present of something. I bet you never thought of that."
"You don't understand, as I've told you already! Of course, she is in such a position, but it's another question. Quite another question! You simply despise her. Seeing a fact which you mistakenly consider deserving of contempt, you refuse to take a humane view of a fellow creature. You don't know what a character she is! I am only sorry that of late she has quite given up reading and borrowing books. I used to lend them to her. I am sorry, too, that with all the energy and resolution in protesting--which she has already shown once--she has little self-reliance, little, so to say, independence, so as to break free from certain prejudices and certain foolish ideas. Yet she thoroughly understands some questions, for instance about kissing of hands, that is, that it's an insult to a woman for a man to kiss her hand, because it's a sign of inequality. We had a debate about it and I described it to her. She listened attentively to an account of the workmen's associations in France, too. Now I am explaining the question of coming into the room in the future society."
由于某些原因,彼得·彼特罗维奇今天早上把一些五厘债券②换成了现钞,现在正坐在桌边点一叠叠钞票和连号的公债券。几乎经常没有钱的安德烈·谢苗诺维奇在屋里走来走去,装出对这些钱不感兴趣、甚至鄙视的样子。彼得·彼特罗维奇无论如何也不相信,譬如说吧,安德烈·谢苗诺维奇真的会对这么多的钱不感兴趣;安德烈·谢苗诺维奇也苦恼地想,彼得·彼特罗维奇也许真的会认为,他的漠然态度是故意装出来的,而且,大概还很高兴有这样一个机会,用摆在桌子上的这一叠叠钞票来刺激和撩拨自己这位年轻的朋友,提醒他,让他记住自己是个微不足道的人,仿佛他们之间存在真正的差别。
--------
①在车尔尼雪夫斯基的长篇小说《做什么?》的影响下,彼得堡的一些进步青年成立了一些公社,共同劳动,共同生活,建立了集体经济。其中最著名的是作家和民主主义者斯列普措夫(一八三六—一八七八)在旗帜街(现在的“起义街”)上成立的旗帜公社。
小市民街(现在的“公民街”)上的公社离陀思妥耶夫斯基写(罪与罚)时所住的房子不远。
②利率为五厘的公债券。
这一次他发觉他异乎寻常地容易激动和心不在焉,尽管他,安德烈·谢苗诺维奇又在他面前谈起自己心爱的话题,说什么就要成立一个特殊的新“公社”,还对此大加发挥。彼得·彼特罗维奇正在打算盘,在算盘珠子的响声暂时停顿下来的间歇里,他不时提出简短的反驳,发表自己的看法,而且流露出十分明显、故意无礼嘲讽的讥笑神情。但是“富有人情味”的安德烈·谢苗诺维奇把彼得·彼特罗维奇的情绪归咎于他昨天与杜涅奇卡的决裂,并热切地想要尽快谈谈这个话题:关于这个进步的、宣传性的话题,他是有话可谈的,这可能会给他这位尊敬的朋友带来安慰,而且“无疑”会对他今后提高觉悟有所裨益。
“这个……寡妇家在办什么酬客宴啊?”彼得·彼特罗维奇问,在安德烈·谢苗诺维奇正谈到最有意思的地方的时候,突然打断了他的话。
“好像您还不知道似的;昨天我不是跟您谈起过这个话题,还对所有这些仪式发表了自己的意见……对了,她不是也请了您吗,我听见的。昨天您还跟她说过话呢……”
“我怎么也没想到,这个一贫如洗的傻女人会把从另一个傻瓜……拉斯科利尼科夫那儿得来的钱,全都花在酬客宴上。刚才从那儿经过的时候,我甚至感到惊讶:那儿准备得多丰盛啊,还有酒呢!……还叫了几个人来——天知道是怎么回事!”彼得·彼特罗维奇接着说下去,详细地询问着,好像怀着什么目的,故意把话题转到这上面去。“怎么?您说,也邀请了我吗?”他突然抬起头来,补上一句。“什么时候邀请的?我记不得了。不过,我是不会去的。我去那里干什么?昨天我只不过是顺便告诉她,作为一个官吏的贫寒的遣孀,她有可能得到他一年的薪俸,作为一次性的补助。她是不是为了这才邀请我呢?嘿—嘿!”
“我也不想去,”列别贾特尼科夫说。
“那还用说!亲手打过嘛。您问心有愧啊,这是可以理解的,嘿——嘿——嘿!”
“谁打过?打过谁?”列别贾特尼科夫突然惊慌起来,甚至脸红了。
“就是您嘛,您打了卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,大约是在一个月前,是吗!要知道,我听说了,昨天……原来这就是您的信念!……妇女问题处理得也不好嘛。嘿——嘿——嘿!”
彼得·彼特罗维奇好像得到了安慰,又啪啪地打起算盘来。
“这都是胡说和诽谤!”列别贾特尼科夫羞得面红耳赤,他总是害怕别人提起这件事,“事情完全不是这样!这是另一回事……您听说的话不符合实际;这是造谣!当时我只不过是自卫。是她首先张牙舞爪地向我扑了过来……她把我的连鬓胡子全拔光了……我认为,人人都可以自卫。而且我决不允许任何人对我使用暴力……这是原则。因为这几乎就是专横霸道。我该怎么办呢:就这样在她面前站着吗?我只不过是推开了她。”
“嘿——嘿——嘿!”卢任继续恶意地讥笑他。
“您想惹我发火,是因为你自己让人给惹恼了,心里有气……而这是胡说八道,与妇女问题完全、完全无关!您理解得不对;我甚至认为,如果假定妇女在各方面,就连体力上也和男人一样(已经有人坚决这样主张了),那么可见,在这方面也应该是平等的。当然,后来我考虑,其实根本就不应该有这样的问题,因为打架是不应该的,在未来的社会里,打架这种事是不可思议的……在打架中寻求平等,当然是奇怪的。我并不是那么蠢……不过打架还是常有的事,……也就是说,以后不会有了,可是现在还有……呸!见鬼!跟您说话,会把人搞得糊里糊涂!我不去参加酬客宴,倒不是因为有过这么一件不愉快的事。我不去,只不过是按原则办事,不助长像酬客宴这样的陋习,就是这么回事!不过,也可以去看看,只不过是为了去嘲笑它……不过可惜,神甫不会来。不然我一定要去。”
“也就是说,坐在人家的酒席筵前,却蔑视它,同样也蔑视那些请您的人。是这样吗?”
“根本不是蔑视,而是抗议。我抱着有益的目的。我可以间接促进觉悟的提高,并作些宣传。人人都应该提高觉悟,进行宣传,也许,宣传得越激烈越好。我可以传播思想,播下种子……由这粒种子里就会长出事实来。我哪会侮辱他们呢?一开始他们是会见怪的,可是以后自己就会明白,我是给他们带来了好处。您瞧,我们的杰列比耶娃曾经受人指责(现在她在公社里),因为她从家里出走……委身于一个男人的时候,给父母写了一封信,说她不愿生活在成见之中,不按宗教仪式结婚,就和人同居,似乎她这样对待父母,是太粗暴了,认为她本应怜惜他们,写得委婉一些。照我看,这全都是胡说八道,根本不需要委婉些,恰恰相反,这儿需要的是抗议。瓦莲茨跟丈夫在一起过了七年,丢下了两个孩子,写了封信,和丈夫一刀两断了,信上说:‘我认识到,和您在一起我不会幸福。您欺骗了我,向我隐瞒,通过公社这种形式,还存在另一种社会制度,为了这件事,我永远不会原谅您。不久前我从一个慷慨的人那里知道了这一切,已经委身于他,要和他一同创办公社。我直截了当地告诉您,因为我认为,欺骗您是不正直的。您爱怎么过就怎么过吧。不要对我回去存什么希望,您已经太迟了。希望您幸福。’这一类的信就该像这样写才对!”
“这个杰列比耶娃,不就是您跟我说过,已经是第三次自由结婚的那个人吗?”
“如果认真的说,总共只有两次!即使是第四次,即使是第十五次,那也算不了什么!如果说我有什么时候为我的父母已经去世而感到遗憾的话,那么当然就是现在了。我甚至幻想过好多次,如果他们还在世的话,我准会以自己的抗议让他们感到万分痛苦!我会故意让他们感到为难……这就是‘离开家庭独立生活的人’,呸!我一定要让他们瞧瞧!我要让他们大吃一惊!真的,可惜我什么人也没有!”
“为了让他们大吃一惊吗!嘿—嘿!好吧,您爱怎么着,就怎么着吧,悉听尊便,”彼得·彼特罗维奇打断了他的话,“不过请您告诉我:您认识死者的这个女儿,不是吗,就是那个那么瘦弱的姑娘!人们对她的议论全都是真的,是吗?”
“这有什么呢?照我看,也就是根据我个人的信念,这是女人的最正常的状态。为什么不是呢?也就是说distinZguons①。在现在这个社会里,这当然不完全正常,因为是被迫的,而在未来的社会里,却是完全正常的,因为那是自由的。就是现在,她也有权这样做,因为她受过苦,而这就是她的基金,也可以说是资本,她有充分权利支配的资本。当然,在未来的社会里,基金就不需要了;但是她的作用将会在另一种意义上表现出来,将受到合乎罗辑而且合理的制约。至于说到索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜本人,在目前,我把她的行动看作对社会制度坚决而又具体的抗议,并为此深深地尊敬她;
就连看着她也觉得高兴!”
--------
①法文,“我们要区别开来”之意。
“可人家告诉我,是您逼着她从这儿搬出去的!”
列别贾特尼科夫甚至勃然大怒。
“这又是谣言!”他高声叫嚷。“根本,根本不是这么回事!完全不是这样!这全都是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜当时冤枉我,因为她什么也不懂!我根本没有俟机接近索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,想要获得什么好处!我只不过是想提高她的觉悟,完全是无私的,竭力激发她的反抗精神……我需要的只是反抗,而且索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜本人也已经不能再住在这幢房子里了!”
“您是不是叫她去参加公社呢?”
“您总是讥笑我,可是笑得很不恰当,请允许我向您指出这一点来。您什么也不懂!公社里没有这样的角色。所以要成立公社,也就是为了让社会上不再有这种角色。在公社里,这样的角色将完全改变他现在的性质,在这里,这是愚蠢的,在那里,这就是聪明的,在这里,在现在的环境里,这是不正常的,在那里就变得完全正常了。一切取决于人是处于什么样的情况下和在什么样的环境里。一切取决于环境,人本身却微不足道。我和索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜现在也是和睦相处,这足以向您证明,她从来也没把我当作敌人,从来也没把我当作欺侮她的人。对了!现在我竭力劝她参加公社,不过这个公社完全,完全是建立在不同的基础上!您干吗发笑!我们想建立自己的公社,一种特殊的公社,不过基础比以前的更为广泛。我们从我们的信念更前进了一步。我们否定得更多了!如果杜勃罗留波夫从棺材里站出来,我就要和他争论一番。我一定会在争论中驳倒别林斯基!目前我在继续提高索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜的觉悟,这是一个天性十分优美、十分美好的姑娘!”
“哈,于是您就利用这个十分优美的天性,是吗?嘿——
嘿!”
“不,不!啊,不!恰恰相反!”
“哼,可不是恰恰相反吗!嘿—嘿—嘿!瞧您说的!”
“请您相信!我有什么理由要在您面前隐瞒呢,请您说说看!恰恰相反,就连我自己也觉得这很奇怪:跟我在一起的时候,不知为什么她显得胆怯和格外纯洁,而且很不好意思!”
“于是您,当然啦,就提高她的觉悟……嘿——嘿!向她证明,这些羞耻心什么的全都是胡说八道?……”
"And what's that, pray?"
"We had a debate lately on the question: Has a member of the community the right to enter another member's room, whether man or woman, at any time . . . and we decided that he has!"
"It might be at an inconvenient moment, he-he!"
Lebeziatnikov was really angry.
"You are always thinking of something unpleasant," he cried with aversion. "Tfoo! How vexed I am that when I was expounding our system, I referred prematurely to the question of personal privacy! It's always a stumbling-block to people like you, they turn it into ridicule before they understand it. And how proud they are of it, too! Tfoo! I've often maintained that that question should not be approached by a novice till he has a firm faith in the system. And tell me, please, what do you find so shameful even in cesspools? I should be the first to be ready to clean out any cesspool you like. And it's not a question of self-sacrifice, it's simply work, honourable, useful work which is as good as any other and much better than the work of a Raphael and a Pushkin, because it is more useful."
"And more honourable, more honourable, he-he-he!"
"What do you mean by 'more honourable'? I don't understand such expressions to describe human activity. 'More honourable,' 'nobler'-- all those are old-fashioned prejudices which I reject. Everything which is /of use/ to mankind is honourable. I only understand one word: /useful/! You can snigger as much as you like, but that's so!"
Pyotr Petrovitch laughed heartily. He had finished counting the money and was putting it away. But some of the notes he left on the table. The "cesspool question" had already been a subject of dispute between them. What was absurd was that it made Lebeziatnikov really angry, while it amused Luzhin and at that moment he particularly wanted to anger his young friend.
"It's your ill-luck yesterday that makes you so ill-humoured and annoying," blurted out Lebeziatnikov, who in spite of his "independence" and his "protests" did not venture to oppose Pyotr Petrovitch and still behaved to him with some of the respect habitual in earlier years.
"You'd better tell me this," Pyotr Petrovitch interrupted with haughty displeasure, "can you . . . or rather are you really friendly enough with that young person to ask her to step in here for a minute? I think they've all come back from the cemetery . . . I heard the sound of steps . . . I want to see her, that young person."
"What for?" Lebeziatnikov asked with surprise.
"Oh, I want to. I am leaving here to-day or to-morrow and therefore I wanted to speak to her about . . . However, you may be present during the interview. It's better you should be, indeed. For there's no knowing what you might imagine."
"I shan't imagine anything. I only asked and, if you've anything to say to her, nothing is easier than to call her in. I'll go directly and you may be sure I won't be in your way."
Five minutes later Lebeziatnikov came in with Sonia. She came in very much surprised and overcome with shyness as usual. She was always shy in such circumstances and was always afraid of new people, she had been as a child and was even more so now. . . . Pyotr Petrovitch met her "politely and affably," but with a certain shade of bantering familiarity which in his opinion was suitable for a man of his respectability and weight in dealing with a creature so young and so /interesting/ as she. He hastened to "reassure" her and made her sit down facing him at the table. Sonia sat down, looked about her--at Lebeziatnikov, at the notes lying on the table and then again at Pyotr Petrovitch and her eyes remained riveted on him. Lebeziatnikov was moving to the door. Pyotr Petrovitch signed to Sonia to remain seated and stopped Lebeziatnikov.
"Is Raskolnikov in there? Has he come?" he asked him in a whisper.
"Raskolnikov? Yes. Why? Yes, he is there. I saw him just come in. . . . Why?"
"Well, I particularly beg you to remain here with us and not to leave me alone with this . . . young woman. I only want a few words with her, but God knows what they may make of it. I shouldn't like Raskolnikov to repeat anything. . . . You understand what I mean?"
"I understand!" Lebeziatnikov saw the point. "Yes, you are right. . . . Of course, I am convinced personally that you have no reason to be uneasy, but . . . still, you are right. Certainly I'll stay. I'll stand here at the window and not be in your way . . . I think you are right . . ."
Pyotr Petrovitch returned to the sofa, sat down opposite Sonia, looked attentively at her and assumed an extremely dignified, even severe expression, as much as to say, "don't you make any mistake, madam." Sonia was overwhelmed with embarrassment.
"In the first place, Sofya Semyonovna, will you make my excuses to your respected mamma. . . . That's right, isn't it? Katerina Ivanovna stands in the place of a mother to you?" Pyotr Petrovitch began with great dignity, though affably.
It was evident that his intentions were friendly.
"Quite so, yes; the place of a mother," Sonia answered, timidly and hurriedly.
"Then will you make my apologies to her? Through inevitable circumstances I am forced to be absent and shall not be at the dinner in spite of your mamma's kind invitation."
"Yes . . . I'll tell her . . . at once."
And Sonia hastily jumped up from her seat.
"Wait, that's not all," Pyotr Petrovitch detained her, smiling at her simplicity and ignorance of good manners, "and you know me little, my dear Sofya Semyonovna, if you suppose I would have ventured to trouble a person like you for a matter of so little consequence affecting myself only. I have another object."
Sonia sat down hurriedly. Her eyes rested again for an instant on the grey-and-rainbow-coloured notes that remained on the table, but she quickly looked away and fixed her eyes on Pyotr Petrovitch. She felt it horribly indecorous, especially for /her/, to look at another person's money. She stared at the gold eye-glass which Pyotr Petrovitch held in his left hand and at the massive and extremely handsome ring with a yellow stone on his middle finger. But suddenly she looked away and, not knowing where to turn, ended by staring Pyotr Petrovitch again straight in the face. After a pause of still greater dignity he continued.
"I chanced yesterday in passing to exchange a couple of words with Katerina Ivanovna, poor woman. That was sufficient to enable me to ascertain that she is in a position--preternatural, if one may so express it."
"Yes . . . preternatural . . ." Sonia hurriedly assented.
"Or it would be simpler and more comprehensible to say, ill."
"Yes, simpler and more comprehen . . . yes, ill."
"Quite so. So then from a feeling of humanity and so to speak compassion, I should be glad to be of service to her in any way, foreseeing her unfortunate position. I believe the whole of this poverty-stricken family depends now entirely on you?"
"Allow me to ask," Sonia rose to her feet, "did you say something to her yesterday of the possibility of a pension? Because she told me you had undertaken to get her one. Was that true?"
"Not in the slightest, and indeed it's an absurdity! I merely hinted at her obtaining temporary assistance as the widow of an official who had died in the service--if only she has patronage . . . but apparently your late parent had not served his full term and had not indeed been in the service at all of late. In fact, if there could be any hope, it would be very ephemeral, because there would be no claim for assistance in that case, far from it. . . . And she is dreaming of a pension already, he-he-he! . . . A go-ahead lady!"
"Yes, she is. For she is credulous and good-hearted, and she believes everything from the goodness of her heart and . . . and . . . and she is like that . . . yes . . . You must excuse her," said Sonia, and again she got up to go.
"But you haven't heard what I have to say."
"No, I haven't heard," muttered Sonia.
"Then sit down." She was terribly confused; she sat down again a third time.
"Seeing her position with her unfortunate little ones, I should be glad, as I have said before, so far as lies in my power, to be of service, that is, so far as is in my power, not more. One might for instance get up a subscription for her, or a lottery, something of the sort, such as is always arranged in such cases by friends or even outsiders desirous of assisting people. It was of that I intended to speak to you; it might be done."
"Yes, yes . . . God will repay you for it," faltered Sonia, gazing intently at Pyotr Petrovitch.
"It might be, but we will talk of it later. We might begin it to-day, we will talk it over this evening and lay the foundation so to speak. Come to me at seven o'clock. Mr. Lebeziatnikov, I hope, will assist us. But there is one circumstance of which I ought to warn you beforehand and for which I venture to trouble you, Sofya Semyonovna, to come here. In my opinion money cannot be, indeed it's unsafe to put it into Katerina Ivanovna's own hands. The dinner to-day is a proof of that. Though she has not, so to speak, a crust of bread for to-morrow and . . . well, boots or shoes, or anything; she has bought to-day Jamaica rum, and even, I believe, Madeira and . . . and coffee. I saw it as I passed through. To-morrow it will all fall upon you again, they won't have a crust of bread. It's absurd, really, and so, to my thinking, a subscription ought to be raised so that the unhappy widow should not know of the money, but only you, for instance. Am I right?"
"I don't know . . . this is only to-day, once in her life. . . . She was so anxious to do honour, to celebrate the memory. . . . And she is very sensible . . . but just as you think and I shall be very, very . . . they will all be . . . and God will reward . . . and the orphans . . ."
Sonia burst into tears.
"Very well, then, keep it in mind; and now will you accept for the benefit of your relation the small sum that I am able to spare, from me personally. I am very anxious that my name should not be mentioned in connection with it. Here . . . having so to speak anxieties of my own, I cannot do more . . ."
“根本不是!根本不是!噢,您对觉悟这个词的理解是多么粗野,甚至是多么愚蠢啊——请您原谅!您什—么也不懂!噢,天哪,您还多么……不成熟啊!我们是在寻求妇女的自由,可您心里只在转那个念头……完全避而不谈贞洁和女性的羞耻心问题,也就和避而不谈本身毫无用处、甚至是属于偏见的事物一样,但与此同时,我完全、完全同意,和我在一起的时候,她可以保持自己的贞操,因为在这个问题上——她有她的意志,她的权利。当然啦,如果她自己对我说:‘我想占有你’,我会认为那是我巨大的成功,因为我很喜欢这个姑娘;但现在,至少是现在,当然啦,从来没有任何人比我待她更有礼貌,更尊敬她,从来没有任何人比我更尊重她的人格……我等待着,并抱有希望——仅此而已!”
“您最好送给她点儿什么东西。我敢打赌,这一点您可没想到过。”
“您什—么也不懂,我已经对您说过了!当然啦,她的处境是这样,不过这儿有另一个问题!完全不同的另一个问题!您简直是蔑视她。您看到了一件误认为理应受到蔑视的事实,于是就拒绝用人道主义的观点来看待这个人了。您还不知道,这个人的天性是多么美!我只不过非常遗憾,不知为什么,最近她完全不再看我借给她的书,也不再来跟我借书了。可从前她常来借书。虽然她正以自己的全部毅力和决心进行反抗,——她已经证明过一次,自己确实有这样的毅力和决心,——可她似乎还是缺少自主精神,也可以说是独立精神,否定得还不够彻底,还没能完全摆脱某些偏见和……糊涂观念,这也是让人感到遗憾的。尽管如此,对某些问题她却理解得十分透彻。譬如说,对吻手的问题,她就理解得十分正确,也就是说,如果男人吻女人的手,那就是男人以不平等的态度来侮辱女性。我们那儿讨论过这个问题,我立刻就向她转述了我们的看法。关于法国工人联合会的事,她也很注意地听着。现在我正在给她讲在未来社会里可以自由进入别人房子里的问题。”
“这又是怎么回事?”
“这是最近正在讨论的一个问题:公社的一个成员有没有进入另一成员房子里去的权利,去一个男人或一个女人那里,而且是在任何时候……嗯,问题已经解决了:有权利……”
“嗯,如果他或者她这时候正在大小便呢,嘿——嘿!”
安德烈·谢苗诺维奇甚至生气了。
“您总是提这样的事,总是提这些该死的‘大小便’!”他憎恨地高声叫喊,“唉,我是多么气愤,多么懊悔,在讲制度的时候,竟过早地跟您提起这些该死的大小便来了!见鬼!对于所有像您这样的人,这是一个障碍,最糟糕的是——还没弄清是怎么回事,就嘲笑别人!就好像他们完全正确似的!就好像他们有什么可以感到自豪似的!呸!我有多少次坚决主张,对于那些新参加的人,一定得在最后,等到他对制度深信不疑,已经是一个具有高度觉悟而且有明确目的的人的时候,才能跟他们谈这个问题。请您说说看,即使是在污水坑里,你能找到这样可耻和卑鄙的东西吗?不管是多脏的污水坑,我都愿意头一个去消除它!这甚至谈不到什么自我牺牲!这只不过是工作,高尚的、对社会有益的活动,这种活动的价值不亚于任何其他活动,甚至,譬如说吧,比什么拉斐尔和普希金的活动还要崇高得多,因为它更为有益!”
“而且更为高尚,更为高尚,——嘿——嘿!”
“更为高尚是什么意思?就判断人类的活动来说,我不理解这类用语有何意义。‘更高尚’,‘更慷慨’——这全都是胡说八道,毫无道理,是我予以否定的、带有偏见的陈词滥调!凡是对人类有益的,也就是高尚的!我只理解一个词:有益的!您爱笑,就嘿嘿地笑吧,不过事实如此!”
彼得·彼特罗维奇起劲地笑着。他已经数完了钱,把钱藏起来了。不过有一部分钱不知为什么还留在桌子上。这个“污水坑的问题”已经有好几次成为彼得·彼特罗维奇和他这位年轻朋友关系破裂与不和的原因了,尽管这个问题本身是庸俗的。愚蠢的是,安德烈·谢苗诺维奇真的生气了。卢任说这些话却是为了消愁解闷,而目前,他特别想惹列别贾特尼科夫发火。
“这是因为您昨天遭到了挫折,所以才这么恶毒,总是在找碴儿,”列别贾特尼科夫脱口而出,一般说,尽管他既有“独立精神”,又有“反抗精神”,可不知为什么总不敢反驳彼得·彼特罗维奇,而且一般说,对他还一直保持着某种已经习以为常的、从前那些年的尊敬态度。
“您最好还是说说,”彼得·彼特罗维奇傲慢而又遗憾地打断了他的话,“您是不是可以……或者不如说:您和刚才谈到的那个年轻女郎是不是当真十分亲密,是不是亲密到这种程度,可以现在,就是目前,请她来这儿,到这间房子里来一下?好像他们都已经从墓地回来了……我听到了一阵脚步声……我需要见见她,见见这个女人。”
“您为什么要见她?”列别贾特尼科夫惊奇地问。
“就是这样,需要。今天或者明天,我就要从这儿搬走了,所以想要通知她……不过在我和她谈话的时候,请您留在这儿。这样甚至会更好些。要不,您大概,天知道您会想些什么。”
“我根本什么也不会想……我不过这么问问,如果您找她有正经事,要叫她来,那是再容易也不过了。我这就去。请您相信,我决不会妨碍你们。”
真的,过了五分钟,列别贾特尼科夫就带着索尼娅回来了。她十分惊讶地走了进来,和往常一样,有点儿胆怯。在类似的情况下她总是胆怯,她很怕见生人,怕跟不认识的人交往,从前,从儿时起她就害怕,现在就更不用说了……彼得·彼特罗维奇接待她时,“态度和蔼,相当客气”,不过有点儿快活、亲昵的意味,然而照彼得·彼特罗维奇看,像他这样一个受人尊敬和上了年纪的人,对待一个这么年轻,而且在某种意义上很有意思的女人,这种态度是很得体的。他急忙“鼓励”她,让她坐到桌旁,自己的对面。索尼娅坐下来,朝四下里看了看,——看了看列别贾特尼科夫,看了看放在桌子上的钱,然后突然又看了看彼得·彼特罗维奇,目光就再没有从他身上挪开,好像全神贯注地盯住了他。列别贾特尼科夫本来已经往门口走去。彼得·彼特罗维奇站起来,示意让索尼娅继续坐着,在门口拦住了列别贾特尼科夫。
“这个拉斯科利尼科夫在那儿吗?他来了吗?”他悄悄地问列别贾特尼科夫。
“拉斯科利尼科夫?在那里。怎么样?是啊,是在那里……
他刚进去,我看到了……那又怎样呢?”
“好吧,那么我特意请您留在这里,和我们待在一起,不要让我和这位……少女单独待在一起。事情嘛,是件无关重要的小事,可是天知道别人会说什么。我不想让拉斯科利尼科夫在那儿跟人说……您明白我的意思吗?”
“啊,我懂,我懂!”列别贾特尼科夫突然领会了。“对,您有理由……当然,根据我个人的信念,我认为您的担心太过分了,不过,您还是有道理的。那好吧,我就留下来吧。我站到这儿窗子前面,不会妨碍你们的……照我看,您有理由……”
彼得·彼特罗维奇回到沙发前,在索尼娅对面坐下,留神看了看她,突然作出一副异常庄重、甚至是严肃的样子,那意思就是说:“您可别想到那方面去,女士。”索尼娅完全不知所措了。
“索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,首先请代我向尊敬的令堂表示歉意……好像,是这样吧?卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜是您的继母吧?”彼得·彼特罗维奇态度十分庄重,然而又相当和蔼地说。
看来,他怀有最友好的意愿。
“是这样,是这样的;她是我的继母,”索尼娅胆怯地急忙回答。
“嗯,那么请您向她转达我的歉意,由于不能由我作主的原因,我不能到府上去吃煎饼了……也就是不能去赴酬客宴了,尽管令堂好意邀请了我。”
“好的;我去说;这就去,”索涅奇卡急忙从椅子上站了起来。
“我还没说完呢,”彼得·彼特罗维奇留住了她,因为她这么天真,又不懂礼貌,微微一笑,“索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,如果您认为,为了这样一件仅仅与我个人有关的小事,就麻烦您,请一位像您这样的女孩子到我这里来,那您就不大了解我了。我还有别的目的。”
索尼娅又急忙坐下了。还没从桌子上拿走的那些钞票,有二十五卢布一张的,也有一百卢布一张的,又闯入她的眼帘,她赶快把脸转过去,抬起头来看着彼得·彼特罗维奇:她突然觉得,特别是她,看别人的钱是很不恰当的。她本来把目光转向彼得·彼特罗维奇用左手拿着的金色长柄眼镜,但与此同时也看到了戴在这只手中指上的戒指,那戒指很大,看样子沉甸甸的,镶着一块黄色的宝石,真漂亮极了,——但是她又突然把目光从戒指上挪开了,不知往哪里看才好,最后只好又凝神盯着彼得·彼特罗维奇的眼睛。他比刚才更加庄重地沉默了一会儿,然后接着说:
“昨天我有机会顺便和卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜说了两句话,只说了两句话,就足以了解到,目前她正处于一种——
反常的状态,如果可以这样说的话……”
“是的……是反常的,”索尼娅急忙附和说。
“或者说得简单、明白一些,就是她有病。”
“是的,简单明白,……是的,她是有病。”
“的确如此!所以,出于人道感和——和——和,可以这么说吧,和恻隐之心,由于预见到她不可避免的不幸命运,我想做点儿对她有益的事情。看来,这个极端贫困的家庭现在只能完全倚靠您一个人了。”
“请问,”索尼娅突然站了起来,“昨天您不是跟她讲过,有可能得到一笔抚恤金吗?因为她昨天就对我说过,您已经着手为她奔走,设法给她领取抚恤金了。这是真的吗?”
“绝对不是,就某方面来说,这甚至是荒唐的。我只是暗示,作为一个在任职期间亡故的官吏的遗孀,有可能得到临时补助,——这还得有门路才行,——然而,已故的令尊好像不仅服务尚未期满,而且最近期间甚至完全没有任职。总之,即使有希望,希望也很渺茫,因为在这种情况下,实际上没有任何享受补助的权利,甚至恰恰相反……可她已经想领怃恤金了,嘿——嘿——嘿!这位太太想到哪里去了!”
“是的,她是想领抚恤金……因为她轻信,心地善良,由于心肠太好,什么她都相信,而且……而且……而且……她头脑不大……这个……是的……请原谅,”索尼娅说,又站起来要走。
And Pyotr Petrovitch held out to Sonia a ten-rouble note carefully unfolded. Sonia took it, flushed crimson, jumped up, muttered something and began taking leave. Pyotr Petrovitch accompanied her ceremoniously to the door. She got out of the room at last, agitated and distressed, and returned to Katerina Ivanovna, overwhelmed with confusion.
All this time Lebeziatnikov had stood at the window or walked about the room, anxious not to interrupt the conversation; when Sonia had gone he walked up to Pyotr Petrovitch and solemnly held out his hand.
"I heard and /saw/ everything," he said, laying stress on the last verb. "That is honourable, I mean to say, it's humane! You wanted to avoid gratitude, I saw! And although I cannot, I confess, in principle sympathise with private charity, for it not only fails to eradicate the evil but even promotes it, yet I must admit that I saw your action with pleasure--yes, yes, I like it."
"That's all nonsense," muttered Pyotr Petrovitch, somewhat disconcerted, looking carefully at Lebeziatnikov.
"No, it's not nonsense! A man who has suffered distress and annoyance as you did yesterday and who yet can sympathise with the misery of others, such a man . . . even though he is making a social mistake--is still deserving of respect! I did not expect it indeed of you, Pyotr Petrovitch, especially as according to your ideas . . . oh, what a drawback your ideas are to you! How distressed you are for instance by your ill-luck yesterday," cried the simple-hearted Lebeziatnikov, who felt a return of affection for Pyotr Petrovitch. "And, what do you want with marriage, with /legal/ marriage, my dear, noble Pyotr Petrovitch? Why do you cling to this /legality/ of marriage? Well, you may beat me if you like, but I am glad, positively glad it hasn't come off, that you are free, that you are not quite lost for humanity. . . . you see, I've spoken my mind!"
"Because I don't want in your free marriage to be made a fool of and to bring up another man's children, that's why I want legal marriage," Luzhin replied in order to make some answer.
He seemed preoccupied by something.
"Children? You referred to children," Lebeziatnikov started off like a warhorse at the trumpet call. "Children are a social question and a question of first importance, I agree; but the question of children has another solution. Some refuse to have children altogether, because they suggest the institution of the family. We'll speak of children later, but now as to the question of honour, I confess that's my weak point. That horrid, military, Pushkin expression is unthinkable in the dictionary of the future. What does it mean indeed? It's nonsense, there will be no deception in a free marriage! That is only the natural consequence of a legal marriage, so to say, its corrective, a protest. So that indeed it's not humiliating . . . and if I ever, to suppose an absurdity, were to be legally married, I should be positively glad of it. I should say to my wife: 'My dear, hitherto I have loved you, now I respect you, for you've shown you can protest!' You laugh! That's because you are of incapable of getting away from prejudices. Confound it all! I understand now where the unpleasantness is of being deceived in a legal marriage, but it's simply a despicable consequence of a despicable position in which both are humiliated. When the deception is open, as in a free marriage, then it does not exist, it's unthinkable. Your wife will only prove how she respects you by considering you incapable of opposing her happiness and avenging yourself on her for her new husband. Damn it all! I sometimes dream if I were to be married, pfoo! I mean if I were to marry, legally or not, it's just the same, I should present my wife with a lover if she had not found one for herself. 'My dear,' I should say, 'I love you, but even more than that I desire you to respect me. See!' Am I not right?"
Pyotr Petrovitch sniggered as he listened, but without much merriment. He hardly heard it indeed. He was preoccupied with something else and even Lebeziatnikov at last noticed it. Pyotr Petrovitch seemed excited and rubbed his hands. Lebeziatnikov remembered all this and reflected upon it afterwards.
“对不起,您还没听完我的话呢。”
“是的,是没听完。”索尼娅喃喃地说。
“那么,您坐啊。”
索尼娅很不好意思地又坐下来,这已经是第三次了。
“看到她这样的处境,还带着几个可怜的孩子,正如我已经说过的,我有心聊尽绵薄,做点儿对她有益的事情,也就是所谓量力而为,仅此而已。譬如说,可以为她募捐筹款,或者,可以这么说吧,办一次抽彩……或者诸如此类的事情,——在类似的情况下,亲友们,甚至是外人,总之,凡是愿意帮忙的人,往往都是这么做。这就是我要告诉您的。而这是可能的。”
“是的,好的……为了这,愿上帝保佑您……”索尼娅凝望着彼得·彼特罗维奇,含糊不清地低声说。
“这是可能的,不过……这个我们以后再……也就是说,今天就可以开始。晚上我们再见见面,商量一下,可以这么说吧,为这事打下基础。请您七点来钟的时候再来找我一趟。我希望,安德烈·谢苗诺维奇也参加……不过……这儿有个情况,得事先详细地说说清楚。正是为了这件事,我才惊动您,索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,请您到我这里来。具体地说,我的意见是,不能把钱交给卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,钱到了她手里也是危险的;今天的酬客宴就是证明。连明天吃的东西都没有,可以说连一块面包皮都没有……嗯,连鞋子都没有,什么都没有,今天却买了牙买加糖酒①,甚至好像还买了马德拉酒②和——和——和咖啡。从那儿经过的时候,我看到了。明天却又把全部生活重担都压到您的身上,直到最后一片面包,都得靠您;这是毫无道理的。所以,募捐的时候,照我个人的看法,关于钱的情况应该瞒着这个,可以这样说吧,不幸的寡妇,而只有,譬如说,只有您一个人知道。我说得对吗?”
--------
①一种用甘蔗酿制的烈酒。
②一种葡萄酒。
“我不知道。她只是今天才这样……一辈子就只有这一次……她很想办酬客宴,请大家来,悼念……她很懂事。不过,就照您的意思办好了,我非常,非常,我会非常……他们大家也都会感谢您……上帝会保佑您的……孤儿们也……”
索尼娅没有说完,就哭起来了。
“的确如此。嗯,那么请您记住;现在,为了亲人们的利益,作为开端,请接受我个人力所能及的一点儿心意。我非常、非常希望,千万不要提起我的名字。您瞧……可以这么说吧,因为我自己也有需要操心的事,再多,我就无能为力了……”
说着,彼得·彼特罗维奇细心地把一张摺着的十卢布的钞票打开,递给索尼娅。索尼娅接过了钱,脸刷地一下子红了,很快站起来,含糊不清地说了句什么,赶快告辞。彼得·彼特罗维奇洋洋得意地把她送到门口。她终于从屋里跑了出去,心情激动,疲惫不堪,回到卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜那里,心里感到非常不安。
在这场戏演出的全部时间里,安德烈·谢苗诺维奇一会儿站在窗前,一会儿在屋里走来走去,不愿打断他们的谈话;等索尼娅走后,他突然走到彼得·彼特罗维奇面前,郑重其事地向他伸出手去:
“我什么都听到了,什么都看见了,”他说,特别强调最后三个字。“这是高尚的,也就是,我想说,这是人道主义的!您不愿让别人感谢您,这我看见了!虽说,我得承认,按原则来讲,我不能赞同个人的慈善行为,因为它不仅不能彻底根除罪恶,反而会助长罪恶,然而我不能不承认,很高兴看到您的行为,——是的,是的,对这件事,我很喜欢。”
“嗳,这全都是胡扯!”彼得·彼特罗维奇含糊不清地说,心情有些激动,而且不知为什么细细地打量着列别贾特尼科夫。
“不,不是胡扯!一个像您这样,为昨天的事感到烦恼、受了很大委屈的人,同时还能关心别人的不幸,——一个这样的人,……虽然他的行为是犯了一个社会性的错误,——然而……还是应该受到尊敬的!我甚至没料到您会这样做,彼得·彼特罗维奇,何况,特别是根据您的见解来看,噢!您的见解还在妨碍您,非常妨碍!譬如说吧,昨天的挫折让您多么激动啊,”好心的安德烈·谢苗诺维奇感叹地说,又对彼得·彼特罗维奇产生了加倍的好感,“这门亲事,这个合法婚姻对您可有什么,有什么用处呢,最高尚、最亲爱的彼得·彼特罗维奇?您为什么一定要让婚姻合法?好,您要打我,那就打吧,不过我很高兴,为这门亲事没成感到高兴,为您没受婚姻约束,为了对于人类来说您还没有完全毁灭,我感到高兴……您要知道,我把心里的话全说出来了!”
“为了我不想在你们那种婚姻中戴绿帽子,不愿繁衍别人的孩子,这就是我需要合法婚姻的原因,”因为总得回答几句什么,卢任才这样说。他心里正在想着什么,陷入沉思。
“孩子吗?您提到了孩子吗?”安德烈·谢苗诺维奇像一匹听到了军号声的战马,浑身颤动了一下,“孩子是一个社会问题,而且是头等重要的问题,这我同意;不过孩子问题必须按另一种方式来解决。有些人像否定一切含有家庭意义的迹象一样,连孩子也完全否定了。关于孩子的问题,我们以后再谈,现在先来说说绿帽子!我坦白地对您说,对这个问题,我不在行。这是丑恶的、骠骑兵式的、普希金的用语①,在未来的辞典中,这样的用语甚至是不可思议的!而且绿帽子是什么呢?多么荒谬的见解!绿帽子是什么样的?为什么是绿帽子?多么荒诞!恰恰相反,在自由结合中,就不会有什么绿帽子了!绿帽子,这只是一切合法婚姻的自然结果,可以这么说吧,是对合法婚姻的改正,是对它的抗议,所以在这个意义上来说,甚至丝毫不含有侮辱性的意思……如果我在什么时候——做出这种荒唐事来,——合法地结了婚,那么我甚至会为您所诅咒的绿帽子感到高兴;那时候我会对我的妻子说:‘我的朋友,在这以前我只是爱你,现在我却尊敬你,因为你敢反抗!’您在笑?这是因为您不能摆脱偏见!见鬼,我理解,合法结婚而又受了欺骗,到底是为了什么而感到不快:可是,要知道,这是卑鄙事实的卑鄙后果,双方同样都受到了侮辱。当大家自由结合,绿帽子公开戴在头上的时候,绿帽子也就不存在了,变得不可思议了,就连绿帽子这个名称也完全消失了。恰恰相反,您的妻子只不过是向您证明,她是多么尊敬您,认为您不会反对她的幸福,而且觉悟那么高,不会为了她有了新丈夫而向她报复。见鬼,有时我梦想,如果让我嫁了人,呸!如果我结了婚(自由结婚也罢,合法结婚也罢,反正一样),我就会自己给我妻子带一个情人来,如果她自己好久还没找到的话。‘我的朋友,’我会这样对她说,‘我爱你,但是也希望你尊敬我,——你看,我给你带来了!’我说得对吗,对吗?……”
--------
①指普希金的《叶甫根尼·奥涅金》中的这几行诗句:
戴绿帽子的人可真神气,
他对自己总是那么满意,
满意午餐,也满意自己的妻子。
(第一章十二节)。
彼得·彼特罗维奇听着,在嘿嘿地笑,不过并没有特别的兴致。他甚至并没有怎么听。他当真是在考虑什么别的事情,就连列别贾特尼科夫也终于发觉了。彼得·彼特罗维奇甚至十分激动,搓着手,陷入沉思。这一切安德烈·谢苗诺维奇后来才弄明白,回想了起来……


峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 42楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第二章
It would be difficult to explain exactly what could have originated the idea of that senseless dinner in Katerina Ivanovna's disordered brain. Nearly ten of the twenty roubles, given by Raskolnikov for Marmeladov's funeral, were wasted upon it. Possibly Katerina Ivanovna felt obliged to honour the memory of the deceased "suitably," that all the lodgers, and still more Amalia Ivanovna, might know "that he was in no way their inferior, and perhaps very much their superior," and that no one had the right "to turn up his nose at him." Perhaps the chief element was that peculiar "poor man's pride," which compels many poor people to spend their last savings on some traditional social ceremony, simply in order to do "like other people," and not to "be looked down upon." It is very probable, too, that Katerina Ivanovna longed on this occasion, at the moment when she seemed to be abandoned by everyone, to show those "wretched contemptible lodgers" that she knew "how to do things, how to entertain" and that she had been brought up "in a genteel, she might almost say aristocratic colonel's family" and had not been meant for sweeping floors and washing the children's rags at night. Even the poorest and most broken-spirited people are sometimes liable to these paroxysms of pride and vanity which take the form of an irresistible nervous craving. And Katerina Ivanovna was not broken-spirited; she might have been killed by circumstance, but her spirit could not have been broken, that is, she could not have been intimidated, her will could not be crushed. Moreover Sonia had said with good reason that her mind was unhinged. She could not be said to be insane, but for a year past she had been so harassed that her mind might well be overstrained. The later stages of consumption are apt, doctors tell us, to affect the intellect.
There was no great variety of wines, nor was there Madeira; but wine there was. There was vodka, rum and Lisbon wine, all of the poorest quality but in sufficient quantity. Besides the traditional rice and honey, there were three or four dishes, one of which consisted of pancakes, all prepared in Amalia Ivanovna's kitchen. Two samovars were boiling, that tea and punch might be offered after dinner. Katerina Ivanovna had herself seen to purchasing the provisions, with the help of one of the lodgers, an unfortunate little Pole who had somehow been stranded at Madame Lippevechsel's. He promptly put himself at Katerina Ivanovna's disposal and had been all that morning and all the day before running about as fast as his legs could carry him, and very anxious that everyone should be aware of it. For every trifle he ran to Katerina Ivanovna, even hunting her out at the bazaar, at every instant called her "/Pani/." She was heartily sick of him before the end, though she had declared at first that she could not have got on without this "serviceable and magnanimous man." It was one of Katerina Ivanovna's characteristics to paint everyone she met in the most glowing colours. Her praises were so exaggerated as sometimes to be embarrassing; she would invent various circumstances to the credit of her new acquaintance and quite genuinely believe in their reality. Then all of a sudden she would be disillusioned and would rudely and contemptuously repulse the person she had only a few hours before been literally adoring. She was naturally of a gay, lively and peace-loving disposition, but from continual failures and misfortunes she had come to desire so /keenly/ that all should live in peace and joy and should not /dare/ to break the peace, that the slightest jar, the smallest disaster reduced her almost to frenzy, and she would pass in an instant from the brightest hopes and fancies to cursing her fate and raving, and knocking her head against the wall.
Amalia Ivanovna, too, suddenly acquired extraordinary importance in Katerina Ivanovna's eyes and was treated by her with extraordinary respect, probably only because Amalia Ivanovna had thrown herself heart and soul into the preparations. She had undertaken to lay the table, to provide the linen, crockery, etc., and to cook the dishes in her kitchen, and Katerina Ivanovna had left it all in her hands and gone herself to the cemetery. Everything had been well done. Even the table-cloth was nearly clean; the crockery, knives, forks and glasses were, of course, of all shapes and patterns, lent by different lodgers, but the table was properly laid at the time fixed, and Amalia Ivanovna, feeling she had done her work well, had put on a black silk dress and a cap with new mourning ribbons and met the returning party with some pride. This pride, though justifiable, displeased Katerina Ivanovna for some reason: "as though the table could not have been laid except by Amalia Ivanovna!" She disliked the cap with new ribbons, too. "Could she be stuck up, the stupid German, because she was mistress of the house, and had consented as a favour to help her poor lodgers! As a favour! Fancy that! Katerina Ivanovna's father who had been a colonel and almost a governor had sometimes had the table set for forty persons, and then anyone like Amalia Ivanovna, or rather Ludwigovna, would not have been allowed into the kitchen."
Katerina Ivanovna, however, put off expressing her feelings for the time and contented herself with treating her coldly, though she decided inwardly that she would certainly have to put Amalia Ivanovna down and set her in her proper place, for goodness only knew what she was fancying herself. Katerina Ivanovna was irritated too by the fact that hardly any of the lodgers invited had come to the funeral, except the Pole who had just managed to run into the cemetery, while to the memorial dinner the poorest and most insignificant of them had turned up, the wretched creatures, many of them not quite sober. The older and more respectable of them all, as if by common consent, stayed away. Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin, for instance, who might be said to be the most respectable of all the lodgers, did not appear, though Katerina Ivanovna had the evening before told all the world, that is Amalia Ivanovna, Polenka, Sonia and the Pole, that he was the most generous, noble-hearted man with a large property and vast connections, who had been a friend of her first husband's, and a guest in her father's house, and that he had promised to use all his influence to secure her a considerable pension. It must be noted that when Katerina Ivanovna exalted anyone's connections and fortune, it was without any ulterior motive, quite disinterestedly, for the mere pleasure of adding to the consequence of the person praised. Probably "taking his cue" from Luzhin, "that contemptible wretch Lebeziatnikov had not turned up either. What did he fancy himself? He was only asked out of kindness and because he was sharing the same room with Pyotr Petrovitch and was a friend of his, so that it would have been awkward not to invite him."
Among those who failed to appear were "the genteel lady and her old- maidish daughter," who had only been lodgers in the house for the last fortnight, but had several times complained of the noise and uproar in Katerina Ivanovna's room, especially when Marmeladov had come back drunk. Katerina Ivanovna heard this from Amalia Ivanovna who, quarrelling with Katerina Ivanovna, and threatening to turn the whole family out of doors, had shouted at her that they "were not worth the foot" of the honourable lodgers whom they were disturbing. Katerina Ivanovna determined now to invite this lady and her daughter, "whose foot she was not worth," and who had turned away haughtily when she casually met them, so that they might know that "she was more noble in her thoughts and feelings and did not harbour malice," and might see that she was not accustomed to her way of living. She had proposed to make this clear to them at dinner with allusions to her late father's governorship, and also at the same time to hint that it was exceedingly stupid of them to turn away on meeting her. The fat colonel-major (he was really a discharged officer of low rank) was also absent, but it appeared that he had been "not himself" for the last two days. The party consisted of the Pole, a wretched looking clerk with a spotty face and a greasy coat, who had not a word to say for himself, and smelt abominably, a deaf and almost blind old man who had once been in the post office and who had been from immemorial ages maintained by someone at Amalia Ivanovna's.
A retired clerk of the commissariat department came, too; he was drunk, had a loud and most unseemly laugh and only fancy--was without a waistcoat! One of the visitors sat straight down to the table without even greeting Katerina Ivanovna. Finally one person having no suit appeared in his dressing-gown, but this was too much, and the efforts of Amalia Ivanovna and the Pole succeeded in removing him. The Pole brought with him, however, two other Poles who did not live at Amalia Ivanovna's and whom no one had seen here before. All this irritated Katerina Ivanovna intensely. "For whom had they made all these preparations then?" To make room for the visitors the children had not even been laid for at the table; but the two little ones were sitting on a bench in the furthest corner with their dinner laid on a box, while Polenka as a big girl had to look after them, feed them, and keep their noses wiped like well-bred children's.
Katerina Ivanovna, in fact, could hardly help meeting her guests with increased dignity, and even haughtiness. She stared at some of them with special severity, and loftily invited them to take their seats. Rushing to the conclusion that Amalia Ivanovna must be responsible for those who were absent, she began treating her with extreme nonchalance, which the latter promptly observed and resented. Such a beginning was no good omen for the end. All were seated at last.
Raskolnikov came in almost at the moment of their return from the cemetery. Katerina Ivanovna was greatly delighted to see him, in the first place, because he was the one "educated visitor, and, as everyone knew, was in two years to take a professorship in the university," and secondly because he immediately and respectfully apologised for having been unable to be at the funeral. She positively pounced upon him, and made him sit on her left hand (Amalia Ivanovna was on her right). In spite of her continual anxiety that the dishes should be passed round correctly and that everyone should taste them, in spite of the agonising cough which interrupted her every minute and seemed to have grown worse during the last few days, she hastened to pour out in a half whisper to Raskolnikov all her suppressed feelings and her just indignation at the failure of the dinner, interspersing her remarks with lively and uncontrollable laughter at the expense of her visitors and especially of her landlady.
很难确切说明,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜已经不大正常的头脑里为什么会产生这样的想法:要办一次毫无意义的酬客宴。真的,为办酬客宴,差不多花掉了从拉斯科利尼科夫那儿得到的二十多卢布中的十个卢布,而这笔钱其实是为了安葬马尔梅拉多夫才送给她的。也许,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜认为自己有责任“好好地”追悼亡夫,让所有房客,特别是阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜知道,他“不仅完全不比他们差,而且,也许要比他们强得多”,让他们知道,他们谁也没有权利在他面前“妄自尊大”。也许,这儿起了最大作用的,是穷人们那种特殊的自尊心,由于这种自尊心作祟,许多穷人都是尽最后努力,把积攒下来的最后几个戈比都花在我们日常生活中人人必须遵守的某些社会礼仪上了,他们这样做,只不过是为了“不比别人差”,也为了不让那些别人“指责”他们。很有可能,正是在这种情况下,正是在她似乎已被世界上所有人抛弃了的时候,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜想要让所有这些“卑微和可恶的住户们”看看,她不但“会生活,善于接待客人”,而且她所受的教育根本就不是为了来过这种穷日子的,她是在“一个高贵的、甚至可以说是在一个有贵族身份的上校家庭里”给教养成人的,她所受的教育完全不是为了自己擦地板,每天夜里洗孩子们的破旧衣服。这种自尊和虚荣有时也会在最为贫困、完全给压垮了的人们心中突然爆发出来,有时甚至会变成一种愤懑的、无法抑制的需求。何况卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜还不是一个给压垮了的人:她本来是会让环境给完全压垮的,但是要在精神上压垮她,也就是使她畏惧,征服她的意志,却决不可能。此外,索涅奇卡说她的精神不正常也是有充分根据的。不错,还不能完全肯定地这么说,不过,最近一个时期,最近这一年来,她那可怜的头脑的确受了太多的折磨,不会不在某种程度上受到一定的损害。据医生说,肺病急剧恶化也会使神经功能发生紊乱。
酒的数量和品种都不多,也没有马德拉酒:这是夸大其词,不过酒是有的。有伏特加、糖酒,里斯本葡萄酒,质量都十分低劣,数量却相当充足。吃的东西,除了蜜粥,还有三、四道菜(顺带说一声,还有煎饼),所有东西都是从阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜的厨房里送来的,此外,还一下子生了两个茶炊,那是准备饭后喝茶和兑五味酒用的。所有东西都是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜亲自采购的,有一个不知为什么住在利佩韦赫泽尔太太这里的、可怜的波兰人帮着她,他立刻同意供卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜差遣,昨天一整天和今天一个早上,他一直拼命东奔西跑,累得气喘吁吁,好像竭力想让人注意到他特别卖力。为了每件小事,他时刻不停地跑去找卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,甚至跑到商场去找她,不停地管她叫“少尉太太”,最后他简直让她觉得烦死了,尽管起初她曾说过,要不是有这个“自愿帮忙的好心人”,她可要完全累垮了。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的性格特点就是如此:对任何一个初次见面的人,她总是赶紧用最美的语言大加称赞,有人甚至会被她吹捧得怪难为情,她会无中生有,用种种虚构的事实往人脸上贴金,而且自己对这一切都完全真诚地深信不疑,后来却突然一下子失望了,跟人家决裂了,对人家横加侮辱,把那个仅仅几小时前还简直崇拜得五体投地的人粗暴地赶出去。她天生是一个爱笑、乐观、对人友好的人,但是由于接连不断的不幸和挫折,她变得那样狂热地希望和要求世界上所有人都过得很愉快,而且不许他们过另一种生活,以致生活中稍有一点儿不和谐,遭受到什么最微不足道的挫折,都几乎会使她立刻发疯,刚刚还存有最光明的希望,浸沉在最美的幻想之中,转瞬间就会诅咒命运,不管抓到什么,都会把它撕碎,随手乱扔出去,还用头往墙上撞。不知为什么,阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜也突然受到卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜异乎寻常的重视和异乎寻常的尊敬,唯一的原因也许是,着手办酬客宴的时候,阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜全心全意地决定帮着她张罗一切:她给摆好桌子,拿来桌布、碗、碟以及其他东西,还在自己的厨房里准备饭菜。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜要去墓地,于是把一切都托付给她,让她全权处理。真的,一切都安排得好极了:桌上铺了桌布,甚至相当整洁,碗碟、刀叉、酒杯、玻璃杯、茶杯,一应俱全,当然啦,所有这一切都是从各个住户那里借来,东拼西凑的,大小不同,形状各异,然而一切都按时摆妥了。阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜觉得,事情做得很出色,迎接从墓地回来的人们时,甚至有点儿自豪,她穿得十分漂亮,戴一顶系着黑色新纱带的包发帽,穿一件黑色的连衫裙。这种自豪感虽然是理所当然的,但不知为什么,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜却很不喜欢,心想:“真的,好像少了您阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜,别人就不会摆桌子开饭似的!”她也不喜欢那顶系上了新纱带的包发帽:“这个愚蠢的德国女人这么神气,说不定是因为,她认为自己是房东,是她大发善心,这才同意帮助穷苦的房客吧?大发善心!这倒要请教了!我卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的爸爸是位上校,差点儿没当上省长,有时他家里大宴宾客,一请就是四十个人,像您阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜这样的人,或者不如说,像柳德维戈芙娜这样的人,连厨房都不会让您进……”不过她决定暂时不把自己心里的想法说出来,虽说她已暗暗拿定了主意,今天一定得制服这个阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜,让她记住自己的真正身份,不然的话,天知道她会把自己想象成什么样的人;但暂时只是对她相当冷淡。另一件事也在某种程度上使卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜感到气愤:除了总算按时赶到墓地的那个波兰人,邀请过的其他房客,几乎谁也没去参加葬礼;来赴酬客宴的,也就是说,来吃下酒菜的,都是住户中最无足轻重的穷人,其中不少人甚至已经喝醉了,真的,都是些上不得台面的货色。房客当中几个较为年长和比较庄重的人,好像故意商量好了似的,全都没来。譬如说,像彼得·彼特罗维奇·卢任,可以说是所有房客中最有身份的,他也没有来,可是还在昨天晚上,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜就已经对所有人,也就是对阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜、波列奇卡、索尼娅和那个波兰人说了许多,说这是一个最高尚、最慷慨的人,说他有很多关系,又有资产,是她第一个丈夫的朋友,是她父亲家里的常客,还说,他答应要用一切办法为她弄到一笔数目可观的抚恤金。这里我们要记住,如果卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜吹嘘说,某人在社会上有很多关系,又有资产,这绝不是出于她个人的利益,或者是自己有什么打算,而是完全无私地,也可以说是完全出于一片热情,只不过是因为她高兴称赞那个人,从而更加抬高那个她所称赞的人的身价而已。大概,“这个可恶的坏蛋列别贾特尼科夫”是“学卢任的样”,所以也没来。“这家伙自以为是个什么人呢?只不过是出于善意,这才邀请了他,而且这还是因为他和彼得·彼特罗维奇同住在一间房子里,又是他的熟人,所以不好意思不邀请他。”那个颇有上流社会风度的太太和她那个“青春已逝、尚未出阁”的女儿也没有来,虽然她们在阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜这里总共才不过住了两个星期左右,可是对于从马尔梅拉多夫家里传出的吵闹声和叫喊声,却已经抱怨过好几次了,特别是当死者生前醉醺醺地回家来的时候;她们的抱怨,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜当然已经知道了,因为每当阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜和她对骂,威胁要把他们全家都赶出去的时候,总是扯着嗓子大喊,说他们惊动了“那两位高贵的房客,而他们连给她们提鞋也都不配”。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜现在故意邀请“她似乎连给她们提鞋都不配”的这母女俩,尤其是因为在这以前偶尔遇到她们的时候,那位太太总是高傲地扭过脸去,——那么就让她了解一下吧,这里的人“思想感情都更高尚些,不记仇恨,也邀请了她们”,而且要让她看到,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜可不是过惯了这种生活的人。她打算在酒席宴前一定要把这一点向她们说清楚,而且一定要告诉她们,她过世的父亲几乎当上了省长,同时也间接向她们暗示,以后碰到的时候用不着把脸扭过去,这样做是非常愚蠢的。那个胖中校(其实是个退役的上尉)也没来,不过,原来还从昨天早上,他就已经“烂醉如泥”了。总而言之,应邀前来的只有这么几个人:那个波兰人,接着来的还有一个样子长得十分难看、一言不发的小职员,他穿一件油污的燕尾服,满脸粉刺,身上还有一股难闻的气味;随后又来了一个小老头儿,是个聋子,眼睛也几乎完全瞎了,以前不知在哪儿的邮政总局里做过事,有个人不知为什么从很久以前就在阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜这儿养着他。还来了一个已经喝醉了的退职中尉,其实是个军需官,经常高声大笑,实在不成体统,而且,“你们瞧”,连背心都没穿!还有一个,一进来就在桌边坐下了,甚至没向卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜点头问好。最后又来了一个,因为没有衣服,就穿着睡衣跑来了,这可太不像话了,阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜和那个波兰人费了好大劲,总算把他推了出去。不过那个波兰人还带了两个波兰人来,他们从来根本就没在阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜这儿住过,在这以前,这幢房子里的人谁也没看见过他们。这一切都让卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜感到不快,惹她生气。“这一切到底是为谁准备的?”为了腾出座位来招待客人,甚至没让孩子们坐到桌边,而饭桌本来就已经占据了整个房间;把孩子们安顿在后面角落里,用一个箱子当作桌子,而且让两个最小的孩子坐在长凳上,波列奇卡已经是个大姑娘了,应该照看着他们,喂他们,就像侍候“贵族子弟”那样,给他们擦鼻涕。总之,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜不得已只好格外傲慢、甚至是高傲地迎接所有这些客人。她特别严峻地打量了一下某几个人,做出一副很瞧不起的样子,请他们入席。不知为什么,她认为阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜要为所有那些没来的人承担一切罪责,突然对她很不客气,后者立刻就发觉了,为此感到十分委屈。
这样的开始不会预示好的结局。终于,大家都坐下来了。
拉斯科利尼科夫几乎是在他们刚从墓地回来的时候就进来了。看到他来了,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜高兴得要命,第一,因为他是所有客人中唯一“有教养的人”,而且“正如大家都知道的,两年以后他就要在这儿一所大学里当教授了”,第二,因为他很恭敬地请她原谅,说,尽管他很想去参加葬礼,可还是没能前去。她急忙跑过去招呼他,请他坐在自己左边的座位上(坐在右边的是阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜),尽管她忙个不停,不断地张罗着有条不紊地上菜,把每道菜都送到每位客人面前,尽管一刻也不停的咳嗽使她感到十分痛苦,呼吸困难,不时把她的话打断,而且,最近这两天这咳嗽似乎已经变成了痼疾,她却对拉斯科利尼科夫说个不停,急于低声向他倾诉心中郁积的感情,述说因为酬客宴办得很不称心而感到的理所当然的愤慨;而且这愤慨时常转变为最快乐和抑制不住的嘲笑,嘲笑在座的客人们,但主要是嘲笑女房东。
"It's all that cuckoo's fault! You know whom I mean? Her, her!" Katerina Ivanovna nodded towards the landlady. "Look at her, she's making round eyes, she feels that we are talking about her and can't understand. Pfoo, the owl! Ha-ha! (Cough-cough-cough.) And what does she put on that cap for? (Cough-cough-cough.) Have you noticed that she wants everyone to consider that she is patronising me and doing me an honour by being here? I asked her like a sensible woman to invite people, especially those who knew my late husband, and look at the set of fools she has brought! The sweeps! Look at that one with the spotty face. And those wretched Poles, ha-ha-ha! (Cough-cough-cough.) Not one of them has ever poked his nose in here, I've never set eyes on them. What have they come here for, I ask you? There they sit in a row. Hey, /pan/!" she cried suddenly to one of them, "have you tasted the pancakes? Take some more! Have some beer! Won't you have some vodka? Look, he's jumped up and is making his bows, they must be quite starved, poor things. Never mind, let them eat! They don't make a noise, anyway, though I'm really afraid for our landlady's silver spoons . . . Amalia Ivanovna!" she addressed her suddenly, almost aloud, "if your spoons should happen to be stolen, I won't be responsible, I warn you! Ha-ha-ha!" She laughed turning to Raskolnikov, and again nodding towards the landlady, in high glee at her sally. "She didn't understand, she didn't understand again! Look how she sits with her mouth open! An owl, a real owl! An owl in new ribbons, ha-ha-ha!"
Here her laugh turned again to an insufferable fit of coughing that lasted five minutes. Drops of perspiration stood out on her forehead and her handkerchief was stained with blood. She showed Raskolnikov the blood in silence, and as soon as she could get her breath began whispering to him again with extreme animation and a hectic flush on her cheeks.
"Do you know, I gave her the most delicate instructions, so to speak, for inviting that lady and her daughter, you understand of whom I am speaking? It needed the utmost delicacy, the greatest nicety, but she has managed things so that that fool, that conceited baggage, that provincial nonentity, simply because she is the widow of a major, and has come to try and get a pension and to fray out her skirts in the government offices, because at fifty she paints her face (everybody knows it) . . . a creature like that did not think fit to come, and has not even answered the invitation, which the most ordinary good manners required! I can't understand why Pyotr Petrovitch has not come? But where's Sonia? Where has she gone? Ah, there she is at last! what is it, Sonia, where have you been? It's odd that even at your father's funeral you should be so unpunctual. Rodion Romanovitch, make room for her beside you. That's your place, Sonia . . . take what you like. Have some of the cold entree with jelly, that's the best. They'll bring the pancakes directly. Have they given the children some? Polenka, have you got everything? (Cough-cough-cough.) That's all right. Be a good girl, Lida, and, Kolya, don't fidget with your feet; sit like a little gentleman. What are you saying, Sonia?"
Sonia hastened to give her Pyotr Petrovitch's apologies, trying to speak loud enough for everyone to hear and carefully choosing the most respectful phrases which she attributed to Pyotr Petrovitch. She added that Pyotr Petrovitch had particularly told her to say that, as soon as he possibly could, he would come immediately to discuss /business/ alone with her and to consider what could be done for her, etc., etc.
Sonia knew that this would comfort Katerina Ivanovna, would flatter her and gratify her pride. She sat down beside Raskolnikov; she made him a hurried bow, glancing curiously at him. But for the rest of the time she seemed to avoid looking at him or speaking to him. She seemed absent-minded, though she kept looking at Katerina Ivanovna, trying to please her. Neither she nor Katerina Ivanovna had been able to get mourning; Sonia was wearing dark brown, and Katerina Ivanovna had on her only dress, a dark striped cotton one.
The message from Pyotr Petrovitch was very successful. Listening to Sonia with dignity, Katerina Ivanovna inquired with equal dignity how Pyotr Petrovitch was, then at once whispered almost aloud to Raskolnikov that it certainly would have been strange for a man of Pyotr Petrovitch's position and standing to find himself in such "extraordinary company," in spite of his devotion to her family and his old friendship with her father.
"That's why I am so grateful to you, Rodion Romanovitch, that you have not disdained my hospitality, even in such surroundings," she added almost aloud. "But I am sure that it was only your special affection for my poor husband that has made you keep your promise."
Then once more with pride and dignity she scanned her visitors, and suddenly inquired aloud across the table of the deaf man: "Wouldn't he have some more meat, and had he been given some wine?" The old man made no answer and for a long while could not understand what he was asked, though his neighbours amused themselves by poking and shaking him. He simply gazed about him with his mouth open, which only increased the general mirth.
"What an imbecile! Look, look! Why was he brought? But as to Pyotr Petrovitch, I always had confidence in him," Katerina Ivanovna continued, "and, of course, he is not like . . ." with an extremely stern face she addressed Amalia Ivanovna so sharply and loudly that the latter was quite disconcerted, "not like your dressed up draggletails whom my father would not have taken as cooks into his kitchen, and my late husband would have done them honour if he had invited them in the goodness of his heart."
"Yes, he was fond of drink, he was fond of it, he did drink!" cried the commissariat clerk, gulping down his twelfth glass of vodka.
"My late husband certainly had that weakness, and everyone knows it," Katerina Ivanovna attacked him at once, "but he was a kind and honourable man, who loved and respected his family. The worst of it was his good nature made him trust all sorts of disreputable people, and he drank with fellows who were not worth the sole of his shoe. Would you believe it, Rodion Romanovitch, they found a gingerbread cock in his pocket; he was dead drunk, but he did not forget the children!"
"A cock? Did you say a cock?" shouted the commissariat clerk.
Katerina Ivanovna did not vouchsafe a reply. She sighed, lost in thought.
"No doubt you think, like everyone, that I was too severe with him," she went on, addressing Raskolnikov. "But that's not so! He respected me, he respected me very much! He was a kind-hearted man! And how sorry I was for him sometimes! He would sit in a corner and look at me, I used to feel so sorry for him, I used to want to be kind to him and then would think to myself: 'Be kind to him and he will drink again,' it was only by severity that you could keep him within bounds."
"Yes, he used to get his hair pulled pretty often," roared the commissariat clerk again, swallowing another glass of vodka.
"Some fools would be the better for a good drubbing, as well as having their hair pulled. I am not talking of my late husband now!" Katerina Ivanovna snapped at him.
The flush on her cheeks grew more and more marked, her chest heaved. In another minute she would have been ready to make a scene. Many of the visitors were sniggering, evidently delighted. They began poking the commissariat clerk and whispering something to him. They were evidently trying to egg him on.
"Allow me to ask what are you alluding to," began the clerk, "that is to say, whose . . . about whom . . . did you say just now . . . But I don't care! That's nonsense! Widow! I forgive you. . . . Pass!"
And he took another drink of vodka.
Raskolnikov sat in silence, listening with disgust. He only ate from politeness, just tasting the food that Katerina Ivanovna was continually putting on his plate, to avoid hurting her feelings. He watched Sonia intently. But Sonia became more and more anxious and distressed; she, too, foresaw that the dinner would not end peaceably, and saw with terror Katerina Ivanovna's growing irritation. She knew that she, Sonia, was the chief reason for the 'genteel' ladies' contemptuous treatment of Katerina Ivanovna's invitation. She had heard from Amalia Ivanovna that the mother was positively offended at the invitation and had asked the question: "How could she let her daughter sit down beside /that young person/?" Sonia had a feeling that Katerina Ivanovna had already heard this and an insult to Sonia meant more to Katerina Ivanovna than an insult to herself, her children, or her father, Sonia knew that Katerina Ivanovna would not be satisfied now, "till she had shown those draggletails that they were both . . ." To make matters worse someone passed Sonia, from the other end of the table, a plate with two hearts pierced with an arrow, cut out of black bread. Katerina Ivanovna flushed crimson and at once said aloud across the table that the man who sent it was "a drunken ass!"
Amalia Ivanovna was foreseeing something amiss, and at the same time deeply wounded by Katerina Ivanovna's haughtiness, and to restore the good-humour of the company and raise herself in their esteem she began, apropos of nothing, telling a story about an acquaintance of hers "Karl from the chemist's," who was driving one night in a cab, and that "the cabman wanted him to kill, and Karl very much begged him not to kill, and wept and clasped hands, and frightened and from fear pierced his heart." Though Katerina Ivanovna smiled, she observed at once that Amalia Ivanovna ought not to tell anecdotes in Russian; the latter was still more offended, and she retorted that her "/Vater aus Berlin/ was a very important man, and always went with his hands in pockets." Katerina Ivanovna could not restrain herself and laughed so much that Amalia Ivanovna lost patience and could scarcely control herself.
“一切都怪这只布谷鸟。您要明白我说的是谁:我说的是她,是她!”说着,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜朝女房东那边点点头,向他示意。“您看她:瞪圆了眼睛,感觉出我们是在谈论她了,可是她听不懂,所以瞪大了眼睛。呸,猫头鹰!哈——哈——哈!……咳——咳——咳!她戴着这顶包发帽是想表示什么呢!咳——咳——咳!您注意到了吗,她一直想让大家认为,她是在保护我,她的大驾光临,是她瞧得起我。我把她当作正派人,请她去邀请几位体面些的客人,也就是亡夫的熟人,可是您瞧,她请来了些什么人啊:一些小丑!几个邋遢鬼!您瞧瞧这个脸那么脏的家伙:真是个长着两条腿的饭桶!还有这两个波兰人……哈——哈——哈!咳——咳——咳!无论谁,无论谁,从来也没在这儿看见过他们,我也从来没见过他们;嗯,我请问您,他们是来干什么的?规规矩矩地坐成一排。潘涅,盖伊①!”她突然对他们当中的一个喊了一声,“您尝过煎饼了吗?再来点儿嘛!请喝点儿啤酒啊,啤酒!不想喝伏特加吗?您瞧:他霍地站起来,点头哈腰,您瞧,您瞧:准是饿坏了,这些穷鬼!没关系,让他们吃吧。他们至少不大吵大闹,不过……不过,真的,我为房东的那些银调羹感到担心!……阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜!”她突然对她几乎是大声说,“我把话说在前头,万一您的调羹给偷走了,我可不能负责!哈——哈——哈!”她哈哈大笑起来,又转过脸来对着拉斯科利尼科夫,又朝女房东那边向他点头示意,为自己这一狂妄的举动感到十分高兴。“她没听懂,又没听懂!她张大了嘴坐在那儿,您瞧:猫头鹰,真是只夜猫子,系着新纱带的猫头鹰,哈——哈——哈!”
--------
①波兰文,意为“喂,先生们!”
这时笑声又变成了难以忍受的咳嗽,接连不断地足足咳了五分钟。手绢儿上留下了好几点血迹,额上渗出了豆大的汗珠。她默默地让拉斯科利尼科夫看看手绢儿上的血,刚刚喘过一口气来,立刻又异常兴奋地对他低声说了起来,而且双颊上泛起了红晕:
“您瞧,我把一件最微妙的事托付给她,请她去邀请这位太太和她的女儿,您明白我说的是谁吗?这需要以最委婉的方式,用最巧妙的手法,可是她把事情给办砸了,这个外来的傻娘儿们,这个高傲自大的贱货,这个微不足道的外省女人,只不过因为她是个什么少校的遗孀,来京城是为了设法请求发给她抚恤金,天天往政府机关里跑,把下摆都磨破了,她都五十五岁了,还要染头发,搽胭脂抹粉(这大家都知道)……就是这样一个贱货,不但不认为她应该来,甚至都没让人来道声歉,既然她不能来,在这种情况下也该懂得最普通的礼貌,叫人来说一声啊!我真不懂,彼得·彼特罗维奇为什么也没来?不过索尼娅在哪儿呢?她上哪儿去了?啊,她终于来了!索尼娅,你在哪儿?奇怪,就连参加父亲的葬礼,你也没能准时赶到。罗季昂·罗曼内奇,请让她坐在您旁边。喏,索涅奇卡,你坐这儿……你想吃什么,自己拿吧。来点儿肉冻吧,这道菜最好。这就要端煎饼来了。给孩子们拿去了吗?波列奇卡,你们那儿什么都有了吗?咳——咳——咳!嗯,好的。要做个乖孩子,廖尼娅,还有你,科利亚,两只脚别晃来晃去;要像贵族家的孩子那样坐着。你说什么,索涅奇卡?”
索尼娅立刻向她转达了彼得·彼特罗维奇的歉意,竭力说得大声些,想让大家都能听到,而且用的是最客气、最尊敬的词句,甚至故意用彼得·彼特罗维奇的口气,不过这些话都是她自己编出来、而且经过润色的。她还补充说,彼得·彼特罗维奇特别让她转告,只要一有可能,他立刻就会前来,当面谈谈几个问题,商量一下,今后可以做些什么,可以采取些什么措施,等等。
索尼娅知道,这样说会让卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜宽心,使她得到安慰,使她感到满意,而主要的,是能满足她的自尊心。她坐到拉斯科利尼科夫身旁,急忙向他行了个礼,并且好奇地匆匆向他看了一眼。不过在其余时间里,不知为什么,她却一直避免看他,避免和他说话。她甚至好像心不在焉,虽然眼睛一直看着卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的脸,讨她喜欢。无论是她,还是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,都没穿孝服,因为她们都没有孝服可穿;索尼娅穿一件颜色较深的褐色衣服,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜穿的是她那件唯一的、有条纹的深色印花布连衫裙。关于彼得·彼特罗维奇的情况,很顺利地讲完了。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜骄傲地听完了索尼娅的话,又带着同样骄傲的神情问:彼得·彼特罗维奇身体怎样?然后立刻,几乎是大声对拉斯科利尼科夫窃窃私语说,如果像彼得·彼特罗维奇这么一位可尊敬的、有身份的人会到这样“稀奇古怪的一伙人”中间来,那才当真是件怪事,尽管他真心诚意地关心她的家庭,也忘不了跟她父亲的老交情。
“所以我才特别感谢您,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,因为在这样的情况下,承蒙不弃,屈尊前来参加我的酬客宴,”她几乎是大声说,“不过,我深信,只是因为您与我可怜的亡夫友情非同一般,才促使您履行了自己的诺言。”
之后,她又一次骄傲而尊严地扫视了一下自己的客人们,突然特别关切地隔着桌子高声问那个耳聋的小老头儿:“要不要再来点儿烤肉?请他喝过里斯本葡萄酒没有?”小老头儿没有回答,好久也不明白,人家在问他什么,尽管他的邻座为了取笑,甚至推了推他。他只是张着嘴朝四下里看了看,这就更让大家感到好笑了。
“瞧,多傻的一个傻瓜!您瞧,您瞧!请他来作什么?至于彼得·彼特罗维奇,我对他是永远相信的,”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜继续对拉斯科利尼科夫说,“他当然不像……”她神情特别严峻、毫不客气地对阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜说,甚至使她感到有些害怕了,“不像您那些穿得特别惹人注目、裙子拖在地上的女人,我爸爸家里都不会让这样的女人去作厨娘,我的亡夫当然会赏她们个脸,接待她们,可那也只不过是因为他心肠太好,他的好心是无限的。”
“不错,他爱喝酒;喜欢这玩意儿,经常喝!”那个退役的军需官突然高声叫喊,说着喝干了第十二杯伏特加。
“亡夫确实有这个嗜好,这大家都知道,”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜突然一下子盯住了他,“可他是一个心地善良,而且高尚的人,爱自己的家,也尊敬自己的家;只有一样不好,由于心肠好,他太相信形形色色腐化堕落的人了,天知道他跟谁没在一道喝过酒啊,就连那些还抵不上他一个鞋掌的家伙,也和他在一道灌过黄汤!您信不信,罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇,在他口袋里找到过公鸡形状的蜜糖饼干,醉得像个死人,可是还惦记着孩子们。”
“公—鸡?您说:公—鸡?”那个军需官先生大声喊。
卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜根本没答理他。她不知想起了什么,叹了口气。
“您大概和大家一样,认为我对他太严厉了,”她转过脸来对着拉斯科利尼科夫,接着说下去。“其实不是这样!他尊敬我,他非常,非常尊敬我!是个好心肠的人!有时觉得那么可怜他!他常常坐在角落里望着我,我觉得他那么可怜,真想跟他亲热一下,可是后来又暗自想:‘对他亲热了,他就又要去喝酒了’,只有对他严厉些,才能多少管得住他。”
“是啊,常常揪他的头发,揪过不止一次了,”又是那个军需官打断了她,又灌下了一杯伏特加。
“不仅揪头发,就是用笤帚来对付某些傻瓜,也挺有好处。现在我说的不是我的亡夫!”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜很不客气地对那个军需官说。
她脸上的红晕越来越红了,胸部也一起一伏。再过一会儿,她就要跟人吵架了。许多人在嘿嘿地笑,看得出来,许多人觉得这很有意思。有人开始怂恿军需官,不知在悄悄地跟他说什么。显然是想挑动他们吵架。
“请——请——问,您说这话是什么意思,”军需官说,“也就是说,您指的……是谁……您刚刚说的话是……不过,用不着说了!胡说八道!寡妇!遗孀!我原谅您……我不计较!”他又干了一杯伏特加。
拉斯科利尼科夫坐在那儿,带着厌恶的心情默默地听着。只是出于礼貌,他才多少吃一点儿卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜不断放到他盘子里的菜肴,这也只不过是为了她不致见怪。他凝神注视着索尼娅。但索尼娅越来越忧虑,越来越担心了;她也预感到酬客宴不会平安无事地结束,惊恐地观察着卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜越来越恼怒的神情。同时她也知道,那母女两个所以那样蔑视卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的邀请,主要原因就是她,索尼娅。她曾经听到阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜亲口说,那位母亲甚至认为,邀请她们是对她们的侮辱,还问“她怎么能让自己的女儿和这个女人坐在一起?”索尼娅预感到,对这一点,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜已经多多少少听说了,而侮辱她,侮辱索尼娅,对于卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜来说,这比侮辱她本人,侮辱她的孩子,侮辱她的爸爸还要严重,总之,是极大的侮辱,索尼娅也知道,在卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜“还没能让那两个裙子拖在地上的女人知道,她们俩是……”以及如此等等之前,现在她是决不会安静下来了。好像故意为难似的,有人从桌子的另一头给索尼娅传来一个盘子,盘子里放着用黑面包做的两颗心,还有一支箭穿透了这两颗心。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜脸涨得血红,立刻隔着桌子高声说,传递这个盘子的人当然是“一头喝醉的蠢驴”。阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜也预感到要出什么乱子,同时卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的高傲态度又使她深深感到受了侮辱,为了缓和一下紧张气氛,让大家忘掉不愉快的事情,顺带也在大家心目中抬高自己的身价,突然无缘无故地说,她有个熟人,“药房里的卡尔”,一天夜里,他坐了一辆马车,“马车夫想要杀西(死)他,卡尔颗颗(苦苦)哀求,求他不要杀西(死)他,痛哭流去(涕),束手待劈(毙),怕得要命,吓得他的心都好像给穿瘦(透)了”。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜虽然也笑了笑,可是立刻说,阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜不该用俄语讲笑话。阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜心里更不痛快了,反驳说,她的“法特尔·阿乌斯·柏林①,是个非常、非常重要的人,走路的时候总是双手摸进(插在)口袋里”。爱笑的卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜忍不住哈哈大笑起来,这样一来阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜已经大为恼火,只是还勉强克制着。
--------
"Listen to the owl!" Katerina Ivanovna whispered at once, her good- humour almost restored, "she meant to say he kept his hands in his pockets, but she said he put his hands in people's pockets. (Cough- cough.) And have you noticed, Rodion Romanovitch, that all these Petersburg foreigners, the Germans especially, are all stupider than we! Can you fancy anyone of us telling how 'Karl from the chemist's' 'pierced his heart from fear' and that the idiot, instead of punishing the cabman, 'clasped his hands and wept, and much begged.' Ah, the fool! And you know she fancies it's very touching and does not suspect how stupid she is! To my thinking that drunken commissariat clerk is a great deal cleverer, anyway one can see that he has addled his brains with drink, but you know, these foreigners are always so well behaved and serious. . . . Look how she sits glaring! She is angry, ha-ha! (Cough-cough-cough.)"
Regaining her good-humour, Katerina Ivanovna began at once telling Raskolnikov that when she had obtained her pension, she intended to open a school for the daughters of gentlemen in her native town T----. This was the first time she had spoken to him of the project, and she launched out into the most alluring details. It suddenly appeared that Katerina Ivanovna had in her hands the very certificate of honour of which Marmeladov had spoken to Raskolnikov in the tavern, when he told him that Katerina Ivanovna, his wife, had danced the shawl dance before the governor and other great personages on leaving school. This certificate of honour was obviously intended now to prove Katerina Ivanovna's right to open a boarding-school; but she had armed herself with it chiefly with the object of overwhelming "those two stuck-up draggletails" if they came to the dinner, and proving incontestably that Katerina Ivanovna was of the most noble, "she might even say aristocratic family, a colonel's daughter and was far superior to certain adventuresses who have been so much to the fore of late." The certificate of honour immediately passed into the hands of the drunken guests, and Katerina Ivanovna did not try to retain it, for it actually contained the statement /en toutes lettres/, that her father was of the rank of a major, and also a companion of an order, so that she really was almost the daughter of a colonel.
Warming up, Katerina Ivanovna proceeded to enlarge on the peaceful and happy life they would lead in T----, on the gymnasium teachers whom she would engage to give lessons in her boarding-school, one a most respectable old Frenchman, one Mangot, who had taught Katerina Ivanovna herself in old days and was still living in T----, and would no doubt teach in her school on moderate terms. Next she spoke of Sonia who would go with her to T---- and help her in all her plans. At this someone at the further end of the table gave a sudden guffaw.
Though Katerina Ivanovna tried to appear to be disdainfully unaware of it, she raised her voice and began at once speaking with conviction of Sonia's undoubted ability to assist her, of "her gentleness, patience, devotion, generosity and good education," tapping Sonia on the cheek and kissing her warmly twice. Sonia flushed crimson, and Katerina Ivanovna suddenly burst into tears, immediately observing that she was "nervous and silly, that she was too much upset, that it was time to finish, and as the dinner was over, it was time to hand round the tea."
At that moment, Amalia Ivanovna, deeply aggrieved at taking no part in the conversation, and not being listened to, made one last effort, and with secret misgivings ventured on an exceedingly deep and weighty observation, that "in the future boarding-school she would have to pay particular attention to /die Wasche/, and that there certainly must be a good /dame/ to look after the linen, and secondly that the young ladies must not novels at night read."
Katerina Ivanovna, who certainly was upset and very tired, as well as heartily sick of the dinner, at once cut short Amalia Ivanovna, saying "she knew nothing about it and was talking nonsense, that it was the business of the laundry maid, and not of the directress of a high- class boarding-school to look after /die Wasche/, and as for novel- reading, that was simply rudeness, and she begged her to be silent." Amalia Ivanovna fired up and getting angry observed that she only "meant her good," and that "she had meant her very good," and that "it was long since she had paid her /gold/ for the lodgings."
Katerina Ivanovna at once "set her down," saying that it was a lie to say she wished her good, because only yesterday when her dead husband was lying on the table, she had worried her about the lodgings. To this Amalia Ivanovna very appropriately observed that she had invited those ladies, but "those ladies had not come, because those ladies /are/ ladies and cannot come to a lady who is not a lady." Katerina Ivanovna at once pointed out to her, that as she was a slut she could not judge what made one really a lady. Amalia Ivanovna at once declared that her "/Vater aus Berlin/ was a very, very important man, and both hands in pockets went, and always used to say: 'Poof! poof!'" and she leapt up from the table to represent her father, sticking her hands in her pockets, puffing her cheeks, and uttering vague sounds resembling "poof! poof!" amid loud laughter from all the lodgers, who purposely encouraged Amalia Ivanovna, hoping for a fight.
But this was too much for Katerina Ivanovna, and she at once declared, so that all could hear, that Amalia Ivanovna probably never had a father, but was simply a drunken Petersburg Finn, and had certainly once been a cook and probably something worse. Amalia Ivanovna turned as red as a lobster and squealed that perhaps Katerina Ivanovna never had a father, "but she had a /Vater aus Berlin/ and that he wore a long coat and always said poof-poof-poof!"
Katerina Ivanovna observed contemptuously that all knew what her family was and that on that very certificate of honour it was stated in print that her father was a colonel, while Amalia Ivanovna's father--if she really had one--was probably some Finnish milkman, but that probably she never had a father at all, since it was still uncertain whether her name was Amalia Ivanovna or Amalia Ludwigovna.
At this Amalia Ivanovna, lashed to fury, struck the table with her fist, and shrieked that she was Amalia Ivanovna, and not Ludwigovna, "that her /Vater/ was named Johann and that he was a burgomeister, and that Katerina Ivanovna's /Vater/ was quite never a burgomeister." Katerina Ivanovna rose from her chair, and with a stern and apparently calm voice (though she was pale and her chest was heaving) observed that "if she dared for one moment to set her contemptible wretch of a father on a level with her papa, she, Katerina Ivanovna, would tear her cap off her head and trample it under foot." Amalia Ivanovna ran about the room, shouting at the top of her voice, that she was mistress of the house and that Katerina Ivanovna should leave the lodgings that minute; then she rushed for some reason to collect the silver spoons from the table. There was a great outcry and uproar, the children began crying. Sonia ran to restrain Katerina Ivanovna, but when Amalia Ivanovna shouted something about "the yellow ticket," Katerina Ivanovna pushed Sonia away, and rushed at the landlady to carry out her threat.
At that minute the door opened, and Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin appeared on the threshold. He stood scanning the party with severe and vigilant eyes. Katerina Ivanovna rushed to him.
①德文,“父亲是柏林人”之意。
“瞧,这只猫头鹰!”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜几乎快乐起来,立刻又对拉斯科利尼科夫低声说,“她想说:双手插在口袋里,可是说成了他常摸别人的口袋,咳——咳!您发觉吗,罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇,从这个故事就可以彻底看出,所有这些住在彼得堡的外国人,主要是那些不知从什么地方来到我们这儿的德国人,全都比我们蠢!您同意吗,难道能说这种话:‘药房里的卡尔吓得心都好像给穿透了’,还说,他(饭桶!)不是把那个马车夫捆起来,却‘束手待毙,痛哭流涕,苦苦哀求’。唉,这个傻女人!她以为这样说很感动人,却没想到,这样显得她多么愚蠢!依我看,这个喝醉了的军需官比她聪明得多;至少可以看出,他是个酒鬼,醉得丧失了理智,可这些德国人神情全都那么庄重,那么严肃……瞧,她坐在那儿,眼睛瞪得老大。她生气了!生气了!哈——哈——
哈!咳——咳——咳!”
卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜快活起来了,立刻沉醉于种种幻想之中,而且想到许多详情细节,突然说,等她领到抚恤金,一定要在自己的故乡T城办一所贵族女子寄宿中学。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜本人还没有把这个想法告诉过拉斯利尼科夫,她立刻为那些诱人的细节而神往了。不知怎么,她手里忽然出现了一张“奖状”,就是已故的马尔梅拉多夫在小酒馆里跟拉斯科利尼科夫提到过的那张奖状,当时他说,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,他的妻子,从高等学校毕业的时候,“在省长和其他名流面前”跳过披巾舞。这张奖状现在显然应该成为一个证据,证明卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜有权开办寄宿中学;但主要目的还是为了让“那两个穿得特别惹人注意、裙子拖到地上的女人”见识见识,彻底打掉她们的傲气,如果她们来参加酬客宴的话,而且要明确地向她们证明,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜出身于最高贵的,“甚至可以说是贵族的家庭,是上校的女儿,肯定比某些女冒险家要高贵些,而最近却出现了那么多这样的女冒险家”。奖状立刻在醉醺醺的客人们手里传递起来,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜并不阻止他们这样做,因为这张奖状的确entouteslettres①说明,她是获得过勋章的七等文官的女儿,因而实际上差不多也就是上校的女儿了。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜兴奋起来,立刻详尽地描绘将来在T城的美好、平静的生活;谈到了她聘请来在她那所中学教课的教师,说是有一位可敬的老人,是个姓曼戈的法国人,在女子高等学校里,就教过卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜法语,现在他还在T城安度晚年,只要多少给他一点儿薪水,他准会到她的中学里去教书。最后还谈到了索尼娅,说“她要和卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜一同去T城,帮助她料理一切”。但这时桌子的那一头突然有人噗嗤一声笑了出来。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜虽然竭力立刻装作毫不在乎的样子,轻蔑地不去理睬桌子那头发出的笑声,可是又立刻提高声音,兴奋地说,索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜无疑有能力作她的助手,说索尼娅“性情温和,有耐心,有自我牺牲精神,高尚,而且很有教养”,说着,还爱抚地拍拍索尼娅的脸蛋儿,欠起身来,热情地吻了她两下。索尼娅脸红了,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜却突然放声大哭起来,可是又立刻自言自语地说,她“是个神经脆弱的傻女人,而且太伤心了,酬客宴也该结束了,因为菜已经上完,该送茶来了”。这场谈话,阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜完全插不上嘴,而且别人根本就不听她说话,因此她觉得难过极了,所以就在这个时候,她突然冒险作最后一次尝试,怀着忧虑的心情大胆向卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜提了一个很有道理、而且意义深刻的意见,说是在她要办的那所寄宿中学里,需要特别注意女孩子们内衣(迪·韦舍)②的清洁,而且“一定需要有这样一位能干的太太(迪·达梅)③,让她好好地照管内衣”,其次,“得让所有年轻的女孩子夜里都安安静静,别看小说”。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜当真十分伤心,而且也很累了,酬客宴已经让她感到厌烦透了,所以她立刻“很不客气地打断了”阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜的话,说她“胡说八道”,什么也不懂;说关心迪·韦舍是女管理员的事,而不是贵族女子中学校长的事;至于看小说,说这种话甚至简直不成体统,请她免开尊口。阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜涨红了脸,怒不可遏,说,她不过是出于“一片好心”,她“完全出于善意,她的心大大的好”,还说,“租房子的格利德④已经很久很久没给了”。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜立刻让她“住嘴”,说,她说什么“出于好心”,那是撒谎,因为还在昨天,死者还停放在桌子上的时候,她就为了房子在折磨她了。对这些责难,阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜满有道理地反驳说,她去“邀请那位太太和她的小姐,可是她们不肯来,因为她们是高贵的太太和小姐,不能到不高贵的太太这儿来”。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜立刻向她“着重指出”,因为她自己是个邋里邋遢的人,所以她不能判断什么是真正的高贵。阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜不能忍受这种侮辱,立刻宣称:“我的法特尔·阿乌斯·柏林,是个非常、非常重要的人,走路的时候双手总是摸进(插在)口袋里,嘴里一直在说:呸!呸!”为了逼真地模仿自己的法特尔,阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜从椅子上霍地站了起来,把两只手插在衣袋里,鼓起腮帮,嘴里发出一些含糊不清的声音,好像是在说“呸——呸”,所有房客们都高声大笑,预感到就要打起来了,故意对阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜表示赞许,给她打气。但是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜已经感到忍无可忍,立刻“一字一顿、清清楚楚地”高声说,阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜也许从来就没有法特尔,她只不过是一个住在彼得堡的、喝得醉醺醺的芬兰女人,大概以前是在什么地方当厨娘,说不定比这还要卑贱。阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜脸红得像煮熟了的虾,尖声叫喊起来,说,也许卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜“根本就没有法特尔;她却有一个法特尔·阿乌斯·柏林,他穿着很长的常礼服,一直在说:呸,呸,呸!”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜轻蔑地说,她的出身是大家都知道的,这张奖状上就用铅字印着,她的父亲是位上校;可阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜的父亲(如果她真有个什么父亲的话),大概是个在彼得堡卖牛奶的芬兰人;最有可能的是,她根本就没有父亲,因为直到现在还弄不清楚,阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜的父名是什么:是伊万诺芙娜呢,还是柳德维戈芙娜?这时阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜气得发狂了,用拳头捶着桌子,尖声叫喊,说她是阿玛莉—伊万,不是柳德维戈芙娜,说她的法特尔“叫约翰,当过市长”,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的法特尔却“从来也没当过市长”。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜从椅子上站了起来,用听起来相当平静的声音(可是脸色发白,胸部剧烈地一起一伏)严厉地对她说,如果她胆敢,哪怕敢再说一次,“把自己那个坏蛋父亲跟她的爸爸相提并论,那么她,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜就要扯下她的包发帽,把它踩个稀烂”。一听到这些话,阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜立刻在屋里奔跑起来,还拼命叫喊,说她是房东,叫卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜“马上从这所房子里搬出去”;随后又不知为了什么扑过去从桌子上收起那些银汤匙。吵闹声、叫喊声、哄笑声乱成一片;孩子们哭起来了。索尼娅急忙过来拉住卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜;可是当阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜突然高声叫嚷,提到什么黄色执照的时候,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜一下子推开了索尼娅,冲到阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜跟前,想立刻把扯下她包发帽的威胁付诸实现。就在这个时候,房门开了,彼得·彼特罗维奇突然出现在门口。他站在那里,用严厉而十分注意的目光扫视了一下这一伙人。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜急忙向他跑去。
--------
①法文,“充分”之意。
②德文,“内衣”之意。
③德文,“太太”之意。
④德文,“钱”之意。


峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 43楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第三章
"Pyotr Petrovitch," she cried, "protect me . . . you at least! Make this foolish woman understand that she can't behave like this to a lady in misfortune . . . that there is a law for such things. . . . I'll go to the governor-general himself. . . . She shall answer for it. . . . Remembering my father's hospitality protect these orphans."
"Allow me, madam. . . . Allow me." Pyotr Petrovitch waved her off. "Your papa as you are well aware I had not the honour of knowing" (someone laughed aloud) "and I do not intend to take part in your everlasting squabbles with Amalia Ivanovna. . . . I have come here to speak of my own affairs . . . and I want to have a word with your stepdaughter, Sofya . . . Ivanovna, I think it is? Allow me to pass."
Pyotr Petrovitch, edging by her, went to the opposite corner where Sonia was.
Katerina Ivanovna remained standing where she was, as though thunderstruck. She could not understand how Pyotr Petrovitch could deny having enjoyed her father's hospitility. Though she had invented it herself, she believed in it firmly by this time. She was struck too by the businesslike, dry and even contemptuous menacing tone of Pyotr Petrovitch. All the clamour gradually died away at his entrance. Not only was this "serious business man" strikingly incongruous with the rest of the party, but it was evident, too, that he had come upon some matter of consequence, that some exceptional cause must have brought him and that therefore something was going to happen. Raskolnikov, standing beside Sonia, moved aside to let him pass; Pyotr Petrovitch did not seem to notice him. A minute later Lebeziatnikov, too, appeared in the doorway; he did not come in, but stood still, listening with marked interest, almost wonder, and seemed for a time perplexed.
"Excuse me for possibly interrupting you, but it's a matter of some importance," Pyotr Petrovitch observed, addressing the company generally. "I am glad indeed to find other persons present. Amalia Ivanovna, I humbly beg you as mistress of the house to pay careful attention to what I have to say to Sofya Ivanovna. Sofya Ivanovna," he went on, addressing Sonia, who was very much surprised and already alarmed, "immediately after your visit I found that a hundred-rouble note was missing from my table, in the room of my friend Mr. Lebeziatnikov. If in any way whatever you know and will tell us where it is now, I assure you on my word of honour and call all present to witness that the matter shall end there. In the opposite case I shall be compelled to have recourse to very serious measures and then . . . you must blame yourself."
Complete silence reigned in the room. Even the crying children were still. Sonia stood deadly pale, staring at Luzhin and unable to say a word. She seemed not to understand. Some seconds passed.
"Well, how is it to be then?" asked Luzhin, looking intently at her.
"I don't know. . . . I know nothing about it," Sonia articulated faintly at last.
"No, you know nothing?" Luzhin repeated and again he paused for some seconds. "Think a moment, mademoiselle," he began severely, but still, as it were, admonishing her. "Reflect, I am prepared to give you time for consideration. Kindly observe this: if I were not so entirely convinced I should not, you may be sure, with my experience venture to accuse you so directly. Seeing that for such direct accusation before witnesses, if false or even mistaken, I should myself in a certain sense be made responsible, I am aware of that. This morning I changed for my own purposes several five-per-cent securities for the sum of approximately three thousand roubles. The account is noted down in my pocket-book. On my return home I proceeded to count the money--as Mr. Lebeziatnikov will bear witness--and after counting two thousand three hundred roubles I put the rest in my pocket-book in my coat pocket. About five hundred roubles remained on the table and among them three notes of a hundred roubles each. At that moment you entered (at my invitation)--and all the time you were present you were exceedingly embarrassed; so that three times you jumped up in the middle of the conversation and tried to make off. Mr. Lebeziatnikov can bear witness to this. You yourself, mademoiselle, probably will not refuse to confirm my statement that I invited you through Mr. Lebeziatnikov, solely in order to discuss with you the hopeless and destitute position of your relative, Katerina Ivanovna (whose dinner I was unable to attend), and the advisability of getting up something of the nature of a subscription, lottery or the like, for her benefit. You thanked me and even shed tears. I describe all this as it took place, primarily to recall it to your mind and secondly to show you that not the slightest detail has escaped my recollection. Then I took a ten- rouble note from the table and handed it to you by way of first instalment on my part for the benefit of your relative. Mr. Lebeziatnikov saw all this. Then I accompanied you to the door--you being still in the same state of embarrassment--after which, being left alone with Mr. Lebeziatnikov I talked to him for ten minutes-- then Mr. Lebeziatnikov went out and I returned to the table with the money lying on it, intending to count it and to put it aside, as I proposed doing before. To my surprise one hundred-rouble note had disappeared. Kindly consider the position. Mr. Lebeziatnikov I cannot suspect. I am ashamed to allude to such a supposition. I cannot have made a mistake in my reckoning, for the minute before your entrance I had finished my accounts and found the total correct. You will admit that recollecting your embarrassment, your eagerness to get away and the fact that you kept your hands for some time on the table, and taking into consideration your social position and the habits associated with it, I was, so to say, with horror and positively against my will, /compelled/ to entertain a suspicion--a cruel, but justifiable suspicion! I will add further and repeat that in spite of my positive conviction, I realise that I run a certain risk in making this accusation, but as you see, I could not let it pass. I have taken action and I will tell you why: solely, madam, solely, owing to your black ingratitude! Why! I invite you for the benefit of your destitute relative, I present you with my donation of ten roubles and you, on the spot, repay me for all that with such an action. It is too bad! You need a lesson. Reflect! Moreover, like a true friend I beg you-- and you could have no better friend at this moment--think what you are doing, otherwise I shall be immovable! Well, what do you say?"
"I have taken nothing," Sonia whispered in terror, "you gave me ten roubles, here it is, take it."
Sonia pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket, untied a corner of it, took out the ten-rouble note and gave it to Luzhin.
"And the hundred roubles you do not confess to taking?" he insisted reproachfully, not taking the note.
Sonia looked about her. All were looking at her with such awful, stern, ironical, hostile eyes. She looked at Raskolnikov . . . he stood against the wall, with his arms crossed, looking at her with glowing eyes.
"Good God!" broke from Sonia.
"Amalia Ivanovna, we shall have to send word to the police and therefore I humbly beg you meanwhile to send for the house porter," Luzhin said softly and even kindly.
"/Gott der Barmherzige/! I knew she was the thief," cried Amalia Ivanovna, throwing up her hands.
"You knew it?" Luzhin caught her up, "then I suppose you had some reason before this for thinking so. I beg you, worthy Amalia Ivanovna, to remember your words which have been uttered before witnesses."
There was a buzz of loud conversation on all sides. All were in movement.
"What!" cried Katerina Ivanovna, suddenly realising the position, and she rushed at Luzhin. "What! You accuse her of stealing? Sonia? Ah, the wretches, the wretches!"
And running to Sonia she flung her wasted arms round her and held her as in a vise.
"Sonia! how dared you take ten roubles from him? Foolish girl! Give it to me! Give me the ten roubles at once--here!
And snatching the note from Sonia, Katerina Ivanovna crumpled it up and flung it straight into Luzhin's face. It hit him in the eye and fell on the ground. Amalia Ivanovna hastened to pick it up. Pyotr Petrovitch lost his temper.
"Hold that mad woman!" he shouted.
At that moment several other persons, besides Lebeziatnikov, appeared in the doorway, among them the two ladies.
"What! Mad? Am I mad? Idiot!" shrieked Katerina Ivanovna. "You are an idiot yourself, pettifogging lawyer, base man! Sonia, Sonia take his money! Sonia a thief! Why, she'd give away her last penny!" and Katerina Ivanovna broke into hysterical laughter. "Did you ever see such an idiot?" she turned from side to side. "And you too?" she suddenly saw the landlady, "and you too, sausage eater, you declare that she is a thief, you trashy Prussian hen's leg in a crinoline! She hasn't been out of this room: she came straight from you, you wretch, and sat down beside me, everyone saw her. She sat here, by Rodion Romanovitch. Search her! Since she's not left the room, the money would have to be on her! Search her, search her! But if you don't find it, then excuse me, my dear fellow, you'll answer for it! I'll go to our Sovereign, to our Sovereign, to our gracious Tsar himself, and throw myself at his feet, to-day, this minute! I am alone in the world! They would let me in! Do you think they wouldn't? You're wrong, I will get in! I will get in! You reckoned on her meekness! You relied upon that! But I am not so submissive, let me tell you! You've gone too far yourself. Search her, search her!"
And Katerina Ivanovna in a frenzy shook Luzhin and dragged him towards Sonia.
"I am ready, I'll be responsible . . . but calm yourself, madam, calm yourself. I see that you are not so submissive! . . . Well, well, but as to that . . ." Luzhin muttered, "that ought to be before the police . . . though indeed there are witnesses enough as it is. . . . I am ready. . . . But in any case it's difficult for a man . . . on account of her sex. . . . But with the help of Amalia Ivanovna . . . though, of course, it's not the way to do things. . . . How is it to be done?"
“彼得·彼特罗维奇!”她大声喊,“您可要保护我们啊!请您告诉这个愚蠢的贱货,让她知道,可不能这样对待一个遭到不幸的高贵的太太,这可是犯法的……我要去见总督大人……她要负责……您可要记住先父对您的款待,保护我们这些孤儿。”
“对不起,太太……对不起,对不起,太太,”彼得·彼特罗维奇挥手躲开,“您也知道,我根本没有荣幸认识令尊……对不起,太太!(有人哈哈大笑起来)我也不想卷到您和阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜接连不断的争吵中去……我来是为了我自己的事情……想要立刻和您的继女索菲娅……伊万诺芙娜……好像是这样称呼吧?想要和她说说清楚。请让我进去……”
于是彼得·彼特罗维奇侧着身子绕过卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,往对面角落里走去,索尼娅就站在那里。
卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜一动不动地站在那里,仿佛五雷轰顶,一下子呆住了。她不能理解,彼得·彼特罗维奇怎么能否认曾经受过她爸爸的款待。既然她臆造了这种款待,自己对此已经深信不疑。彼得·彼特罗维奇那种打官腔似的、冷冰冰的、甚至充满轻蔑意味的威胁语气也使她大为震惊。然而他一出现,不知怎的大家都渐渐安静下来了。此外,这个“精明能干、神情严肃”的人与这儿的这伙人实在太不协调,他们之间的差别实在太显著了,不仅如此,而且可以看出,他到这里来是有什么很重要的事情,大概是有什么很不寻常的原因才使他来到这伙人中间,可见马上就会发生什么事情,一定会出事。站在索尼娅身旁的拉斯科利尼科夫走开了,让他过去;彼得·彼特罗维奇好像根本没看到他。过了一会儿,列别贾特尼科夫也在门口出现了;他没进屋里来,不过也怀着某种特殊的好奇心,几乎是带着惊讶的神情站到门口;他在留心倾听,不过好像好久都弄不明白,这是怎么回事。
“对不起,我也许打断了大家的谈话,不过我的事情相当重要,”彼得·彼特罗维奇说,似乎这话是对大家,而不是特别对某一个人说的,“大家都在这儿,对此我甚至感到高兴。阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜,我极诚恳地恳求您,以房东的身份,注意听着我和索菲娅·伊万诺芙娜下面的谈话。索菲娅·伊万诺芙娜,”他直接对异常惊讶、而且事先就已经感到害怕的索尼娅接着说,“在我的朋友安德烈·谢苗诺维奇·列别贾特尼科夫屋里,刚才您来过以后,我的一张一百卢布的钞票从我的桌子上不翼而飞了。如果您不论以任何方式知道它现在在什么地方,并且告诉我们,那么我以人格担保,并请大家作证,这件事情就算了结了。不然的话,我将不得不采取十分严厉的措施,到那时……就只能怨您自己了!”
屋里鸦雀无声,一片寂静。就连正在哭着的孩子们也住了声。索尼娅站在那里,脸色白得像死人一样,看着卢任,什么也不能回答。她似乎还没听懂。几秒钟过去了。
“嗯,那么怎么样?”卢任凝神注视着她,问。
“我不知道……我什么也不知道……”最后索尼娅用微弱的声音说。
“不知道?您不知道?”卢任追问,又沉默了几秒种。“您想想看,小姐,”他严厉地说,不过好像仍然是劝说的口吻,“好好考虑考虑,我同意再给您一些考虑的时间。您要明白,如果我不是这样深信不疑,当然,凭我的经验,我决不会冒险这样直截了当地归罪于您;因为像这样直截了当公开指控别人,然而是诬告,或者甚至只不过是弄错了,在某种意义上,我是要负责的。这一点我是知道的。因为需要,今天早上我把几张五厘债券兑换成现款,票面总额是三千卢布。这笔帐已经记在了我的皮夹子里。回家以后,——安德烈·谢苗诺维奇可以作证——我开始数钱,点出两千三百卢布,放进皮夹子里,又把皮夹子装到了常礼服侧面的口袋里。桌子上还剩下大约五百卢布现钞,其中有三张票面是一百卢布的。就在这时候,您来了(是我请您来的)——后来您在我那儿的这段时间里,一直很窘,谈话中间,您甚至曾三次站起来,不知为什么急于要走,尽管我们的谈话还没结束。对这一切安德烈·谢苗诺维奇都可以作证。小姐,您自己大概也不会否认,不能不说,我通过安德烈·谢苗诺维奇把您请去,唯一目的是为了和您谈谈您的亲属卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜孤苦伶仃、无依无靠的处境(我不能来她这里参加酬客宴),而且商量一下,看能不能做点儿什么对她有益的事情,譬如募捐、抽彩或者其他这一类的事情。您向我道谢,甚至落泪了(我把这些情况原原本本都说出来,第一,是为了提醒您,第二,是为了让您明白,就连最小的细节我也没有忘记)。随后我从桌子上拿了一张十卢布的钞票,以我个人的名义送给了您,作为对您亲属的第一次帮助。这一切安德烈·谢苗诺维奇都看见了。随后我把您送到了房门口,您一直还是那么窘,——在这以后,就只剩下了我和安德烈·谢苗诺维奇两个人,我和他谈了大约十来分钟,安德烈·谢苗诺维奇出去了,我又转身回到放着钞票的桌子跟前,想把钱点一点,照我早先打算的那样,把它们另外放着。使我大吃一惊的是,其中一张一百卢布的票子不见了。请您想想看:无论如何,对安德烈·谢苗诺维奇我是决不能怀疑的;就连作这样的猜测,我也感到可耻。我数错了,这也不可能;因为在您来以前一分钟,我点完以后,发觉总数是正确的。您自己也应该同意,我回想起您的窘态,回想起您急于要走,回想起您有一会儿曾经把双手都放在桌子上;而且考虑到您的社会地位,以及与这种地位有连带关系的习惯,我,可以说是惊恐地,甚至是违反自己的意志,不得不对您产生怀疑,——当然,这怀疑是无情的,不过也是公正的!我要补充一句,再说一遍,尽管我对此深信不疑,可是我也明白,我现在提出的指控,对我来说还是有某种冒险成分。不过。您可以看得出来,我不会就此罢休;我要追查到底,把事情弄个水落石出,而且我要告诉您,这是为了什么:小姐,唯一的原因就是您忘恩负义!怎么?我请您去,是为了您那位极端贫困的亲属的利益,我向您表示,愿意提供力所能及的帮助,周济您十个卢布,您却立刻以这样的行为来报答我!不,这太不像话了!必须给予教训。请您好好考虑考虑;而且,作为您真正的朋友,我请求您(因为在目前您不可能有更好的朋友了),好好想想吧!
不然的话,我可是铁面无情的!嗯,怎么样?”
“我什么也没拿您的,”索尼娅恐惧地低声说,“您给了我十个卢布,这就是的,您拿回去吧。”索尼娅从口袋里掏出一块小手帕,找到上面打的那个结,把它解开,取出那张十卢布的钞票,递给卢任。
“另外那一百卢布,您却不承认吗?”他责备地坚持说,没有收下这张钞票。
索尼娅朝四下里望了望。大家都在瞅着她,他们的脸都那么可怕,那么严厉,带着嘲讽和憎恨的神情。她朝拉斯科利尼科夫看了一眼,……他站在墙边,双手交叉,抱在胸前,目光炯炯,正在看着她。
“噢,上帝啊!”索尼娅突然喊了一声。
“阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜,应当报告警察,所以,我诚恳地恳求您,先打发人去把管院子的找来,”卢任轻轻地,甚至是温和地说。
“戈特·德尔·巴尔姆海尔齐格①!我本来就知道,她常偷东西!”阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜把双手一拍。
--------
①德文(Gottderbarmherzige)的音译,“仁慈的上帝”之意。
“您本来就知道吗?”卢任接过话茬说,“这么说,以前您就已经至少有某些根据可以作出这样的结论了。尊敬的阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜,请您记住您说过的话,其实,证人们也都听见了。”
突然四下里都高声议论起来。人们都骚动起来了。
“怎—么!”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜清醒了过来,突然大喊一声,好像失去自制,朝卢任猛扑过去,“怎么!您指控她偷窃?索尼娅偷钱?啊,你们这些卑鄙的家伙,卑鄙的家伙!”于是她跑到索尼娅跟前,用两条干瘦的手臂紧紧抱住索尼娅,就好像把她夹在老虎钳里。
“索尼娅!你怎么竟敢收下他的十个卢布!噢,傻丫头!
把钱拿来!立刻把这十个卢布拿来——这就是!”
卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜从索尼娅手里夺过那张钞票,攥在手里,把它揉作一团,一挥手,对准卢任的脸用力扔了过去。纸团正打中眼睛,弹开,掉到了地板上。阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜赶紧跑过去把钱拾起来。彼得·彼特罗维奇勃然大怒。
“请大家拦住这个疯女人!”他大声叫喊。
这时房门口列别贾特尼科夫身旁又出现了几个人,从外地来的那母女两个也在他们当中往屋里张望。
“怎么!疯女人?我是疯女人?傻—瓜!”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜尖声叫喊。“你自己是个傻瓜,讼棍,卑鄙的小人!索尼娅,索尼娅会拿他的钱!索尼娅会是个贼!哼,她还会揍你呢,傻瓜!”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜歇斯底里地哈哈大笑起来。“你们看到过傻瓜吗?”她一会儿跑到这边,一会儿跑到那边,指着卢任,让大家看看他。“怎么!你也这么说吗?”她看到了女房东,“你这个卖香肠的,①你也学他的样,证明她‘偷东西’,你这个下流货,你这个穿钟式裙的普鲁士母鸡腿!啊,你们!啊,你们!她从你这个卑鄙的家伙那一回来,就立刻坐到罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇身边,再没从这间屋里出去过!……你们搜搜她身上好了!既然她哪里也没去过,可见钱应该在她身上!你搜吧,搜啊,搜啊!不过如果你搜不出来,那可就对不起了,亲爱的,你就得负责!我要去见皇上,去见皇上,去见仁慈的沙皇本人,我要扑到他的脚下,马上就去,今天就去!我可是个无依无靠的人啊!会让我进去的!你以为,不会让我进去吗?你胡说,我一定能进去!一定能进去!你认为她性情温顺,可以任人欺侮吗?你是指望这一点吗?可是我,老兄,我可是不好惹的!你失算了!你搜啊,搜啊,喂,搜啊!”
--------
①在彼得堡卖香肠的几乎都是德国人,所以骂德国人的时候,都管他们叫“卖香肠的”。
说着,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜发狂地去拉卢任,把他推到索尼娅跟前。
“我愿意负责……不过,请您安静下来,太太,请您安静下来!我看得太清楚了,您是不好惹的!……这……这……这该怎么办呢?”卢任喃喃地说。“这应该有警察在场……不过现在证人已经足够多了……我愿意……不过男人到底不方便……因为性别的关系……如果有阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜帮忙……不过还是不该这么做……这可怎么办呢?”
"As you will! Let anyone who likes search her!" cried Katerina Ivanovna. "Sonia, turn out your pockets! See! Look, monster, the pocket is empty, here was her handkerchief! Here is the other pocket, look! D'you see, d'you see?"
And Katerina Ivanovna turned--or rather snatched--both pockets inside out. But from the right pocket a piece of paper flew out and describing a parabola in the air fell at Luzhin's feet. Everyone saw it, several cried out. Pyotr Petrovitch stooped down, picked up the paper in two fingers, lifted it where all could see it and opened it. It was a hundred-rouble note folded in eight. Pyotr Petrovitch held up the note showing it to everyone.
"Thief! Out of my lodging. Police, police!" yelled Amalia Ivanovna. "They must to Siberia be sent! Away!"
Exclamations arose on all sides. Raskolnikov was silent, keeping his eyes fixed on Sonia, except for an occasional rapid glance at Luzhin. Sonia stood still, as though unconscious. She was hardly able to feel surprise. Suddenly the colour rushed to her cheeks; she uttered a cry and hid her face in her hands.
"No, it wasn't I! I didn't take it! I know nothing about it," she cried with a heartrending wail, and she ran to Katerina Ivanovna, who clasped her tightly in her arms, as though she would shelter her from all the world.
"Sonia! Sonia! I don't believe it! You see, I don't believe it!" she cried in the face of the obvious fact, swaying her to and fro in her arms like a baby, kissing her face continually, then snatching at her hands and kissing them, too, "you took it! How stupid these people are! Oh dear! You are fools, fools," she cried, addressing the whole room, "you don't know, you don't know what a heart she has, what a girl she is! She take it, she? She'd sell her last rag, she'd go barefoot to help you if you needed it, that's what she is! She has the yellow passport because my children were starving, she sold herself for us! Ah, husband, husband! Do you see? Do you see? What a memorial dinner for you! Merciful heavens! Defend her, why are you all standing still? Rodion Romanovitch, why don't you stand up for her? Do you believe it, too? You are not worth her little finger, all of you together! Good God! Defend her now, at least!"
The wail of the poor, consumptive, helpless woman seemed to produce a great effect on her audience. The agonised, wasted, consumptive face, the parched blood-stained lips, the hoarse voice, the tears unrestrained as a child's, the trustful, childish and yet despairing prayer for help were so piteous that everyone seemed to feel for her. Pyotr Petrovitch at any rate was at once moved to /compassion/.
"Madam, madam, this incident does not reflect upon you!" he cried impressively, "no one would take upon himself to accuse you of being an instigator or even an accomplice in it, especially as you have proved her guilt by turning out her pockets, showing that you had no previous idea of it. I am most ready, most ready to show compassion, if poverty, so to speak, drove Sofya Semyonovna to it, but why did you refuse to confess, mademoiselle? Were you afraid of the disgrace? The first step? You lost your head, perhaps? One can quite understand it. . . . But how could you have lowered yourself to such an action? Gentlemen," he addressed the whole company, "gentlemen! Compassionate and, so to say, commiserating these people, I am ready to overlook it even now in spite of the personal insult lavished upon me! And may this disgrace be a lesson to you for the future," he said, addressing Sonia, "and I will carry the matter no further. Enough!"
Pyotr Petrovitch stole a glance at Raskolnikov. Their eyes met, and the fire in Raskolnikov's seemed ready to reduce him to ashes. Meanwhile Katerina Ivanovna apparently heard nothing. She was kissing and hugging Sonia like a madwoman. The children, too, were embracing Sonia on all sides, and Polenka--though she did not fully understand what was wrong--was drowned in tears and shaking with sobs, as she hid her pretty little face, swollen with weeping, on Sonia's shoulder.
"How vile!" a loud voice cried suddenly in the doorway.
Pyotr Petrovitch looked round quickly.
"What vileness!" Lebeziatnikov repeated, staring him straight in the face.
Pyotr Petrovitch gave a positive start--all noticed it and recalled it afterwards. Lebeziatnikov strode into the room.
"And you dared to call me as witness?" he said, going up to Pyotr Petrovitch.
"What do you mean? What are you talking about?" muttered Luzhin.
"I mean that you . . . are a slanderer, that's what my words mean!" Lebeziatnikov said hotly, looking sternly at him with his short- sighted eyes.
He was extremely angry. Raskolnikov gazed intently at him, as though seizing and weighing each word. Again there was a silence. Pyotr Petrovitch indeed seemed almost dumbfounded for the first moment.
"If you mean that for me, . . ." he began, stammering. "But what's the matter with you? Are you out of your mind?"
"I'm in my mind, but you are a scoundrel! Ah, how vile! I have heard everything. I kept waiting on purpose to understand it, for I must own even now it is not quite logical. . . . What you have done it all for I can't understand."
"Why, what have I done then? Give over talking in your nonsensical riddles! Or maybe you are drunk!"
"You may be a drunkard, perhaps, vile man, but I am not! I never touch vodka, for it's against my convictions. Would you believe it, he, he himself, with his own hands gave Sofya Semyonovna that hundred-rouble note--I saw it, I was a witness, I'll take my oath! He did it, he!" repeated Lebeziatnikov, addressing all.
"Are you crazy, milksop?" squealed Luzhin. "She is herself before you --she herself here declared just now before everyone that I gave her only ten roubles. How could I have given it to her?"
"I saw it, I saw it," Lebeziatnikov repeated, "and though it is against my principles, I am ready this very minute to take any oath you like before the court, for I saw how you slipped it in her pocket. Only like a fool I thought you did it out of kindness! When you were saying good-bye to her at the door, while you held her hand in one hand, with the other, the left, you slipped the note into her pocket. I saw it, I saw it!"
Luzhin turned pale.
"What lies!" he cried impudently, "why, how could you, standing by the window, see the note? You fancied it with your short-sighted eyes. You are raving!"
"No, I didn't fancy it. And though I was standing some way off, I saw it all. And though it certainly would be hard to distinguish a note from the window--that's true--I knew for certain that it was a hundred-rouble note, because, when you were going to give Sofya Semyonovna ten roubles, you took up from the table a hundred-rouble note (I saw it because I was standing near then, and an idea struck me at once, so that I did not forget you had it in your hand). You folded it and kept it in your hand all the time. I didn't think of it again until, when you were getting up, you changed it from your right hand to your left and nearly dropped it! I noticed it because the same idea struck me again, that you meant to do her a kindness without my seeing. You can fancy how I watched you and I saw how you succeeded in slipping it into her pocket. I saw it, I saw it, I'll take my oath."
Lebeziatnikov was almost breathless. Exclamations arose on all hands chiefly expressive of wonder, but some were menacing in tone. They all crowded round Pyotr Petrovitch. Katerina Ivanovna flew to Lebeziatnikov.
"I was mistaken in you! Protect her! You are the only one to take her part! She is an orphan. God has sent you!"
Katerina Ivanovna, hardly knowing what she was doing, sank on her knees before him.
"A pack of nonsense!" yelled Luzhin, roused to fury, "it's all nonsense you've been talking! 'An idea struck you, you didn't think, you noticed'--what does it amount to? So I gave it to her on the sly on purpose? What for? With what object? What have I to do with this . . .?"
"What for? That's what I can't understand, but that what I am telling you is the fact, that's certain! So far from my being mistaken, you infamous criminal man, I remember how, on account of it, a question occurred to me at once, just when I was thanking you and pressing your hand. What made you put it secretly in her pocket? Why you did it secretly, I mean? Could it be simply to conceal it from me, knowing that my convictions are opposed to yours and that I do not approve of private benevolence, which effects no radical cure? Well, I decided that you really were ashamed of giving such a large sum before me. Perhaps, too, I thought, he wants to give her a surprise, when she finds a whole hundred-rouble note in her pocket. (For I know, some benevolent people are very fond of decking out their charitable actions in that way.) Then the idea struck me, too, that you wanted to test her, to see whether, when she found it, she would come to thank you. Then, too, that you wanted to avoid thanks and that, as the saying is, your right hand should not know . . . something of that sort, in fact. I thought of so many possibilities that I put off considering it, but still thought it indelicate to show you that I knew your secret. But another idea struck me again that Sofya Semyonovna might easily lose the money before she noticed it, that was why I decided to come in here to call her out of the room and to tell her that you put a hundred roubles in her pocket. But on my way I went first to Madame Kobilatnikov's to take them the 'General Treatise on the Positive Method' and especially to recommend Piderit's article (and also Wagner's); then I come on here and what a state of things I find! Now could I, could I, have all these ideas and reflections if I had not seen you put the hundred-rouble note in her pocket?"
When Lebeziatnikov finished his long-winded harangue with the logical deduction at the end, he was quite tired, and the perspiration streamed from his face. He could not, alas, even express himself correctly in Russian, though he knew no other language, so that he was quite exhausted, almost emaciated after this heroic exploit. But his speech produced a powerful effect. He had spoken with such vehemence, with such conviction that everyone obviously believed him. Pyotr Petrovitch felt that things were going badly with him.
“随便什么人!谁愿意,就让谁来搜!”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜高声叫喊,“索尼娅,把口袋儿翻过来让他们看看!看哪,看哪!你瞧,恶棍,口袋儿是空的,这儿有块小手帕,口袋儿是空的,看到了吧!这是另一个口袋儿,看吧,看吧!看到了吧!看到了吧!”
与其说卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜是把口袋儿翻过来的,不如说她是一个接着一个,把两个口袋儿全都拉了出来,但是从第二个,也就是右边的口袋儿里突然跳出一张钞票,在空中画了一条抛物线,掉到了卢任的脚边。这情景大家都看到了;许多人惊叫了一声。彼得·彼特罗维奇弯下腰,用两个手指从地板上拾起这张钞票,举起来让大家看看,然后把它打开了。这是一张折作八层的一百卢布的钞票。彼得·彼特罗维奇用手举着钞票,向四周转了一圈,让大家看看这张票子。
“小偷儿!从这儿滚出去!警察,警察!”阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜高声喊叫起来,“得把她们流放到西伯利亚去!滚!”
四面八方飞来一片惊呼声。拉斯科利尼科夫一声不响,一直目不转睛地看着索尼娅,偶尔,然而是很快地把目光转向卢任。索尼娅仍然失魂落魄似地在原地站着:她甚至几乎不感到惊讶。突然她满脸绯红;惊叫一声,用双手捂住了脸。
“不,这不是我!我没拿!我不知道!”她用裂人心肺的声音惊呼,扑到卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜身边。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜一把抱住她,把她紧紧搂在胸前,像似想用自己的胸膛保护她,不让别人欺侮她。
“索尼娅!索尼娅!我不信!你要知道,我不相信!”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜大声喊(尽管事情是如此明显),抱着她,像摇小孩儿那样摇她,没完没了地吻她,抓住她的双手,拚命地狂吻。“说你偷钱!这是多蠢的蠢人!噢,上帝啊!你们是愚蠢的,愚蠢的,”她对所有的人叫喊,“你们还不知道,不知道她有一颗多好的心,不知道她是一个多好的姑娘!她会偷钱,她!可她会把自己最后一件连衫裙脱下来,光着脚去把它卖掉,把钱送给你们,如果你们需要的话,她就是这样的一个人!因为我的孩子挨饿,她甚至去领了黄色执照,为了我们出卖了自己!……唉,死鬼呀,死鬼!唉,死鬼呀,死鬼!你看到了吗?看到了吗?这就是给你办的酬客宴!上帝啊!您要保护她呀,您为什么一直站着!罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇!您为什么不为她辩护?莫非您也相信了不成?你们都抵不上她的一个小指头,你们大家,大家,大家,所有的人!上帝啊!您可要保护她呀!”
可怜的、害肺病的、孤苦伶仃的卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的哭声似乎深深感动了所有在场的人。在这张因为痛苦而变得很难看的、害肺病的憔悴的脸上,在这两片干裂而且凝结着血迹的嘴唇上,在这嘶哑的叫喊中,在这好似孩子啼哭的、抽噎的哭声里,在这像孩子样轻信、同时又充满绝望、寻求保护的哀告中,可以看出,可以听出,她是多么不幸,多么痛苦,似乎大家对这个可怜的妇人都产生了怜悯之心。至少彼得·彼特罗维奇立刻表示怜悯了。
“太太!太太!”他用给人留下深刻印象的声音高声说,“这事与您无关!谁也不会指控您是教唆者和同谋者,何况罪证还是您发现的,是您把口袋翻了过来:可见您毫不知情。我非常、非常惋惜,如果,可以这么说吧,如果是贫穷促使索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜这样做的,不过,小姐,您为什么不肯承认呢?害怕羞辱吗?是第一次干这种事?也许是不知所措了?这是当然的,完全可以理解……然而,为什么要干这种事呢!先生们!”他对所有在场的人们说,“先生们!我可怜她,而且,可以这么说吧,深深同情她,大概,我也愿意宽恕她,就连现在也愿宽恕她,尽管我个人受到了侮辱。小姐,但愿现在的耻辱能成为您今后的教训,”他对索尼娅说,“我不再追究了,事情就这样完了,结束了。够了!”
彼得·彼特罗维奇斜着眼睛看了看拉斯科利尼科夫。他们的目光碰到了一起。拉斯科利尼科夫燃烧着怒火的目光似乎要把他烧成灰烬。然而卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜好像再没有听到什么:她发疯似地抱着索尼娅,吻她。孩子们也用自己的小手从四面抱住索尼娅,看来波列奇卡还不完全懂得这是怎么回事,却泪痕满面、抽抽搭搭地哭着,把她那哭肿了的、很好看的小脸俯在索尼娅的肩上。
“这是多么卑鄙!”突然门口传来一声响亮的呼喊。
彼得·彼特罗维奇很快回头一看。
“多么卑鄙!”列别贾特尼科夫又说了一遍,凝神注视着他的眼睛。
彼得·彼特罗维奇甚至好像颤抖了一下。大家都看到了。(后来大家都记起了这一点。)列别贾特尼科夫一步走进屋里。
“您竟敢让我作证吗?”他走到彼得·彼特罗维奇跟前,说。
“这是什么意思,安德烈·谢苗诺维奇?您说的是什么?”
卢任含糊不清地说。
“这意思就是,您……是诬陷者,这就是我的话的意思!”列别贾特尼科夫激动地说,用他那双近视眼严厉地瞅着他。列别贾特尼科夫极为气愤。拉斯科利尼科夫一直拿眼睛盯着他,仿佛立刻理解了他的意思,并且在掂量着他说的每一句话。又是一阵沉默。彼得·彼特罗维奇甚至几乎惊慌失措了,特别是在最初一瞬间。
“如果您这是对我说话……”他结结巴巴地说,“您这是怎么了?您精神正常吗?”
“我精神倒是正常的,您却未必……骗子!啊,这多卑鄙!我一直在听着,我故意等着,为的是把一切都弄明白,因为,老实说,就是到现在,这件事也还不完全合乎逻辑……可是您为什么要这样做呢——我不明白。”
“可我做什么了!您别再胡说八道,莫名其妙地只作暗示了!还是您喝醉了呢?”
“是您,这个卑鄙的家伙,也许喝醉了,我可没喝醉!我从来不喝伏特加,因为这违背我的信念!你们信不信,是他,是他亲手把这张一百卢布的钞票送给索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜的,——我看见了,我可以作证,我发誓!是他,是他!”列别贾特尼科夫对着大家,对着每一个人重复说。
“您这个乳臭小儿,您是不是疯了?”卢任尖声叫喊,“她本人就在这儿,就站在您面前,她就在这儿,刚刚当着大家的面证实,除了十个卢布,她没从我这儿得到过任何东西。既然如此,我怎么会又给了她一百卢布呢?”
“我看到了,我看到了!”列别贾特尼科夫高声叫喊着证明说,“虽然这违反我的信念,不过我愿意现在就在法庭上宣誓,随便起什么誓都行,因为我看到了您是怎样偷偷地把钱塞给她的!只是我这个傻瓜,还以为您把钱塞给她是做好事呢!在房门口和她告别的时候,当她转过身来,您用一只手和她握手的时候,您用另一只手,用左手偷偷地把钞票塞进了她的口袋里。我看见了!我看见了!”
卢任的脸发白了。
“您胡说些什么!”他粗暴无礼地高声叫嚷,“您站在窗前,怎么能看清钞票呢!您眼睛高度近视……这准是您的错觉。您是在说胡话!”
“不,不是错觉!虽然我站得远,可是我什么,什么都看见了,虽然从窗前的确很难看清钞票,——这您说得不错,——可是由于一个特殊情况,我确实知道,这正是一张一百卢布的钞票,因为您把那张十卢布的钞票交给索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜的时候,我亲眼看到,当时您还从桌子上拿了一张一百卢布的钞票(这我看到了,因为那时候我站得离您很近,因为我立刻产生了一个想法,所以我没有忘记您手里拿着一张钞票)。您把那张钞票叠起来,一直攥在手里。以后我本来又忘记了,可是当您站起来的时候,把这张钞票从右手放到左手里,差点儿没把它丢掉;于是我又立刻想起来了,因为这时候我又产生了那个想法,就是说,您想不让我知道,悄悄地把钱送给她。可以想象得出,当时我是怎样注视着您,——果然看到,您偷偷地把那张钞票塞进了她的口袋。我看到,看到了,我可以起誓!”
列别贾特尼科夫几乎喘不过气来了。四面八方发出各种不同的感叹声,多半是表示惊讶的;但也有含有威胁意味的呼喊。大家都往彼得·彼特罗维奇跟前挤去。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜向列别贾特尼科夫跑了过去。
“安德烈·谢苗诺维奇!我把您看错了!您保护了她!只有您一个人保护她!她无依无靠,是上帝派您来保护她的!安德烈·谢苗诺维奇,亲爱的,我的爷啊!”
卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜几乎不知道自己在做什么,扑通一声跪倒在他的面前。
“荒唐!”气得发狂的卢任拼命号叫,“您一直在胡说八道,先生。‘我忘了,我想起来了,我忘了’——这算什么!这么说,是我故意偷偷塞给她的了?为什么?有什么目的?我和这个……女人有什么关系?”
“为什么?正是这一点连我自己也弄不明白,可我说的是千真万确的事实,这是毫无疑问的!我决没弄错,您这个卑鄙的罪人,正是因为我记得,当时,就是在我感谢您,和您握手的时候,就是为了这个,我脑子里立刻产生了这样一个问题。您究竟为什么要把钱偷偷地塞进她的口袋?也就是说,究竟为什么要偷偷地塞进去?难道仅仅是因为,您知道我的信念和您的信念完全相反,知道我否定不能从根本上解决任何问题的个人慈善行为,所以想瞒着我吗?我还以为,您当真是不好意思当着我的面送给她这么一大笔钱,此外,我想,也许您是想送给她一件意外的礼物,等她在自己口袋里发现整整一百卢布的时候,让她大吃一惊吧。(因为有些慈善家很喜欢这样做,好让人永远感恩戴德;这我是知道的。)后来我又想,您是想试试她,也就是说,看她发现了这些钱以后,会不会来感谢您!后来我还想,您也许是避免别人向您道谢,就像俗话所说的,让右手不知道,是不是这么说的,……总而言之,大概就是这么着吧……唉,当时我想得可多了,所以我决定把这一切留待以后再细细考虑,不过还是认为,在您面前把事情说穿,说我知道这个秘密,是很不恰当的。可是我头脑里立刻又产生了一个问题:索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜发现这张钞票以前,说不定会把这钱弄丢了的;所以我决定来这里,把她叫出来,告诉她,有人往她口袋里放了一百卢布。我顺便先到科贝利亚特尼科夫太太家去了一下,给他们带去一本《实证法概论》①,特别向他们推荐皮德里特②的一篇文章(不过也推荐了瓦格纳③的文章);然后再来这里,可这里发生了什么事啊!如果我不是的确看到您把一百卢布放进她的口袋里,我会,我会有这些想法和推断吗?”
"What is it to do with me if silly ideas did occur to you?" he shouted, "that's no evidence. You may have dreamt it, that's all! And I tell you, you are lying, sir. You are lying and slandering from some spite against me, simply from pique, because I did not agree with your free-thinking, godless, social propositions!"
But this retort did not benefit Pyotr Petrovitch. Murmurs of disapproval were heard on all sides.
"Ah, that's your line now, is it!" cried Lebeziatnikov, "that's nonsense! Call the police and I'll take my oath! There's only one thing I can't understand: what made him risk such a contemptible action. Oh, pitiful, despicable man!"
"I can explain why he risked such an action, and if necessary, I, too, will swear to it," Raskolnikov said at last in a firm voice, and he stepped forward.
He appeared to be firm and composed. Everyone felt clearly, from the very look of him that he really knew about it and that the mystery would be solved.
"Now I can explain it all to myself," said Raskolnikov, addressing Lebeziatnikov. "From the very beginning of the business, I suspected that there was some scoundrelly intrigue at the bottom of it. I began to suspect it from some special circumstances known to me only, which I will explain at once to everyone: they account for everything. Your valuable evidence has finally made everything clear to me. I beg all, all to listen. This gentleman (he pointed to Luzhin) was recently engaged to be married to a young lady--my sister, Avdotya Romanovna Raskolnikov. But coming to Petersburg he quarrelled with me, the day before yesterday, at our first meeting and I drove him out of my room --I have two witnesses to prove it. He is a very spiteful man. . . . The day before yesterday I did not know that he was staying here, in your room, and that consequently on the very day we quarrelled--the day before yesterday--he saw me give Katerina Ivanovna some money for the funeral, as a friend of the late Mr. Marmeladov. He at once wrote a note to my mother and informed her that I had given away all my money, not to Katerina Ivanovna but to Sofya Semyonovna, and referred in a most contemptible way to the . . . character of Sofya Semyonovna, that is, hinted at the character of my attitude to Sofya Semyonovna. All this you understand was with the object of dividing me from my mother and sister, by insinuating that I was squandering on unworthy objects the money which they had sent me and which was all they had. Yesterday evening, before my mother and sister and in his presence, I declared that I had given the money to Katerina Ivanovna for the funeral and not to Sofya Semyonovna and that I had no acquaintance with Sofya Semyonovna and had never seen her before, indeed. At the same time I added that he, Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin, with all his virtues, was not worth Sofya Semyonovna's little finger, though he spoke so ill of her. To his question--would I let Sofya Semyonovna sit down beside my sister, I answered that I had already done so that day. Irritated that my mother and sister were unwilling to quarrel with me at his insinuations, he gradually began being unpardonably rude to them. A final rupture took place and he was turned out of the house. All this happened yesterday evening. Now I beg your special attention: consider: if he had now succeeded in proving that Sofya Semyonovna was a thief, he would have shown to my mother and sister that he was almost right in his suspicions, that he had reason to be angry at my putting my sister on a level with Sofya Semyonovna, that, in attacking me, he was protecting and preserving the honour of my sister, his betrothed. In fact he might even, through all this, have been able to estrange me from my family, and no doubt he hoped to be restored to favour with them; to say nothing of revenging himself on me personally, for he has grounds for supposing that the honour and happiness of Sofya Semyonovna are very precious to me. That was what he was working for! That's how I understand it. That's the whole reason for it and there can be no other!"
It was like this, or somewhat like this, that Raskolnikov wound up his speech which was followed very attentively, though often interrupted by exclamations from his audience. But in spite of interruptions he spoke clearly, calmly, exactly, firmly. His decisive voice, his tone of conviction and his stern face made a great impression on everyone.
"Yes, yes, that's it," Lebeziatnikov assented gleefully, "that must be it, for he asked me, as soon as Sofya Semyonovna came into our room, whether you were here, whether I had seen you among Katerina Ivanovna's guests. He called me aside to the window and asked me in secret. It was essential for him that you should be here! That's it, that's it!"
Luzhin smiled contemptuously and did not speak. But he was very pale. He seemed to be deliberating on some means of escape. Perhaps he would have been glad to give up everything and get away, but at the moment this was scarcely possible. It would have implied admitting the truth of the accusations brought against him. Moreover, the company, which had already been excited by drink, was now too much stirred to allow it. The commissariat clerk, though indeed he had not grasped the whole position, was shouting louder than anyone and was making some suggestions very unpleasant to Luzhin. But not all those present were drunk; lodgers came in from all the rooms. The three Poles were tremendously excited and were continually shouting at him: "The /pan/ is a /lajdak/!" and muttering threats in Polish. Sonia had been listening with strained attention, though she too seemed unable to grasp it all; she seemed as though she had just returned to consciousness. She did not take her eyes off Raskolnikov, feeling that all her safety lay in him. Katerina Ivanovna breathed hard and painfully and seemed fearfully exhausted. Amalia Ivanovna stood looking more stupid than anyone, with her mouth wide open, unable to make out what had happened. She only saw that Pyotr Petrovitch had somehow come to grief.
Raskolnikov was attempting to speak again, but they did not let him. Everyone was crowding round Luzhin with threats and shouts of abuse. But Pyotr Petrovitch was not intimidated. Seeing that his accusation of Sonia had completely failed, he had recourse to insolence:
"Allow me, gentlemen, allow me! Don't squeeze, let me pass!" he said, making his way through the crowd. "And no threats, if you please! I assure you it will be useless, you will gain nothing by it. On the contrary, you'll have to answer, gentlemen, for violently obstructing the course of justice. The thief has been more than unmasked, and I shall prosecute. Our judges are not so blind and . . . not so drunk, and will not believe the testimony of two notorious infidels, agitators, and atheists, who accuse me from motives of personal revenge which they are foolish enough to admit. . . . Yes, allow me to pass!"
"Don't let me find a trace of you in my room! Kindly leave at once, and everything is at an end between us! When I think of the trouble I've been taking, the way I've been expounding . . . all this fortnight!"
"I told you myself to-day that I was going, when you tried to keep me; now I will simply add that you are a fool. I advise you to see a doctor for your brains and your short sight. Let me pass, gentlemen!"
He forced his way through. But the commissariat clerk was unwilling to let him off so easily: he picked up a glass from the table, brandished it in the air and flung it at Pyotr Petrovitch; but the glass flew straight at Amalia Ivanovna. She screamed, and the clerk, overbalancing, fell heavily under the table. Pyotr Petrovitch made his way to his room and half an hour later had left the house. Sonia, timid by nature, had felt before that day that she could be ill- treated more easily than anyone, and that she could be wronged with impunity. Yet till that moment she had fancied that she might escape misfortune by care, gentleness and submissiveness before everyone. Her disappointment was too great. She could, of course, bear with patience and almost without murmur anything, even this. But for the first minute she felt it too bitter. In spite of her triumph and her justification--when her first terror and stupefaction had passed and she could understand it all clearly--the feeling of her helplessness and of the wrong done to her made her heart throb with anguish and she was overcome with hysterical weeping. At last, unable to bear any more, she rushed out of the room and ran home, almost immediately after Luzhin's departure. When amidst loud laughter the glass flew at Amalia Ivanovna, it was more than the landlady could endure. With a shriek she rushed like a fury at Katerina Ivanovna, considering her to blame for everything.
"Out of my lodgings! At once! Quick march!"
And with these words she began snatching up everything she could lay her hands on that belonged to Katerina Ivanovna, and throwing it on the floor. Katerina Ivanovna, pale, almost fainting, and gasping for breath, jumped up from the bed where she had sunk in exhaustion and darted at Amalia Ivanovna. But the battle was too unequal: the landlady waved her away like a feather.
"What! As though that godless calumny was not enough--this vile creature attacks me! What! On the day of my husband's funeral I am turned out of my lodging! After eating my bread and salt she turns me into the street, with my orphans! Where am I to go?" wailed the poor woman, sobbing and gasping. "Good God!" she cried with flashing eyes, "is there no justice upon earth? Whom should you protect if not us orphans? We shall see! There is law and justice on earth, there is, I will find it! Wait a bit, godless creature! Polenka, stay with the children, I'll come back. Wait for me, if you have to wait in the street. We will see whether there is justice on earth!"
And throwing over her head that green shawl which Marmeladov had mentioned to Raskolnikov, Katerina Ivanovna squeezed her way through the disorderly and drunken crowd of lodgers who still filled the room, and, wailing and tearful, she ran into the street--with a vague intention of going at once somewhere to find justice. Polenka with the two little ones in her arms crouched, terrified, on the trunk in the corner of the room, where she waited trembling for her mother to come back. Amalia Ivanovna raged about the room, shrieking, lamenting and throwing everything she came across on the floor. The lodgers talked incoherently, some commented to the best of their ability on what had happened, others quarrelled and swore at one another, while others struck up a song. . . .
"Now it's time for me to go," thought Raskolnikov. "Well, Sofya Semyonovna, we shall see what you'll say now!"
And he set off in the direction of Sonia's lodgings.
--------
①《实证法概论》是一本译成俄文的自然科学论文集,于一八六六年出版。
②特·皮德里特(一八二六——一九一二),德国作家,医生。
③阿·瓦格纳(一八三五——一九一七),德国经济学家,社会学家。
安德烈·谢苗诺维奇结束了他那啰里啰嗦的冗长议论,最后作出如此合乎逻辑的结论,这时他已经累坏了,甚至从脸上淌下了汗水。可惜,就是说俄语,他也不会有条有理地表达自己的意思(可是他又不懂任何别的语言),所以他一下子感到全身已经精疲力竭,在建立了这一律师的功勋以后,好像连面容也消瘦了。然而他的话却产生了异常强烈的效应。他说得那么激昂慷慨,又那么有说服力,看来,大家都相信了。
彼得·彼特罗维奇感觉到事情不妙。
“您头脑里产生了一些什么愚蠢问题,这和我有什么关系,”他高声叫嚷,“这不是证据!这一切可能都是您的梦呓,就是这么回事!不过我告诉您,您是说谎,先生!您说谎,您诽谤,这是因为您怀恨我,确切地说,就是因为我不同意您那些自由思想的、无神论的主张,所以对我怀恨在心,就是这么回事!”
但是这个花招并没有给彼得·彼特罗维奇带来什么好处。恰恰相反,只听到四面八方都传来不满的低语声。
“哼,你扯到哪里去了!”列别贾特尼科夫大声叫喊。“你胡说!你去叫警察来,我发誓!只有一点我弄不懂:他是为了什么冒险干出这种卑鄙的事来!噢,卑鄙无耻的小人!”
“我可以说明他为什么竟敢冒险做出这种事来,如果需要,我可以起誓!”拉斯科利尼科夫终于用坚定的声音说,并且走到前面来了。
看来他坚决而又沉着。只要朝他看上一眼,大家就都明白,他当真知道这是怎么回事,事情就要真相大白了。
“现在我心里完全明白了,”拉斯科利尼科夫直接对着列别贾特尼科夫接下去说。“从事情一开始,我就已经怀疑这里面有什么卑鄙的诡计;我所以产生怀疑,是由于只有我一个人知道的某些特殊情况,我这就要把这些情况告诉大家:问题全在这里!您,安德烈·谢苗诺维奇,您宝贵的证词使我彻底弄清了这是怎么回事。我请大家,请大家都注意听着:这位先生(他指指卢任)不久前曾经向一位少女求婚,确切地说,就是曾向舍妹阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜·拉斯科利尼科娃求婚。但是来到彼得堡以后,前天,在我们第一次见面的时候,他就和我争吵起来,我把他从自己屋里赶了出去,这件事有两位证人。这个人非常恶毒……前天我还不知道他住在这幢房子里,就住在您安德烈·谢苗诺维奇那里,所以,就在我和他发生争吵的那天,也就是前天,他曾经看到,我作为已故的马尔梅拉多夫先生的朋友,把一些钱送给了他的夫人卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,用来安葬我的亡友。他立刻给家母写了一封短简,告诉她,说我把所有的钱不是送给了卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,而是送给了索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,同时还用最卑鄙的语言提到……索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜的品行,也就是对我和索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜的关系的性质作了某些暗示。你们要明白,这一切的目的就是要离间我们母子和兄妹,让她们相信,为了不正当的目的,我把她们用来帮助我的仅有的一些钱全都挥霍掉了。昨天晚上,当着家母和舍妹的面,他也在场,我说明了事情的真相,证明我是把钱交给卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,作为丧葬费用,而不是交给了索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,而且前天我甚至还不认识索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,连她的面都没见过。同时我还补充说,他,彼得·彼特罗维奇·卢任,连同他的全部身价,还抵不上他如此恶意诋毁的索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜的一个小指头。对于他提出的我是不是会让索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜和舍妹坐在一起的问题,我回答说,就在那天,我已经这样做了。家母和舍妹不愿听信他的诽谤,不愿和我争吵,为此他十分恼怒,跟她们你一言我一语地顶了起来,对她们说了些不可原谅的粗暴无礼的话。发生了无可挽回的决裂,他被赶了出来。这都是昨天晚上的事。现在请大家特别注意:你们要知道,如果现在他的阴谋得逞,证明索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜是个贼,那么首先,他就可以向舍妹和家母证明,他对她的怀疑几乎是对的;为了我把舍妹和索菲娅·苗谢诺芙娜放在同等地位,他感到气愤,也是对的;可见,他攻击我,就是保护了,预先保护了舍妹、也就是他的未婚妻的名誉。总之,通过这一切,他甚至可以重新离间我和亲人们的关系,而且,当然啦,他还希望能再次博得她们的好感。至于他向我个人报了仇,那我就不去说它了,因为他有理由认为,索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜的名誉和幸福,对我来说是十分宝贵的。这就是他的全部打算!对这件事,我就是这样理解的!这就是他这样做的全部动机,不可能有别的原因!”
拉斯科利尼科夫这样,或者几乎是这样结束了自己的话,他的话不时被聚精会神听着的人们的惊叹声打断。但尽管不时被打断,他却说得尖锐,沉着,准确,清楚,而且坚决。他那尖锐的声音,令人信服的语调,严肃的面部表情,对大家产生了异常强烈的感染力。
“是这样,是这样,是这么回事!”列别贾特尼科夫欣喜若狂地证实他的看法。“一定是这样的,因为索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜一进我们的房间,他就问我:‘您在不在这儿?我是不是在卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的客人们当中看到了您?’为此,他把我叫到窗前,在那里悄悄地问我。可见他一定需要您在这里!是这样的,完全是这么回事!”
卢任一声不响,轻蔑地微笑着。不过他的脸色十分苍白。似乎他是在考虑怎样脱身。也许他倒很高兴丢开这一切,一走了之,但在目前,这几乎是不可能的;这意味着直接承认对他的指控完全正确,承认他确实诬陷了索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜。何况本来已经喝得微带醉意的客人们,现在实在是太激动了。那个退休的军需官虽然不完全明白是怎么回事,却叫喊得最响,提出要采取某些会让卢任感到很伤脑筋的措施。不过也有一些没喝醉的人;大家从所有房屋里跑了来,都聚集在这里。那三个波兰人极端愤慨,不断用波兰语对他叫嚷:“这个先生是坏蛋!”而且还含糊不清地用波兰语恫吓他。索尼娅神情紧张地听着,可是好像也没完全听懂,仿佛正从昏迷中慢慢苏醒过来。她只是目不转睛地瞅着拉斯科利尼科夫,觉得他是她唯一的保护者。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜很困难地、嘶哑地喘着气,好像是累坏了。最蠢的是阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜,她张着嘴站着,似乎什么也不明白。她只是看到,彼得·彼特罗维奇不知怎么给当场揭穿了。拉斯科利尼科夫要求再说几句,但是没有让他把话说完:大家都在高声叫喊,挤在卢任周围,骂他,威胁他。但是彼得·彼特罗维奇并不胆怯。他看到对索尼娅的指控已经完全破产,于是直接采用蛮横无礼的手段。
“对不起,先生们,对不起;请你们别挤,让我过去!”他边说,边从人丛中挤出来,“请别吓唬人;老实对你们说,什么事也不会发生,你们奈何不了我,我可不是胆小鬼,恰恰相反,先生们,你们用暴力强行掩盖一件刑事案件,对此你们是要负责的。这个女贼已经被彻底揭穿了,我要向法院起诉。法庭上不会这样盲目,法官们也……不是醉鬼,不会相信两个臭名昭著的无神论者、捣乱分子和自由主义者的话,他们指控我,是为了报私仇,由于他们愚蠢,对于这一点,连他们自己也承认了……啊,对不起!”
“请您立刻离开我的房子,再也别让我看到您;请您搬走,我们之间一切都结束了!我还以为,我已经竭尽全力,给他讲了……整整两个星期!……”
“安德烈·谢苗诺维奇,不久前,您还在挽留我的时候,我自己就对您说过,我要搬走;现在我只想补充一句:您是个傻瓜。希望您能治好您的脑子和您的高度近视。对不起,先生们!”
他挤了出去;但是那个军需官不想这么轻易把他放走,只是骂他一顿就算了事;他从桌子上抄起一个玻璃杯,一挥手朝彼得·彼特罗维奇扔去;可是玻璃杯正打中了阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜。她尖叫了一声,那个军需官因为用力过猛,失去了平衡,沉重地摔倒在桌子底下。彼得·彼特罗维奇回到自己屋里,半小时后,这幢房子里已经不见他的踪影。索尼娅天生胆小,以前她就知道,要毁掉她,比毁掉任何人都容易,而且每个人都可以几乎不受惩罚地任意侮辱她。但在这以前,她还是觉得,只要她在每个人面前都小心谨慎,温和而且顺从,就可以设法避免灾难。她的失望太严重了。她当然可以忍气吞声,几乎毫无怨言地忍受一切,——就连这件事也能忍受。不过在最初,她实在感到太痛苦了。尽管她获得了胜利,证明她是无辜的,可是当最初的恐惧和惊吓已经过去,当她清清楚楚明白和了解了一切以后,一种孤单无依和受辱的感觉还是痛苦地揪紧了她的心。她歇斯底里地大哭起来。终于忍不住了,于是她从屋里跑出去,跑回家去了。这几乎是在卢任走后立刻就发生的事。一只玻璃杯飞来,正好打中了阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜,引起在场的人们一阵哄堂大笑,她无辜代人受过,再也忍不住了。于是尖叫一声,像个疯子样朝卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜猛扑过去,认为这一切全都怪她:
“从房子里搬出去!立刻就搬!快滚!”这么说着,她随手抓起卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的东西,把它们统统扔到地板上去。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜本来已经十分沮丧,几乎晕倒,气喘吁吁,面色苍白,这时突然从床上跳起来(她本来疲惫不堪,倒在床上),向阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜猛扑了过去。但这场斗争力量太悬殊了;阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜一下就推开了她,就像扔掉一根羽毛。
“怎么,不仅伤天害理地诬蔑人,——这个畜生还这样对待我吗!怎么,就在我丈夫下葬的当天,刚受用了我的款待,就要把我和这些孤儿们赶到街上去吗!我可上哪儿去啊!”这个可怜的女人数数落落地号啕大哭,哭得上气不接下气。“上帝啊!”她突然高声叫喊起来,两眼闪闪发光,“难道就没有公道了吗!不来保护我们这些无依无靠的人,你去保护谁呢?咱们等着瞧吧!世界上还有法律和正义,肯定有,我一定会找到!马上就去找,你等着吧,伤天害理的畜生,波列奇卡,你跟孩子们待在这儿,我这就回来。你们等着我,哪怕在街上等着也行!咱们瞧吧,看世界上到底有没有正义?”
卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜把已故的马尔梅拉多夫在谈话中提到过的那块绿色德拉德达姆呢的头巾披在头上,从仍然聚集在这间屋里的那些乱哄哄、醉醺醺的房客中挤了出去,号啕大哭、满脸泪痕地跑上街去——她没有明确目标,也不知该去哪里,但是无论如何必须现在、立刻就找到正义。波列奇卡吓得和孩子们躲到角落里,坐在箱子上,搂着弟弟和妹妹,浑身发抖,等着母亲回来。阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜在屋里跑来跑去,尖声叫喊,嘴里数数落落,不管抓到什么,全都扔到地上,简直是任意胡来。房客们高声嚷嚷着,各说各的,——有人照自己所理解的,谈论所发生的事;另一些人在争吵,骂人;还有一些却唱起歌来了……
“现在我也该走了!”拉斯科利尼科夫想。“嗯,索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,看您现在说什么吧!”
于是他往索尼娅的住处走去。


峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 44楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第四章
Raskolnikov had been a vigorous and active champion of Sonia against Luzhin, although he had such a load of horror and anguish in his own heart. But having gone through so much in the morning, he found a sort of relief in a change of sensations, apart from the strong personal feeling which impelled him to defend Sonia. He was agitated too, especially at some moments, by the thought of his approaching interview with Sonia: he /had/ to tell her who had killed Lizaveta. He knew the terrible suffering it would be to him and, as it were, brushed away the thought of it. So when he cried as he left Katerina Ivanovna's, "Well, Sofya Semyonovna, we shall see what you'll say now!" he was still superficially excited, still vigorous and defiant from his triumph over Luzhin. But, strange to say, by the time he reached Sonia's lodging, he felt a sudden impotence and fear. He stood still in hesitation at the door, asking himself the strange question: "Must he tell her who killed Lizaveta?" It was a strange question because he felt at the very time not only that he could not help telling her, but also that he could not put off the telling. He did not yet know why it must be so, he only /felt/ it, and the agonising sense of his impotence before the inevitable almost crushed him. To cut short his hesitation and suffering, he quickly opened the door and looked at Sonia from the doorway. She was sitting with her elbows on the table and her face in her hands, but seeing Raskolnikov she got up at once and came to meet him as though she were expecting him.
"What would have become of me but for you?" she said quickly, meeting him in the middle of the room.
Evidently she was in haste to say this to him. It was what she had been waiting for.
Raskolnikov went to the table and sat down on the chair from which she had only just risen. She stood facing him, two steps away, just as she had done the day before.
"Well, Sonia?" he said, and felt that his voice was trembling, "it was all due to 'your social position and the habits associated with it.' Did you understand that just now?"
Her face showed her distress.
"Only don't talk to me as you did yesterday," she interrupted him. "Please don't begin it. There is misery enough without that."
She made haste to smile, afraid that he might not like the reproach.
"I was silly to come away from there. What is happening there now? I wanted to go back directly, but I kept thinking that . . . you would come."
He told her that Amalia Ivanovna was turning them out of their lodging and that Katerina Ivanovna had run off somewhere "to seek justice."
"My God!" cried Sonia, "let's go at once. . . ."
And she snatched up her cape.
"It's everlastingly the same thing!" said Raskolnikov, irritably. "You've no thought except for them! Stay a little with me."
"But . . . Katerina Ivanovna?"
"You won't lose Katerina Ivanovna, you may be sure, she'll come to you herself since she has run out," he added peevishly. "If she doesn't find you here, you'll be blamed for it. . . ."
Sonia sat down in painful suspense. Raskolnikov was silent, gazing at the floor and deliberating.
"This time Luzhin did not want to prosecute you," he began, not looking at Sonia, "but if he had wanted to, if it had suited his plans, he would have sent you to prison if it had not been for Lebeziatnikov and me. Ah?"
"Yes," she assented in a faint voice. "Yes," she repeated, preoccupied and distressed.
"But I might easily not have been there. And it was quite an accident Lebeziatnikov's turning up."
Sonia was silent.
"And if you'd gone to prison, what then? Do you remember what I said yesterday?"
Again she did not answer. He waited.
"I thought you would cry out again 'don't speak of it, leave off.'" Raskolnikov gave a laugh, but rather a forced one. "What, silence again?" he asked a minute later. "We must talk about something, you know. It would be interesting for me to know how you would decide a certain 'problem' as Lebeziatnikov would say." (He was beginning to lose the thread.) "No, really, I am serious. Imagine, Sonia, that you had known all Luzhin's intentions beforehand. Known, that is, for a fact, that they would be the ruin of Katerina Ivanovna and the children and yourself thrown in--since you don't count yourself for anything--Polenka too . . . for she'll go the same way. Well, if suddenly it all depended on your decision whether he or they should go on living, that is whether Luzhin should go on living and doing wicked things, or Katerina Ivanovna should die? How would you decide which of them was to die? I ask you?"
Sonia looked uneasily at him. There was something peculiar in this hesitating question, which seemed approaching something in a roundabout way.
"I felt that you were going to ask some question like that," she said, looking inquisitively at him.
"I dare say you did. But how is it to be answered?"
"Why do you ask about what could not happen?" said Sonia reluctantly.
"Then it would be better for Luzhin to go on living and doing wicked things? You haven't dared to decide even that!"
"But I can't know the Divine Providence. . . . And why do you ask what can't be answered? What's the use of such foolish questions? How could it happen that it should depend on my decision--who has made me a judge to decide who is to live and who is not to live?"
"Oh, if the Divine Providence is to be mixed up in it, there is no doing anything," Raskolnikov grumbled morosely.
"You'd better say straight out what you want!" Sonia cried in distress. "You are leading up to something again. . . . Can you have come simply to torture me?"
She could not control herself and began crying bitterly. He looked at her in gloomy misery. Five minutes passed.
"Of course you're right, Sonia," he said softly at last. He was suddenly changed. His tone of assumed arrogance and helpless defiance was gone. Even his voice was suddenly weak. "I told you yesterday that I was not coming to ask forgiveness and almost the first thing I've said is to ask forgiveness. . . . I said that about Luzhin and Providence for my own sake. I was asking forgiveness, Sonia. . . ."
He tried to smile, but there was something helpless and incomplete in his pale smile. He bowed his head and hid his face in his hands.
And suddenly a strange, surprising sensation of a sort of bitter hatred for Sonia passed through his heart. As it were wondering and frightened of this sensation, he raised his head and looked intently at her; but he met her uneasy and painfully anxious eyes fixed on him; there was love in them; his hatred vanished like a phantom. It was not the real feeling; he had taken the one feeling for the other. It only meant that /that/ minute had come.
He hid his face in his hands again and bowed his head. Suddenly he turned pale, got up from his chair, looked at Sonia, and without uttering a word sat down mechanically on her bed.
His sensations that moment were terribly like the moment when he had stood over the old woman with the axe in his hand and felt that "he must not lose another minute."
"What's the matter?" asked Sonia, dreadfully frightened.
He could not utter a word. This was not at all, not at all the way he had intended to "tell" and he did not understand what was happening to him now. She went up to him, softly, sat down on the bed beside him and waited, not taking her eyes off him. Her heart throbbed and sank. It was unendurable; he turned his deadly pale face to her. His lips worked, helplessly struggling to utter something. A pang of terror passed through Sonia's heart.
"What's the matter?" she repeated, drawing a little away from him.
"Nothing, Sonia, don't be frightened. . . . It's nonsense. It really is nonsense, if you think of it," he muttered, like a man in delirium. "Why have I come to torture you?" he added suddenly, looking at her. "Why, really? I keep asking myself that question, Sonia. . . ."
He had perhaps been asking himself that question a quarter of an hour before, but now he spoke helplessly, hardly knowing what he said and feeling a continual tremor all over.
"Oh, how you are suffering!" she muttered in distress, looking intently at him.
"It's all nonsense. . . . Listen, Sonia." He suddenly smiled, a pale helpless smile for two seconds. "You remember what I meant to tell you yesterday?"
Sonia waited uneasily.
"I said as I went away that perhaps I was saying good-bye for ever, but that if I came to-day I would tell you who . . . who killed Lizaveta."
She began trembling all over.
"Well, here I've come to tell you."
"Then you really meant it yesterday?" she whispered with difficulty. "How do you know?" she asked quickly, as though suddenly regaining her reason.
Sonia's face grew paler and paler, and she breathed painfully.
"I know."
She paused a minute.
"Have they found him?" she asked timidly.
"No."
"Then how do you know about /it/?" she asked again, hardly audibly and again after a minute's pause.
He turned to her and looked very intently at her.
"Guess," he said, with the same distorted helpless smile.
A shudder passed over her.
"But you . . . why do you frighten me like this?" she said, smiling like a child.
"I must be a great friend of /his/ . . . since I know," Raskolnikov went on, still gazing into her face, as though he could not turn his eyes away. "He . . . did not mean to kill that Lizaveta . . . he . . . killed her accidentally. . . . He meant to kill the old woman when she was alone and he went there . . . and then Lizaveta came in . . . he killed her too."
Another awful moment passed. Both still gazed at one another.
"You can't guess, then?" he asked suddenly, feeling as though he were flinging himself down from a steeple.
"N-no . . ." whispered Sonia.
"Take a good look."
As soon as he had said this again, the same familiar sensation froze his heart. He looked at her and all at once seemed to see in her face the face of Lizaveta. He remembered clearly the expression in Lizaveta's face, when he approached her with the axe and she stepped back to the wall, putting out her hand, with childish terror in her face, looking as little children do when they begin to be frightened of something, looking intently and uneasily at what frightens them, shrinking back and holding out their little hands on the point of crying. Almost the same thing happened now to Sonia. With the same helplessness and the same terror, she looked at him for a while and, suddenly putting out her left hand, pressed her fingers faintly against his breast and slowly began to get up from the bed, moving further from him and keeping her eyes fixed even more immovably on him. Her terror infected him. The same fear showed itself on his face. In the same way he stared at her and almost with the same /childish/ smile.
拉斯科利尼科夫是索尼娅与卢任对抗的一个积极和勇敢的辩护人,尽管他自己心里有那么多的恐惧和痛苦。然而这天早上他已经饱经忧患,仿佛很高兴有机会改变一下那些让他无法忍受的印象,至于他渴望为索尼娅辩护,其中也包含有他个人的真挚感情,那就更不用说了。此外,即将与索尼娅见面,有时这特别使他感到惊恐不安:因为他必须向她宣布,是谁杀死了莉扎薇塔,他预感到了极其可怕的痛苦,又好像想要逃避它。因此,他从卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜那里出来,高声说:“嗯,索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,现在看您说什么吧?”这时他显然还处于表面上情绪激昂的状态,精神振奋,敢于向人挑战,为不久前压倒卢任的胜利感到兴奋。但是他却发生了一件奇怪的事。他一走到卡佩尔纳乌莫夫的住处,突然觉得浑身无力,十分恐惧。他陷入沉思,在房门前站住了,心里产生了一个奇怪的问题:“要不要说出,是谁杀了莉扎薇塔?”这问题是奇怪的,因为同时他突然觉得,不仅不能不说,而且就连推迟说出的时间,哪怕只是稍微推迟一会儿,也是不可能的。他还不知道为什么不可能;他只是感觉到了这一点,他痛苦地意识到,面对必须,他自己是无能为力的,这一想法几乎压垮了他。为了不再考虑,不再折磨自己,他很快推开房门,从门口望了望索尼娅。她坐着,胳膊肘撑在桌子上,用双手捂着脸,但是一看到拉斯科利尼科夫,赶快站起来,走上前去迎接他,仿佛正在等着他似的。
“要是没有您,我会怎样呢!”在房屋当中,他们走到了一起,她很快地说。显然,她急于想对他说的,就是这一句话了。说罢,她在等着。
拉斯科利尼科夫走到桌边,坐到她刚刚站起来的那把椅子上。她面对着他,站在离他两步远的地方,完全和昨天一样。
“您说什么,索尼娅?”他说,突然感觉到,他的声音发抖,“要知道,这件事情完全是由于‘社会地位和与此有关的种种习惯’。这一点,刚才您明白了吗?”
她脸上露出痛苦的神情。
“只是请您不要像昨天那样和我说话!”她打断了他的话。
“请您别说了。就是这样,我也已经够痛苦了……”
她赶快笑了笑,担心他也许不喜欢别人责备他。
“我由于愚蠢,离开了那儿。现在那儿怎么样了?我本想马上就去看看,可又一直在想,您这就……要来了。”
他告诉她,阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜要赶她们走,叫她们搬家,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜不知跑到哪里“寻找正义”去了。
“啊,我的天哪!”索尼娅很快站起来,“咱们赶快去吧……”
说着她拿起自己的披巾。
“总是这样!”拉斯科利尼科夫气愤地高声说。“您心里只想着他们!请跟我在一起待一会儿嘛。”
“可是……卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜呢?”
“卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜当然不会丢下您,既然她已经从家里跑出来,准会来找您的,”他埋怨似地补上一句。“如果她碰不到您,那可就要怪您了……”
索尼娅痛苦而犹豫不决地坐到了椅子上。拉斯科利尼科夫默默不语,眼睛看着地下,心里不知在考虑什么。
“假定说,卢任现在不想控告您,”他开始说,眼睛不看着索尼娅。“可是如果他想这么做,或者有这样的打算,要不是有我和列别贾特尼科夫在那儿,他是会设法把您关进监狱的!啊?”
“是的,”她用微弱的声音说,“是的!”她焦虑不安、心不在焉地又说了一遍。
“不过我当真可能不在那儿!而列别贾特尼科夫去那里,已经完全是偶然的了。”
索尼娅默默不语。
“嗯,如果您去坐牢,那会怎样呢?记得我昨天说的话吗?”
她又没回答。他等了一会儿。
“我还以为,您又会叫喊起来:‘唉,请您别说了,别再说下去了!’”拉斯科利尼科夫笑了,不过笑得有点儿勉强。
“怎么,又不说话了?”过了一会儿,他问。“总得说点儿什么啊,不是吗?我很想知道,现在您想怎样解决列别贾特尼科夫所说的那个‘问题’。(他好像开始说得前言不搭后语了。)不,真的,我是很认真的。您要知道,索尼娅,如果您事先知道卢任的一切意图,也知道(也就是说,确实知道),由于他的这些意图,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜会完全毁灭,而且毁灭的还有孩子们;您也会附带着跟他们一起毁灭(因为您毫不看重自己,那么就算附带着吧)。波列奇卡也是一样……因为她也得走那同一条路。嗯,那么,如果突然这一切现在都让您来决定:让那一个人,还是让那一些人活在世上,也就是说,是让卢任活着干坏事呢,还是让卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜去死?那么您会怎么决定呢:让他们当中的哪一个去死?我问您。”
索尼娅惊慌不安地看了他一眼:她听出,这语气犹豫不决、而且转弯抹角的话里有什么特殊的含意。
“我已经预感到,您会向我提出这样的问题,”她说,用探询的目光看着他。
“好的,就算是吧;可是您到底会怎样决定呢?”
“根本不可能有这种事,您为什么要问呢?”索尼娅厌恶地说。
“这么说,最好是让卢任活着,去干坏事了!您连这都不敢决定吗?”
“我可没法知道天意……您为什么要问不能问的事?问这些空洞的问题有什么意思?这怎么会由我来决定呢?是谁让我来作法官,决定谁该活着,谁不该活着呢?”
“如果这牵涉到天意,那可就毫无办法了,”拉斯科利尼科夫阴郁地抱怨说。
“您需要什么,最好还是直截了当地说出来吧!”索尼娅痛苦地高声叫喊,“您又想把话引到什么话题上去……难道您只是为了折磨人才来我这儿的吗?”
她忍不住了,突然高声大哭起来。他神情忧郁地看着她。
过了五分钟的样子。
“你是对的,索尼娅,”最后他轻轻地说。他突然完全变了;他故意装出来的厚颜无耻和无可奈何的挑衅语调消失了。就连他的声音也变得十分微弱。“我昨天对你说过,我不是来求你宽恕的,可是现在几乎才一开口就是请求你宽恕……我谈到卢任和天意,是为了自己……我这是求你宽恕,索尼娅……”
他本想笑一笑,可是他那凄惨的笑容中流露出的却是无可奈和欲言又止的神情。他低下头去,用双手捂住了脸。
突然,一种奇怪的、出乎意外对索尼娅十分痛恨的感觉掠过他的心头。似乎他自己对这种感觉感到惊讶和害怕了,突然抬起头来,凝神看了看她;但是他碰到的是她对他痛切关怀的、不安的目光;这是爱情;他的痛恨犹如幻影一般消失了。这不是那种感情;他把一种感情当作了另一种感情。这只不过意味着,那一瞬间已经到来了。
他又用双手捂住脸,低下了头。突然,他面色惨白,从椅子上站起来,看了看索尼娅,什么也没说,无意识地坐到了她的床上。
他觉得,这一瞬间非常像他站在老太婆背后,已经从环扣里把斧子拿下来的那一瞬间,而且感觉到,已经“再也不能失去这一刹那时间了”。
“您怎么了?”索尼娅害怕极了,问。
他什么也说不出来。他完全,完全不希望像这样来宣布,而且自己也不知道,现在他是怎么了。她轻轻地走到他跟前,坐到床上,坐在他身边,目不转睛地瞅着他,等待着。她的心在怦怦地狂跳,似乎这就要停止跳动了。开始变得让人无法忍受了:他把自己那像死人样惨白的脸转过来,面对着她;无可奈何地撇着嘴,竭力想要说什么。索尼娅心里感到非常害怕。
“您怎么了?”她又说了一遍,稍稍躲开了他。
“没什么,索尼娅。你别怕……废话!真的,如果好好想一想,这全都是废话,”他像一个神智不清、无法控制自己的人,含糊不清地说。“我为什么只是来折磨你呢?”他突然瞅着她补上一句。“真的,为什么呢?我一直向自己提出这个问题,索尼娅……”
他也许是在一刻钟前向自己提出过这个问题,但现在完全无可奈何地说出来了,几乎不知道自己在说什么,而且感觉到浑身不停地发抖。
“唉,您多痛苦啊!”她细细端详着他,痛苦地说。
“都是废话!……是这么回事,索尼娅(不知为什么,他突然微微一笑,笑得有点儿凄惨,无可奈何,笑了大约有两秒钟光景),“你记得我昨天说,想要告诉你吗?”
索尼娅担心地等待着。
“临走的时候,我说,也许是和你永别了,不过如果我今天再来,就要告诉你……是谁杀了莉扎薇塔。”
她突然全身颤栗起来。
“所以现在我来告诉你了。”
“那么昨天您真的……”她很费劲地喃喃地说,“您怎么知道的?”她很快地问,仿佛突然明白过来似的。
索尼娅开始感到呼吸困难了。她的脸越来越苍白。
“我知道。”
她沉默了大约一分钟光景。
“是不是发现了他?”她胆怯地问。
“不,没有发现。”
“那么您怎么会知道这件事呢?”又是几乎沉默了一分钟光景,又是用勉强才可以听到的低声问。
他转过脸来对着她,聚精会神地看了她一眼。
“你猜猜看,”他说,脸上仍然带着刚才那种变了形的、无可奈何的微笑。
她仿佛全身一阵痉挛。
“您……把我……您干吗这样……吓唬我?”她像小孩子那样微笑着说。
“既然我知道,……可见我和他是很要好的朋友,”拉斯科利尼科夫接着说下去,仍然目不转睛地瞅着她的脸,似乎无力把目光从她脸上挪开,“他并不想杀死……莉扎薇塔……他杀死她……是意外的……他想杀死那个老太婆……在家里只有她独自一个人的时候……他去了……可是这时候莉扎薇塔走了进来……于是他就……杀死了她。”
又过了可怕的一分钟。两人互相对看着。
“那么你还猜不到吗?”他突然问,这时他的感觉就好像是从钟楼上跳了下去。
“猜—不到,”索尼娅用勉强才可以听到的声音喃喃地说。
“你好好看看。”
他刚一说出这句话,从前曾经有过的那种熟悉的感觉突然又冷透了他的心:他瞅着她的脸,突然仿佛在她脸上看到了莉扎薇塔的脸。当时他拿着斧子逼近莉扎薇塔的时候,他清清楚楚记住了她脸上的表情,她躲开他,往墙边退去,朝前伸出一只手,脸上露出完全是孩子似的恐惧神情,和孩子们突然对什么东西感到害怕的时候一模一样——他们也是像这样一动不动、惊恐地看着那个使他们感到害怕的东西,向前伸着一只小手,身子往后倒退,眼看就要哭出来了。现在索尼娅也几乎是这样:也是那样束手无策、也是那么害怕地对着他看了一会儿,突然朝前伸出左手,用手指轻轻地、稍稍抵住他的胸口,从床上慢慢站起来,越来越躲避开他,而且用越来越呆滞的目光直盯着他。她的恐惧突然传染了他:他的脸上也露出同样的惊恐神色,他也像她那样,瞅着她,甚至几乎也带着同样的孩子式的微笑。
"Have you guessed?" he whispered at last.
"Good God!" broke in an awful wail from her bosom.
She sank helplessly on the bed with her face in the pillows, but a moment later she got up, moved quickly to him, seized both his hands and, gripping them tight in her thin fingers, began looking into his face again with the same intent stare. In this last desperate look she tried to look into him and catch some last hope. But there was no hope; there was no doubt remaining; it was all true! Later on, indeed, when she recalled that moment, she thought it strange and wondered why she had seen at once that there was no doubt. She could not have said, for instance, that she had foreseen something of the sort--and yet now, as soon as he told her, she suddenly fancied that she had really foreseen this very thing.
"Stop, Sonia, enough! don't torture me," he begged her miserably.
It was not at all, not at all like this he had thought of telling her, but this is how it happened.
She jumped up, seeming not to know what she was doing, and, wringing her hands, walked into the middle of the room; but quickly went back and sat down again beside him, her shoulder almost touching his. All of a sudden she started as though she had been stabbed, uttered a cry and fell on her knees before him, she did not know why.
"What have you done--what have you done to yourself?" she said in despair, and, jumping up, she flung herself on his neck, threw her arms round him, and held him tightly.
Raskolnikov drew back and looked at her with a mournful smile.
"You are a strange girl, Sonia--you kiss me and hug me when I tell you about that. . . . You don't think what you are doing."
"There is no one--no one in the whole world now so unhappy as you!" she cried in a frenzy, not hearing what he said, and she suddenly broke into violent hysterical weeping.
A feeling long unfamiliar to him flooded his heart and softened it at once. He did not struggle against it. Two tears started into his eyes and hung on his eyelashes.
"Then you won't leave me, Sonia?" he said, looking at her almost with hope.
"No, no, never, nowhere!" cried Sonia. "I will follow you, I will follow you everywhere. Oh, my God! Oh, how miserable I am! . . . Why, why didn't I know you before! Why didn't you come before? Oh, dear!"
"Here I have come."
"Yes, now! What's to be done now? . . . Together, together!" she repeated as it were unconsciously, and she hugged him again. "I'll follow you to Siberia!"
He recoiled at this, and the same hostile, almost haughty smile came to his lips.
"Perhaps I don't want to go to Siberia yet, Sonia," he said.
Sonia looked at him quickly.
Again after her first passionate, agonising sympathy for the unhappy man the terrible idea of the murder overwhelmed her. In his changed tone she seemed to hear the murderer speaking. She looked at him bewildered. She knew nothing as yet, why, how, with what object it had been. Now all these questions rushed at once into her mind. And again she could not believe it: "He, he is a murderer! Could it be true?"
"What's the meaning of it? Where am I?" she said in complete bewilderment, as though still unable to recover herself. "How could you, you, a man like you. . . . How could you bring yourself to it? . . . What does it mean?"
"Oh, well--to plunder. Leave off, Sonia," he answered wearily, almost with vexation.
Sonia stood as though struck dumb, but suddenly she cried:
"You were hungry! It was . . . to help your mother? Yes?"
"No, Sonia, no," he muttered, turning away and hanging his head. "I was not so hungry. . . . I certainly did want to help my mother, but . . . that's not the real thing either. . . . Don't torture me, Sonia."
Sonia clasped her hands.
"Could it, could it all be true? Good God, what a truth! Who could believe it? And how could you give away your last farthing and yet rob and murder! Ah," she cried suddenly, "that money you gave Katerina Ivanovna . . . that money. . . . Can that money . . ."
"No, Sonia," he broke in hurriedly, "that money was not it. Don't worry yourself! That money my mother sent me and it came when I was ill, the day I gave it to you. . . . Razumihin saw it . . . he received it for me. . . . That money was mine--my own."
Sonia listened to him in bewilderment and did her utmost to comprehend.
"And /that/ money. . . . I don't even know really whether there was any money," he added softly, as though reflecting. "I took a purse off her neck, made of chamois leather . . . a purse stuffed full of something . . . but I didn't look in it; I suppose I hadn't time. . . . And the things--chains and trinkets--I buried under a stone with the purse next morning in a yard off the V---- Prospect. They are all there now. . . . ."
Sonia strained every nerve to listen.
"Then why . . . why, you said you did it to rob, but you took nothing?" she asked quickly, catching at a straw.
"I don't know. . . . I haven't yet decided whether to take that money or not," he said, musing again; and, seeming to wake up with a start, he gave a brief ironical smile. "Ach, what silly stuff I am talking, eh?"
The thought flashed through Sonia's mind, wasn't he mad? But she dismissed it at once. "No, it was something else." She could make nothing of it, nothing.
"Do you know, Sonia," he said suddenly with conviction, "let me tell you: if I'd simply killed because I was hungry," laying stress on every word and looking enigmatically but sincerely at her, "I should be /happy/ now. You must believe that! What would it matter to you," he cried a moment later with a sort of despair, "what would it matter to you if I were to confess that I did wrong? What do you gain by such a stupid triumph over me? Ah, Sonia, was it for that I've come to you to-day?"
Again Sonia tried to say something, but did not speak.
"I asked you to go with me yesterday because you are all I have left."
"Go where?" asked Sonia timidly.
"Not to steal and not to murder, don't be anxious," he smiled bitterly. "We are so different. . . . And you know, Sonia, it's only now, only this moment that I understand /where/ I asked you to go with me yesterday! Yesterday when I said it I did not know where. I asked you for one thing, I came to you for one thing--not to leave me. You won't leave me, Sonia?"
She squeezed his hand.
"And why, why did I tell her? Why did I let her know?" he cried a minute later in despair, looking with infinite anguish at her. "Here you expect an explanation from me, Sonia; you are sitting and waiting for it, I see that. But what can I tell you? You won't understand and will only suffer misery . . . on my account! Well, you are crying and embracing me again. Why do you do it? Because I couldn't bear my burden and have come to throw it on another: you suffer too, and I shall feel better! And can you love such a mean wretch?"
"But aren't you suffering, too?" cried Sonia.
Again a wave of the same feeling surged into his heart, and again for an instant softened it.
"Sonia, I have a bad heart, take note of that. It may explain a great deal. I have come because I am bad. There are men who wouldn't have come. But I am a coward and . . . a mean wretch. But . . . never mind! That's not the point. I must speak now, but I don't know how to begin."
He paused and sank into thought.
"Ach, we are so different," he cried again, "we are not alike. And why, why did I come? I shall never forgive myself that."
"No, no, it was a good thing you came," cried Sonia. "It's better I should know, far better!"
He looked at her with anguish.
"What if it were really that?" he said, as though reaching a conclusion. "Yes, that's what it was! I wanted to become a Napoleon, that is why I killed her. . . . Do you understand now?"
"N-no," Sonia whispered naively and timidly. "Only speak, speak, I shall understand, I shall understand /in myself/!" she kept begging him.
"You'll understand? Very well, we shall see!" He paused and was for some time lost in meditation.
"It was like this: I asked myself one day this question--what if Napoleon, for instance, had happened to be in my place, and if he had not had Toulon nor Egypt nor the passage of Mont Blanc to begin his career with, but instead of all those picturesque and monumental things, there had simply been some ridiculous old hag, a pawnbroker, who had to be murdered too to get money from her trunk (for his career, you understand). Well, would he have brought himself to that if there had been no other means? Wouldn't he have felt a pang at its being so far from monumental and . . . and sinful, too? Well, I must tell you that I worried myself fearfully over that 'question' so that I was awfully ashamed when I guessed at last (all of a sudden, somehow) that it would not have given him the least pang, that it would not even have struck him that it was not monumental . . . that he would not have seen that there was anything in it to pause over, and that, if he had had no other way, he would have strangled her in a minute without thinking about it! Well, I too . . . left off thinking about it . . . murdered her, following his example. And that's exactly how it was! Do you think it funny? Yes, Sonia, the funniest thing of all is that perhaps that's just how it was."
Sonia did not think it at all funny.
"You had better tell me straight out . . . without examples," she begged, still more timidly and scarcely audibly.
He turned to her, looked sadly at her and took her hands.
"You are right again, Sonia. Of course that's all nonsense, it's almost all talk! You see, you know of course that my mother has scarcely anything, my sister happened to have a good education and was condemned to drudge as a governess. All their hopes were centered on me. I was a student, but I couldn't keep myself at the university and was forced for a time to leave it. Even if I had lingered on like that, in ten or twelve years I might (with luck) hope to be some sort of teacher or clerk with a salary of a thousand roubles" (he repeated it as though it were a lesson) "and by that time my mother would be worn out with grief and anxiety and I could not succeed in keeping her in comfort while my sister . . . well, my sister might well have fared worse! And it's a hard thing to pass everything by all one's life, to turn one's back upon everything, to forget one's mother and decorously accept the insults inflicted on one's sister. Why should one? When one has buried them to burden oneself with others--wife and children--and to leave them again without a farthing? So I resolved to gain possession of the old woman's money and to use it for my first years without worrying my mother, to keep myself at the university and for a little while after leaving it--and to do this all on a broad, thorough scale, so as to build up a completely new career and enter upon a new life of independence. . . . Well . . . that's all. . . . Well, of course in killing the old woman I did wrong. . . . Well, that's enough."
“你猜到了?”最后他悄悄地问。
“上帝啊!”从她胸中突然冲出一声可怕的号叫。她软弱无力地倒到床上,脸埋在枕头里。但是不一会儿,她很快欠起身来,很快凑到他身边,抓住他的双手,用自己纤细的手指紧紧攥着它们,好像把它们夹在老虎钳里,又不错眼珠地呆呆地盯着他的脸。她想用这最后的绝望的目光看出和捕捉到哪怕是最后的一线希望。然而希望是没有的;再也没有任何怀疑了;一切确实如此!甚至在这以后,回想起这个时刻,她都觉得奇怪和不可思议:为什么恰恰是她当时立刻就看出,已经没有任何怀疑了?不是吗,她并不能说,譬如,对此已经早有预感了?然而现在,他刚把这件事告诉了她,她却突然觉得,她当真好像是对这件事已经早有预感了。
“得了,索尼娅,够了!你别折磨我了!”他痛苦地请求说。
他完全,完全不是想这样向她公开这一秘密,然而结果却成了这样。
她仿佛控制不住自己,霍地站起来,绞着手,走到房屋中间;但很快又回转来,几乎肩挨肩地又坐到他的身边。突然她仿佛被刀扎了一样,颤栗了一下,大叫一声,自己也不知为什么,一下子跪到他的面前。
“您这是,您这是对自己干了什么呀!”她绝望地说,霍地站起来,扑到他身上,双手勾住他的脖子,紧紧搂住了他。
拉斯科利尼科夫急忙一闪,脸上带着忧郁的微笑瞅了她一眼:
“你多奇怪啊,索尼娅,——我对你讲了这件事以后,你却拥抱我,吻我。你知道自己在做什么吗?”
“不,现在全世界再没有比你更不幸的人了!”她没听见他的责备,发狂似地高声说,而且好像歇斯底里发作,突然高声大哭起来。
一种已经好久没体验过的感情犹如波涛一般涌进他的心头,一下子就使他的心变软了。他没有抗拒这种感情:两滴泪珠从他眼里滚出来,挂在睫毛上。
“这么说,你不会离开我吗,索尼娅?”他几乎是怀着希望看着她说。
“不,不;我永远不离开你,随便在哪里也不离开你!”索尼娅高声喊叫,“我跟着你走,随便去哪里,我都跟着你!噢,上帝啊!……唉,我真不幸啊!……为什么,为什么我以前不认识你!为什么你以前不来呢?噢,上帝啊!”
“我这不是来了吗。”
“这是现在啊!噢,现在可怎么办呢!……我们在一起,我们在一起!”她仿佛出神似地反复说,又抱住了他,“我和你一同去服苦役!”他好像突然颤栗了一下,嘴角上又勉强露出早先那种憎恨的、几乎是傲慢的微笑。
“索尼娅,我也许还不想去服苦役呢,”他说。
索尼娅很快看了他一眼。
对这个不幸的人表示了充满激情和痛苦的最初的同情之后,关于杀人的可怕的想法又使她感到震惊了。她突然从他改变了的语调中听出了杀人凶手的声音。她惊愕地瞅着他。她还什么也不知道,既不知道他为什么杀人,也不知道是怎么杀的,更不知道他的目的何在。现在,这些问题一下子涌进了她的脑海。她又感到不相信了:“他,他是个杀人凶手!难道这可能吗?”
“这是怎么回事!我这是在哪儿呀!”她深感困惑地说,仿佛还没清醒过来,“您怎么,您,这样一个人……您怎么会干这种事?……这是怎么回事啊!”
“嗯,为了抢劫呗。别说了,索尼娅!”他有点儿疲倦地、甚至好像是懊恼地回答。
索尼娅仿佛惊呆了,突然高声叫喊:
“你挨过饿!你……是为了帮助母亲?对吗?”
“不,索尼娅,不是的,”他含糊不清地说,转过脸去,低下了头,“我挨饿也还不到这种程度……我的确想帮助母亲,不过……这也不完全正确……别折磨我了,索尼娅!”
索尼娅双手一拍。
“难道,难道这都是真的吗!上帝啊,这怎么会是真的!这谁会相信呢?……您自己把仅有的钱送给别人,怎么,怎么会为了抢劫而杀人呢!啊!……”她突然惊呼一声,“您送给卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的那些钱……那些钱……上帝啊,莫非那就是那些钱吗……”
“不是的,索尼娅,”他急忙打断了她的话,“这些钱不是那一些,你放心好了!这些钱是母亲通过一个商人寄给我的,我生病的时候收到了这笔钱,当天就送给了……拉祖米欣看见的……就是他代我收下的……这些钱是我的,我自己的,当真是我的。”
索尼娅困惑不解地听着他的话,竭力想弄明白。
“那些钱……其实,我甚至不知道那里有没有钱,”他轻轻地补充说,仿佛陷入沉思,“当时我从她脖子上取下一个钱袋,麂皮的……装得满满的、那么鼓胀胀的一个钱袋,……我没往里面看过;大概是来不及了……至于东西,都是些扣子、链条什么的,就在第二天早晨,我把所有这些东西和钱袋都藏到B大街上别人的一个院子里,压到一块石头底下了……这些东西现在还在那儿……”
索尼娅尽力听着。
“嗯,那么为什么……您怎么说:为了抢劫,可是什么也没拿呢?”她很快地问,好像抓住了一根稻草。
“我不知道……我还没决定,是不是要拿这些钱,”他说,又仿佛陷入沉思,突然醒悟过来,迅速而短促地冷笑了一声。
“唉,刚才我说了些多蠢的蠢话,啊?”
有个想法在索尼娅的脑子里忽然一闪:“他是不是疯子?”但是她立刻放弃了这个想法:不,这是另一回事。这时她什么,什么也不明白!
“你要知道,索尼娅,”他突然灵机一动,说,“你要知道,我要告诉你:如果我杀人,只不过是因为我挨饿,”他接着说,每个字都说得特别清楚,而且神秘然而真诚地看着她,“那么现在我……就幸福了!你要知道这一点!”
“如果现在我承认,”稍过了一会儿,他甚至是绝望地叫喊,“如果现在我承认,我干了坏事,那对你,对你又有什么好处呢?你对我取得这种愚蠢的胜利,对你可有什么好处呢?唉,索尼娅,难道我是为了这个,现在才上你这儿来吗!”
索尼娅又想说什么,可是没有作声。
“昨天我所以叫你和我一道走,那是因为,我只有你一个人了。”
“你叫我去哪里?”索尼娅胆怯地问。
“不是去偷,也不是去杀人,请你放心,不是去干这些事情,”他讥讽地冷笑一声,“我们是不同类型的人……你要知道,索尼娅,我只是现在,只是这时候才明白:昨天我叫你上哪里去?昨天我叫你的时候,连我自己也不知道要去哪里。我叫你只不过是为了,我来也只是为了:请你别抛弃我。你不会抛弃我吧,索尼娅?”
她紧紧地握了握他的一只手。
“我为什么,为什么要告诉她,为什么要对她坦白地说出这一切啊!”过了一会儿,他无限痛苦地瞅着她,绝望地喊道,“你在等着我解释,索尼娅,你坐着,在等着,这我看得出来;可我能跟你说什么呢?因为这件事你是不会理解的,你只会为我感到……痛心!瞧,你哭了,又拥抱我,——唉,你为什么拥抱我呢?为了我自己承受不住,来把痛苦转嫁给别人吗:‘你也受些痛苦吧,这样我会轻松些!’你能爱这样一个卑鄙的家伙吗?”
“你不是也很痛苦吗?”索尼娅高声说。
那种感情又像波浪般涌上他的心头,霎时间又使他的心变软了。
“索尼娅,我的心是恶毒的,这你可要注意:这可以说明许多问题。正因为我恶毒,所以我才来你这里。有些人是不会来的。可我是个胆小鬼,也是个……卑鄙的家伙!不过……算了!这一切都不是我想要说的……现在得说,可我却不知从何说起……”
他停顿下来,陷入沉思。
“唉,我们是不同类型的人!”他又高声说,“我们配不到一起。为什么,我为什么要来!为了这,我永远也不会宽恕自己!”
“不,不,你来了,这很好!”索尼娅高声叫道,“让我知道,这就更好!好得多!”
他痛苦地瞅了她一眼。
“如果真是这样呢!”他说,好像拿定了主意,“因为事实就是这样!是这么回事:我想要作拿破仑,所以就杀了人……
怎么样,现在明白了吗?”
“不—明白,”索尼娅天真而又胆怯地低声说,“不过,……你说,你说啊!我会明白的,我心里什么都会明白!”她请求说。
“你会明白吗?那好,咱们倒要瞧瞧!”
他不说话了,考虑了很久。
“问题在于:有一次我向自己提出这样一个问题:如果拿破仑处在我的地位上,为了开创自己的事业,他既没有土伦,也没有埃及,也没有越过勃朗峰①,他没有机会完成所有这一切壮丽辉煌的丰功伟绩,而只不过遇到了一个可笑的老太婆,一个十四等文官的太太,而且还得杀死她,为的是把她箱子里的钱拿出来(为了事业,你懂吗?),如果没有别的出路,他会下决心干这种事吗?他会不会因为这太不伟大,而且……是犯罪,于是就感到厌恶呢?我告诉你,为了这个‘问题’,我苦恼了很久很久,当我终于领悟(不知怎么突然一下子明白了),他不但不会感到厌恶,而且根本就不会想到,这不伟大……甚至完全不会理解:这有什么可以感到厌恶的?这时候我真是羞愧极了。只要他没有别的路可走,那么他准会不假思索地掐死她,连叫都不让她叫一声!……所以我也……学这个权威的样……不再思索……掐死了她……事实完全是这样的!你觉得好笑吗?是的,索尼娅,这儿最可笑的就是,也许事情的确是这样的……”
--------
①一七九六——一七九七法意战争中,拿破仑曾率大军越过勃朗峰,进入意大利境内。
索尼娅一点儿也不觉得好笑。
“您最好是直截了当地告诉我……不要举例子,”她更加胆怯地,用勉强可以听到的低声请求说。
他转身面对着她,忧郁地看了看她,抓住了她的手。
“你又说对了,索尼娅。因为这都是胡说八道,几乎全都是废话!你要明白:你是知道的,我母亲几乎一无所有。妹妹是偶然受了些教育,命中注定长期给人作家庭教师。她们的一切都寄托在我一个人身上。我上过学,可是上大学,我就不能维持生活,不能不暂时退学了。即使是这样拖下去,那么十年以后,十二年以后(如果情况好转的话),我还是有希望当上教师,或者成为一个官吏,年薪可以拿到上千卢布……(他好像是在背诵。)而在这以前,由于操心和悲伤,母亲却早已憔悴了,可我还是不能让她过上安宁的日子,而妹妹……唉,我妹妹的情况可能更糟!……何苦一辈子不顾一切,漠视一切,忘记母亲,忍心看着妹妹受辱而不敢说半个不字?为了什么?是不是为了埋葬了她们后,挣钱去养活别人——妻子和孩子,而以后又不能给他们留下一文钱和一片面包?嗯……所以我决定,拿到老太婆的钱,供我最初几年使用,不再折磨母亲,在大学里用这些钱来维持自己的生活,大学毕业以后作为实现初步计划的经费,——广泛活动,从根本上改变一切,为自己创造一个全新的前程,走上一条独立自主的新路……嗯……嗯,这就是我所想的一切……嗯,当然啦,我杀了这个老太婆,——这件事我做得很不好……唉,够了!”
He struggled to the end of his speech in exhaustion and let his head sink.
"Oh, that's not it, that's not it," Sonia cried in distress. "How could one . . . no, that's not right, not right."
"You see yourself that it's not right. But I've spoken truly, it's the truth."
"As though that could be the truth! Good God!"
"I've only killed a louse, Sonia, a useless, loathsome, harmful creature."
"A human being--a louse!"
"I too know it wasn't a louse," he answered, looking strangely at her. "But I am talking nonsense, Sonia," he added. "I've been talking nonsense a long time. . . . That's not it, you are right there. There were quite, quite other causes for it! I haven't talked to anyone for so long, Sonia. . . . My head aches dreadfully now."
His eyes shone with feverish brilliance. He was almost delirious; an uneasy smile strayed on his lips. His terrible exhaustion could be seen through his excitement. Sonia saw how he was suffering. She too was growing dizzy. And he talked so strangely; it seemed somehow comprehensible, but yet . . . "But how, how! Good God!" And she wrung her hands in despair.
"No, Sonia, that's not it," he began again suddenly, raising his head, as though a new and sudden train of thought had struck and as it were roused him--"that's not it! Better . . . imagine--yes, it's certainly better--imagine that I am vain, envious, malicious, base, vindictive and . . . well, perhaps with a tendency to insanity. (Let's have it all out at once! They've talked of madness already, I noticed.) I told you just now I could not keep myself at the university. But do you know that perhaps I might have done? My mother would have sent me what I needed for the fees and I could have earned enough for clothes, boots and food, no doubt. Lessons had turned up at half a rouble. Razumihin works! But I turned sulky and wouldn't. (Yes, sulkiness, that's the right word for it!) I sat in my room like a spider. You've been in my den, you've seen it. . . . And do you know, Sonia, that low ceilings and tiny rooms cramp the soul and the mind? Ah, how I hated that garret! And yet I wouldn't go out of it! I wouldn't on purpose! I didn't go out for days together, and I wouldn't work, I wouldn't even eat, I just lay there doing nothing. If Nastasya brought me anything, I ate it, if she didn't, I went all day without; I wouldn't ask, on purpose, from sulkiness! At night I had no light, I lay in the dark and I wouldn't earn money for candles. I ought to have studied, but I sold my books; and the dust lies an inch thick on the notebooks on my table. I preferred lying still and thinking. And I kept thinking. . . . And I had dreams all the time, strange dreams of all sorts, no need to describe! Only then I began to fancy that . . . No, that's not it! Again I am telling you wrong! You see I kept asking myself then: why am I so stupid that if others are stupid--and I know they are--yet I won't be wiser? Then I saw, Sonia, that if one waits for everyone to get wiser it will take too long. . . . Afterwards I understood that that would never come to pass, that men won't change and that nobody can alter it and that it's not worth wasting effort over it. Yes, that's so. That's the law of their nature, Sonia, . . . that's so! . . . And I know now, Sonia, that whoever is strong in mind and spirit will have power over them. Anyone who is greatly daring is right in their eyes. He who despises most things will be a lawgiver among them and he who dares most of all will be most in the right! So it has been till now and so it will always be. A man must be blind not to see it!"
Though Raskolnikov looked at Sonia as he said this, he no longer cared whether she understood or not. The fever had complete hold of him; he was in a sort of gloomy ecstasy (he certainly had been too long without talking to anyone). Sonia felt that his gloomy creed had become his faith and code.
"I divined then, Sonia," he went on eagerly, "that power is only vouchsafed to the man who dares to stoop and pick it up. There is only one thing, one thing needful: one has only to dare! Then for the first time in my life an idea took shape in my mind which no one had ever thought of before me, no one! I saw clear as daylight how strange it is that not a single person living in this mad world has had the daring to go straight for it all and send it flying to the devil! I . . . I wanted /to have the daring/ . . . and I killed her. I only wanted to have the daring, Sonia! That was the whole cause of it!"
"Oh hush, hush," cried Sonia, clasping her hands. "You turned away from God and God has smitten you, has given you over to the devil!"
"Then Sonia, when I used to lie there in the dark and all this became clear to me, was it a temptation of the devil, eh?"
"Hush, don't laugh, blasphemer! You don't understand, you don't understand! Oh God! He won't understand!"
"Hush, Sonia! I am not laughing. I know myself that it was the devil leading me. Hush, Sonia, hush!" he repeated with gloomy insistence. "I know it all, I have thought it all over and over and whispered it all over to myself, lying there in the dark. . . . I've argued it all over with myself, every point of it, and I know it all, all! And how sick, how sick I was then of going over it all! I have kept wanting to forget it and make a new beginning, Sonia, and leave off thinking. And you don't suppose that I went into it headlong like a fool? I went into it like a wise man, and that was just my destruction. And you mustn't suppose that I didn't know, for instance, that if I began to question myself whether I had the right to gain power--I certainly hadn't the right--or that if I asked myself whether a human being is a louse it proved that it wasn't so for me, though it might be for a man who would go straight to his goal without asking questions. . . . If I worried myself all those days, wondering whether Napoleon would have done it or not, I felt clearly of course that I wasn't Napoleon. I had to endure all the agony of that battle of ideas, Sonia, and I longed to throw it off: I wanted to murder without casuistry, to murder for my own sake, for myself alone! I didn't want to lie about it even to myself. It wasn't to help my mother I did the murder--that's nonsense --I didn't do the murder to gain wealth and power and to become a benefactor of mankind. Nonsense! I simply did it; I did the murder for myself, for myself alone, and whether I became a benefactor to others, or spent my life like a spider catching men in my web and sucking the life out of men, I couldn't have cared at that moment. . . . And it was not the money I wanted, Sonia, when I did it. It was not so much the money I wanted, but something else. . . . I know it all now. . . . Understand me! Perhaps I should never have committed a murder again. I wanted to find out something else; it was something else led me on. I wanted to find out then and quickly whether I was a louse like everybody else or a man. Whether I can step over barriers or not, whether I dare stoop to pick up or not, whether I am a trembling creature or whether I have the /right/ . . ."
"To kill? Have the right to kill?" Sonia clasped her hands.
"Ach, Sonia!" he cried irritably and seemed about to make some retort, but was contemptuously silent. "Don't interrupt me, Sonia. I want to prove one thing only, that the devil led me on then and he has shown me since that I had not the right to take that path, because I am just such a louse as all the rest. He was mocking me and here I've come to you now! Welcome your guest! If I were not a louse, should I have come to you? Listen: when I went then to the old woman's I only went to /try/. . . . You may be sure of that!"
"And you murdered her!"
"But how did I murder her? Is that how men do murders? Do men go to commit a murder as I went then? I will tell you some day how I went! Did I murder the old woman? I murdered myself, not her! I crushed myself once for all, for ever. . . . But it was the devil that killed that old woman, not I. Enough, enough, Sonia, enough! Let me be!" he cried in a sudden spasm of agony, "let me be!"
He leaned his elbows on his knees and squeezed his head in his hands as in a vise.
"What suffering!" A wail of anguish broke from Sonia.
"Well, what am I to do now?" he asked, suddenly raising his head and looking at her with a face hideously distorted by despair.
"What are you to do?" she cried, jumping up, and her eyes that had been full of tears suddenly began to shine. "Stand up!" (She seized him by the shoulder, he got up, looking at her almost bewildered.) "Go at once, this very minute, stand at the cross-roads, bow down, first kiss the earth which you have defiled and then bow down to all the world and say to all men aloud, 'I am a murderer!' Then God will send you life again. Will you go, will you go?" she asked him, trembling all over, snatching his two hands, squeezing them tight in hers and gazing at him with eyes full of fire.
He was amazed at her sudden ecstasy.
"You mean Siberia, Sonia? I must give myself up?" he asked gloomily.
"Suffer and expiate your sin by it, that's what you must do."
"No! I am not going to them, Sonia!"
"But how will you go on living? What will you live for?" cried Sonia, "how is it possible now? Why, how can you talk to your mother? (Oh, what will become of them now?) But what am I saying? You have abandoned your mother and your sister already. He has abandoned them already! Oh, God!" she cried, "why, he knows it all himself. How, how can he live by himself! What will become of you now?"
"Don't be a child, Sonia," he said softly. "What wrong have I done them? Why should I go to them? What should I say to them? That's only a phantom. . . . They destroy men by millions themselves and look on it as a virtue. They are knaves and scoundrels, Sonia! I am not going to them. And what should I say to them--that I murdered her, but did not dare to take the money and hid it under a stone?" he added with a bitter smile. "Why, they would laugh at me, and would call me a fool for not getting it. A coward and a fool! They wouldn't understand and they don't deserve to understand. Why should I go to them? I won't. Don't be a child, Sonia. . . ."
他无可奈何地勉强讲完了这些,低下了头。
“哎呀,这不对,不对,”索尼娅苦恼地高声说,“难道可以这样吗……不,不是这样,不是这样的!”
“你认为不是这样!……可我是真心诚意地讲给你听,说的全都是实话!”
“可这算什么实话呀!噢,上帝啊!”
“要知道,我只不过杀死了一个虱子,索尼娅,我只是杀了一个毫无用处、讨厌而有害的虱子。”
“人会是虱子!”
“唉,我也知道,不是虱子,”他回答,很奇怪地瞅着她。
“不—过,我是在胡说,索尼娅,”他补上一句,“早就已经在胡扯了……这都不对;你说得完全正确。这完全、完全、完全是由于别的原因!……我已经很久没跟任何人说话了,索尼娅……现在我头疼得厉害。”
他的眼里射出火一样的光芒,好像在发烧。他几乎开始呓语了;嘴角上不时掠过神情不安的微笑。精神兴奋的背后隐隐透露出可怕的、无可奈何的心情。索尼娅明白,他是多么痛苦。她也开始感到头晕了。他说得这么奇怪:好像有些话是可以理解的,不过……“可是怎么会呢!怎么会呢!上帝啊!”她绝望地绞着手。
“不,索尼娅,不是这样的!”他又开始说,突然抬起头来,似乎思路突然一转,使他吃了一惊,又使他兴奋起来了,“这不对!最好……你最好认为(对!这样的确好些!),认为我自尊心很强,好嫉妒,恶毒,卑鄙,爱报复,嗯……还,大概,精神也不大正常。(让我一下子全都说出来吧!他们以前就说过,我疯了,这我看得出来!)我刚刚对你说过,在大学里我无法维持生活。不过你知道吗,说不定,我也能维持?母亲寄钱来是供我缴学费的,我可以自己挣钱来买靴子、买衣服和作伙食费;准能办得到!可以找到教书的工作;人家愿意每小时出半个卢布。拉祖米欣就在工作嘛!可我发起脾气来,不想干了。正是发起脾气来了(这个词用得很好!)……于是我像只蜘蛛样,躲进自己这个角落里。你到过我住的那间屋子,看到过了……你知道吗,索尼娅,低矮的天花板和窄小的房屋会让人的心灵和头脑憋得难受!噢,我是多么痛恨这间陋室!可我还是不愿走出这间陋室。故意不想出来!整天整夜足不出户,也不愿意工作,连饭也不想吃,一直躺着。娜斯塔西娅给送来,就吃一点儿,她不给送来,一天也就这样过去了;因为心里怨恨,我故意不跟她要!夜里没有灯,我就在黑暗中躺着,却不愿挣点儿钱来买蜡烛。应该学习,我却把书都卖光了;我的桌子上,笔记本和练习本上,现在都积了一指厚的灰尘。我最喜欢躺着,想心事。一直在想,……我一直在作梦,一些奇怪的梦,各式各样的梦,没什么好说的!不过那时候我也好像开始觉得……不,不是这样的!我又说得不对了!你要知道,当时我一直在问自己:我为什么这么蠢,既然别人都是愚蠢的,既然我确实知道,他们是愚蠢的,那么我自己为什么不想聪明一些呢?后来我明白了,索尼娅,如果等着大家都聪明起来,那可就等得太久了……后来我又明白了,永远也等不到这一天,人们永远不会改变,谁也改变不了他们,不值得为此伤精费神!是的,是这样的!这是他们的规律……规律,索尼娅!是这样的!……而且现在我知道了,索尼娅,谁的精神刚强、坚毅,谁的智慧超群出众,谁就是他们的统治者!在他们当中,谁敢作敢为,他就是对的。谁能蔑视许多事情,谁就是他们当中的立法者,谁最敢作敢为,谁就最正确!从古至今,一向如此,将来也永远是这样!只有瞎子才看不清!”
拉斯科利尼科夫说这些话的时候,虽然在看着索尼娅,可是已经不再关心她懂不懂了。他已经完全被一种狂热的情绪支配了。他正处于一种忧郁的兴奋之中。(真的,他不和任何人谈话,时间实在是太久了!)索尼娅明白,这一阴郁的信念已经成了他的信仰和教义。
“于是我领会到,索尼娅,”他异常兴奋地接着说下去,“权力只会给予敢于觊觎并夺取它的人。这里只有一个条件,仅仅一个条件:只要敢作敢为!于是我产生了一个想法,有生以来第一次产生这样的想法,在我以前,从来没有任何人想到过!谁也没想到过!我突然像看到太阳一样,清清楚楚看到,怎么直到现在从来没有一个人敢于蔑视这一切荒谬的东西,摆脱它们的束缚,让它们见鬼去!怎么过去没有,现在也没有一个人敢于这么做呢!我……我却希望敢于这样做,于是就杀死了……我只不过是希望敢于这样做,索尼娅,这就是全部原因!”
“噢,您别说了,别说了!”索尼娅双手一拍,高声惊呼。
“您不信上帝了,上帝惩罚了您,把您交给魔鬼了!……”
“顺便说说,索尼娅,这是我在黑暗中躺着的时候,一直这样想象的,原来这是魔鬼在煽动我,不是吗?啊?”
“请您住口!您别笑,亵渎神明的人,您什么,什么都不理解!噢,上帝啊!他什么,什么都不理解!”
“你别说了,索尼娅,我根本没笑,因为我自己也知道,这是魔鬼在牵着我走。你别说了,索尼娅,别说了!”他阴郁而又坚持地反复说。“我全都知道。我在黑暗里躺着的时候,已经把这一切反复想过了,还低声对自己说……这一切我都反复问过自己,直到最小的细节,我都反复考虑过,我什么都知道:知道一切!当时,所有这些废话都让我腻烦透了,腻烦透了!我一直希望忘记一切,重新开始,索尼娅,不再说空话!难道你以为,我是像个傻瓜样,冒冒失失地前去的吗?我是作为一个聪明人前去的,而正是这一点把我给毁了!难道你以为,我不知道,譬如说吧,连这都不知道吗,既然我反复自问:我有没有权利掌握权力——那么,这就是说,我没有权利掌握权力。或者,如果我提出问题:人是不是虱子?——那么,这就是说,对我来说,人不是虱子,只有对于根本没有这样想过的人,没有提出过这种问题的人,人才是虱子……既然我苦恼了那么多天,想要弄清:拿破仑会不会去?那么这是因为,我清清楚楚感觉到了,我不是拿破仑……我经受了这些空话给我带来的一切痛苦,索尼娅,我想彻底摆脱这种痛苦:我想,索尼娅,我想不要再作任何诡辩,就这样去杀人,为了自己去杀人,只为了我一个人!在这件事情上,我甚至不想对自己说谎了!我杀人,不是为了帮助母亲,——这是胡扯!我杀人不是为了金钱和权力,不是为了想成为人类的恩人。这是胡扯!我只不过是杀了人;为我自己杀人,只为了我一个人:至于我是不是会成为什么人的恩人,或者是一辈子像蜘蛛那样,用蜘蛛网捕捉一切,从他们身上吮吸鲜血,在那个时候,对我来说,反正都应该是一样的!……而且,当我杀人的时候,索尼娅,主要的,我并不是需要钱;与其说我需要的是钱,不如说需要的是旁的东西……这一切现在我都知道了……请你理解我:也许,如果沿着那条路走下去,我永远再也不会杀人了。我需要弄清另一个问题,是旁的原因促使我下手的:当时我需要弄清,而且要尽快弄清楚,我是像大家一样,是个虱子呢,还是一个人?我能跨越过去吗,还是不能跨越过去?我敢不敢俯身拾取权力?我是个发抖的畜生呢,还是我有权力……”
“杀人?您有杀人的权力?”索尼娅双手一拍。
“唉——索尼娅!”他气愤地喊了一声,本想反驳她,却轻蔑地不作声了。“你别打断我,索尼娅!我只不过想向你证明,当时是魔鬼牵着我走,而在这以后,它又向我说明,我没有权利往那里去,因为我也和大家一样,是个虱子!它把我嘲笑了一番,所以现在我到你这里来了!请接待客人吧!如果我不是虱子,我会上你这儿来吗?请你听着:当时我去老太婆那里,只不过是去试试……这你可要了解!”
“您就把她杀了!杀了!”
“可我是怎么杀的?难道别人是这样杀人吗?难道别人是像我当时那样去杀人吗?以后什么时候我会讲给您听,我是怎么去的……难道我杀死的是老太婆吗?我杀死的是我自己,而不是老太婆!我真的是一下子结果了自己的性命,永远杀死了自己!……这个老太婆是叫魔鬼杀死的,而不是我……够了,够了,索尼娅,够了!别管我,”他突然焦躁不安、满腹忧虑地高声叫喊,“别管我!”
他把胳膊肘支在膝盖上,两个手掌像钳子样紧紧夹住了头。
“多么痛苦啊!”从索尼娅胸中突然冲出一声痛苦的呼喊。
“喂,你说,现在该怎么办!”他问,突然抬起头来,看着她,由于悲观绝望,他的脸变得十分难看。
“怎么办!”她喊了一声,突然霍地站起来,在这以前一直泪水盈眶的眼睛突然发出了光芒。“你起来!(她抓住他的肩膀;他欠起身来,几乎是惊讶地看着她。)现在,立刻就去,站到十字路口,跪下,首先吻一吻被你玷污的大地,然后向全世界,向四面八方叩拜,高声对大家说:‘我杀了人!’那么上帝就又会把生命赐给你。你去吗?去吗?”她问他,像发病一样,浑身发抖,抓住他的双手,紧紧攥在自己手里,用火一般的目光直瞅着他。
他很惊讶,她那出乎意外的兴奋神情甚至使他感到震惊。
“你是说,去服苦役吗,索尼娅?应该去自首,是吗?”他神情忧郁地问。
“受苦,这样来赎罪,这就是应该做的。”
“不!我不去他们那里,索尼娅。”
“那你怎么活下去,怎么活下去呢?今后你靠什么活下去?”索尼娅高声说。“难道现在这可能吗?嗯,你怎么跟母亲说话呢?(噢,她们,她们现在会怎样呢!)唉,我说什么呀!因为你已经抛弃了母亲和妹妹。你已经抛弃了,抛弃了。噢,上帝啊!”她高声呼喊,“这一切他已经都知道了!没有一个亲人,可怎么,怎么活下去呢!现在你会怎样呢!”
“别像个小孩子一样,索尼娅,”他轻轻地说。“在他们面前,我有什么罪?我为什么要去?我去对他们说什么?这一切都只不过是幻影……他们自己杀人如麻,消灭千千万万的人,还把这看作美德。他们是骗子和坏蛋,索尼娅!……我不去。我去说什么:说我杀了人,可是我不敢拿钱,把钱藏到石头底下去了吗?”他讥讽地冷笑着补充说。“那样他们就会嘲笑我,说:不拿钱,你是个傻瓜。胆小鬼和傻瓜!他们什么,什么也不会懂,索尼娅,也不配懂得。我为什么要去?
我不去。你别孩子气了,索尼娅……”
“你可要痛苦死了,可要痛苦死了,”她反复说,向他伸出双手,绝望地哀求他。
"It will be too much for you to bear, too much!" she repeated, holding out her hands in despairing supplication.
"Perhaps I've been unfair to myself," he observed gloomily, pondering, "perhaps after all I am a man and not a louse and I've been in too great a hurry to condemn myself. I'll make another fight for it."
A haughty smile appeared on his lips.
"What a burden to bear! And your whole life, your whole life!"
"I shall get used to it," he said grimly and thoughtfully. "Listen," he began a minute later, "stop crying, it's time to talk of the facts: I've come to tell you that the police are after me, on my track. . . ."
"Ach!" Sonia cried in terror.
"Well, why do you cry out? You want me to go to Siberia and now you are frightened? But let me tell you: I shall not give myself up. I shall make a struggle for it and they won't do anything to me. They've no real evidence. Yesterday I was in great danger and believed I was lost; but to-day things are going better. All the facts they know can be explained two ways, that's to say I can turn their accusations to my credit, do you understand? And I shall, for I've learnt my lesson. But they will certainly arrest me. If it had not been for something that happened, they would have done so to-day for certain; perhaps even now they will arrest me to-day. . . . But that's no matter, Sonia; they'll let me out again . . . for there isn't any real proof against me, and there won't be, I give you my word for it. And they can't convict a man on what they have against me. Enough. . . . I only tell you that you may know. . . . I will try to manage somehow to put it to my mother and sister so that they won't be frightened. . . . My sister's future is secure, however, now, I believe . . . and my mother's must be too. . . . Well, that's all. Be careful, though. Will you come and see me in prison when I am there?"
"Oh, I will, I will."
They sat side by side, both mournful and dejected, as though they had been cast up by the tempest alone on some deserted shore. He looked at Sonia and felt how great was her love for him, and strange to say he felt it suddenly burdensome and painful to be so loved. Yes, it was a strange and awful sensation! On his way to see Sonia he had felt that all his hopes rested on her; he expected to be rid of at least part of his suffering, and now, when all her heart turned towards him, he suddenly felt that he was immeasurably unhappier than before.
"Sonia," he said, "you'd better not come and see me when I am in prison."
Sonia did not answer, she was crying. Several minutes passed.
"Have you a cross on you?" she asked, as though suddenly thinking of it.
He did not at first understand the question.
"No, of course not. Here, take this one, of cypress wood. I have another, a copper one that belonged to Lizaveta. I changed with Lizaveta: she gave me her cross and I gave her my little ikon. I will wear Lizaveta's now and give you this. Take it . . . it's mine! It's mine, you know," she begged him. "We will go to suffer together, and together we will bear our cross!"
"Give it me," said Raskolnikov.
He did not want to hurt her feelings. But immediately he drew back the hand he held out for the cross.
"Not now, Sonia. Better later," he added to comfort her.
"Yes, yes, better," she repeated with conviction, "when you go to meet your suffering, then put it on. You will come to me, I'll put it on you, we will pray and go together."
At that moment someone knocked three times at the door.
"Sofya Semyonovna, may I come in?" they heard in a very familiar and polite voice.
Sonia rushed to the door in a fright. The flaxen head of Mr. Lebeziatnikov appeared at the door.
“我也许已经诽谤了自己,”他仿佛沉思默想地、忧郁地说,“说不定我还是人,而不是虱子,而且过于匆忙地指责了自己……我还要较量一下。”
他的嘴角上勉强露出傲慢的微笑。
“要忍受这样的痛苦!而且要忍受一辈子,一辈子!
……”
“我会习惯的……”他神情忧郁,沉思地说。“你听我说,”过了一会儿,他说,“哭已经哭够了,该谈正经的了:我来是要告诉你,现在他们正在搜捕我……”
“哎呀!”索尼娅高声惊呼。
“唉,你喊什么!你自己希望我去服苦役,现在却害怕了吗?不过我决不让他们得逞。我还要和他们较量一下,他们毫无办法。他们没有真正的罪证。昨天我有很大的危险,以为我已经完了;今天情况好转了。他们所掌握的所有罪证都可以作不同的解释,也就是说,我可以使他们的指控变得对我有利,你明白吗?我一定会这样做;因为现在我学会了……不过他们大概会把我关进监狱。如果不是一个偶然的情况,也许今天就把我关起来了,大概,甚至说不定今天还是会把我关进监狱……不过这没关系,索尼娅:我坐几天牢,还是会把我放出来……因为他们没有一件真凭实据,而且将来也不会有,我可以保证。单凭他们掌握的那些东西,是不能把人投入监狱的。好,够了……我只是想让你知道……对妹妹和母亲,我要竭力设法让她们不再相信,不让她们害怕……其实现在妹妹好像生活已经有保障了……所以母亲也……好,就是这些了。不过,你要小心。要是我坐了牢,你会去看我吗?”
“噢,我一定去,我一定去!”
他们两人并肩坐在一起,两人都神情忧郁,而且沮丧,仿佛一场风暴以后,孤单单地被抛到了荒凉的海岸上。他瞅着索尼娅,感觉到她是多么深深地爱他,但奇怪,有人这样爱他,他反倒突然感到心情沉重和痛心。是的,这是一种奇怪而又可怕的感觉!到索尼娅这儿来的时候,他觉得,自己的全部希望和出路都在她的身上;他想至少能卸下自己的一部分痛苦,可是现在,当她把自己的心都掏给他的时候,他却突然感觉到,而且意识到,他变得无比不幸,比以前还要不幸得多。
“索尼娅,”他说,“如果我坐了牢,你最好不要去看我。”
索尼娅没有回答,她在哭。过了几分钟。
“你身上戴着十字架吗?”她突然出乎意料地问,仿佛突然想起来似的。
起初他没听懂她的问题。
“没有,没有,是吗?给,把这个拿去吧,是柏木的。我还有一个,铜的,是莉扎薇塔的。我跟莉扎薇塔交换了十字架,她把自己的十字架给了我,我把自己的小圣像给了她。现在我佩戴莉扎薇塔的,这一个给你。你拿着啊……因为这是我的!这是我的!”她一再请求说。“因为咱们要一同去受苦,一同背十字架!……”
“给我吧!”拉斯科利尼科夫说。他不想让她伤心。但是他立刻又把伸出来接十字架的手缩回去了。
“不是现在,索尼娅,最好是以后再给我,”为了安慰她,他补上一句。
“对,对,还是以后,还是以后再给你吧,”她热情地附和说,“等到你去受苦的时候,那时候再戴上它。你到我这儿来,我给你戴上,咱们一同祈祷,一同上路。”
就在这时,有人在门上敲了三下。
“索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,可以进来吗?”听到了不知是谁的、很熟而且很客气的声音。
索尼娅惊恐地向房门跑去。列别贾特尼科夫那张生着一头淡黄色头发的脸朝屋里张望了一下。

峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 45楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第五章
Lebeziatnikov looked perturbed.
"I've come to you, Sofya Semyonovna," he began. "Excuse me . . . I thought I should find you," he said, addressing Raskolnikov suddenly, "that is, I didn't mean anything . . . of that sort . . . But I just thought . . . Katerina Ivanovna has gone out of her mind," he blurted out suddenly, turning from Raskolnikov to Sonia.
Sonia screamed.
"At least it seems so. But . . . we don't know what to do, you see! She came back--she seems to have been turned out somewhere, perhaps beaten. . . . So it seems at least, . . . She had run to your father's former chief, she didn't find him at home: he was dining at some other general's. . . . Only fancy, she rushed off there, to the other general's, and, imagine, she was so persistent that she managed to get the chief to see her, had him fetched out from dinner, it seems. You can imagine what happened. She was turned out, of course; but, according to her own story, she abused him and threw something at him. One may well believe it. . . . How it is she wasn't taken up, I can't understand! Now she is telling everyone, including Amalia Ivanovna; but it's difficult to understand her, she is screaming and flinging herself about. . . . Oh yes, she shouts that since everyone has abandoned her, she will take the children and go into the street with a barrel-organ, and the children will sing and dance, and she too, and collect money, and will go every day under the general's window . . . 'to let everyone see well-born children, whose father was an official, begging in the street.' She keeps beating the children and they are all crying. She is teaching Lida to sing 'My Village,' the boy to dance, Polenka the same. She is tearing up all the clothes, and making them little caps like actors; she means to carry a tin basin and make it tinkle, instead of music. . . . She won't listen to anything. . . . Imagine the state of things! It's beyond anything!"
Lebeziatnikov would have gone on, but Sonia, who had heard him almost breathless, snatched up her cloak and hat, and ran out of the room, putting on her things as she went. Raskolnikov followed her and Lebeziatnikov came after him.
"She has certainly gone mad!" he said to Raskolnikov, as they went out into the street. "I didn't want to frighten Sofya Semyonovna, so I said 'it seemed like it,' but there isn't a doubt of it. They say that in consumption the tubercles sometimes occur in the brain; it's a pity I know nothing of medicine. I did try to persuade her, but she wouldn't listen."
"Did you talk to her about the tubercles?"
"Not precisely of the tubercles. Besides, she wouldn't have understood! But what I say is, that if you convince a person logically that he has nothing to cry about, he'll stop crying. That's clear. Is it your conviction that he won't?"
"Life would be too easy if it were so," answered Raskolnikov.
"Excuse me, excuse me; of course it would be rather difficult for Katerina Ivanovna to understand, but do you know that in Paris they have been conducting serious experiments as to the possibility of curing the insane, simply by logical argument? One professor there, a scientific man of standing, lately dead, believed in the possibility of such treatment. His idea was that there's nothing really wrong with the physical organism of the insane, and that insanity is, so to say, a logical mistake, an error of judgment, an incorrect view of things. He gradually showed the madman his error and, would you believe it, they say he was successful? But as he made use of douches too, how far success was due to that treatment remains uncertain. . . . So it seems at least."
Raskolnikov had long ceased to listen. Reaching the house where he lived, he nodded to Lebeziatnikov and went in at the gate. Lebeziatnikov woke up with a start, looked about him and hurried on.
Raskolnikov went into his little room and stood still in the middle of it. Why had he come back here? He looked at the yellow and tattered paper, at the dust, at his sofa. . . . From the yard came a loud continuous knocking; someone seemed to be hammering . . . He went to the window, rose on tiptoe and looked out into the yard for a long time with an air of absorbed attention. But the yard was empty and he could not see who was hammering. In the house on the left he saw some open windows; on the window-sills were pots of sickly-looking geraniums. Linen was hung out of the windows . . . He knew it all by heart. He turned away and sat down on the sofa.
Never, never had he felt himself so fearfully alone!
Yes, he felt once more that he would perhaps come to hate Sonia, now that he had made her more miserable.
"Why had he gone to her to beg for her tears? What need had he to poison her life? Oh, the meanness of it!"
"I will remain alone," he said resolutely, "and she shall not come to the prison!"
Five minutes later he raised his head with a strange smile. That was a strange thought.
"Perhaps it really would be better in Siberia," he thought suddenly.
He could not have said how long he sat there with vague thoughts surging through his mind. All at once the door opened and Dounia came in. At first she stood still and looked at him from the doorway, just as he had done at Sonia; then she came in and sat down in the same place as yesterday, on the chair facing him. He looked silently and almost vacantly at her.
"Don't be angry, brother; I've only come for one minute," said Dounia.
Her face looked thoughtful but not stern. Her eyes were bright and soft. He saw that she too had come to him with love.
"Brother, now I know all, /all/. Dmitri Prokofitch has explained and told me everything. They are worrying and persecuting you through a stupid and contemptible suspicion. . . . Dmitri Prokofitch told me that there is no danger, and that you are wrong in looking upon it with such horror. I don't think so, and I fully understand how indignant you must be, and that that indignation may have a permanent effect on you. That's what I am afraid of. As for your cutting yourself off from us, I don't judge you, I don't venture to judge you, and forgive me for having blamed you for it. I feel that I too, if I had so great a trouble, should keep away from everyone. I shall tell mother nothing /of this/, but I shall talk about you continually and shall tell her from you that you will come very soon. Don't worry about her; /I/ will set her mind at rest; but don't you try her too much--come once at least; remember that she is your mother. And now I have come simply to say" (Dounia began to get up) "that if you should need me or should need . . . all my life or anything . . . call me, and I'll come. Good-bye!"
She turned abruptly and went towards the door.
"Dounia!" Raskolnikov stopped her and went towards her. "That Razumihin, Dmitri Prokofitch, is a very good fellow."
Dounia flushed slightly.
"Well?" she asked, waiting a moment.
"He is competent, hardworking, honest and capable of real love. . . . Good-bye, Dounia."
Dounia flushed crimson, then suddenly she took alarm.
"But what does it mean, brother? Are we really parting for ever that you . . . give me such a parting message?"
"Never mind. . . . Good-bye."
He turned away, and walked to the window. She stood a moment, looked at him uneasily, and went out troubled.
No, he was not cold to her. There was an instant (the very last one) when he had longed to take her in his arms and /say good-bye/ to her, and even /to tell/ her, but he had not dared even to touch her hand.
"Afterwards she may shudder when she remembers that I embraced her, and will feel that I stole her kiss."
"And would /she/ stand that test?" he went on a few minutes later to himself. "No, she wouldn't; girls like that can't stand things! They never do."
And he thought of Sonia.
There was a breath of fresh air from the window. The daylight was fading. He took up his cap and went out.
He could not, of course, and would not consider how ill he was. But all this continual anxiety and agony of mind could not but affect him. And if he were not lying in high fever it was perhaps just because this continual inner strain helped to keep him on his legs and in possession of his faculties. But this artificial excitement could not last long.
He wandered aimlessly. The sun was setting. A special form of misery had begun to oppress him of late. There was nothing poignant, nothing acute about it; but there was a feeling of permanence, of eternity about it; it brought a foretaste of hopeless years of this cold leaden misery, a foretaste of an eternity "on a square yard of space." Towards evening this sensation usually began to weigh on him more heavily.
"With this idiotic, purely physical weakness, depending on the sunset or something, one can't help doing something stupid! You'll go to Dounia, as well as to Sonia," he muttered bitterly.
He heard his name called. He looked round. Lebeziatnikov rushed up to him.
"Only fancy, I've been to your room looking for you. Only fancy, she's carried out her plan, and taken away the children. Sofya Semyonovna and I have had a job to find them. She is rapping on a frying-pan and making the children dance. The children are crying. They keep stopping at the cross-roads and in front of shops; there's a crowd of fools running after them. Come along!"
"And Sonia?" Raskolnikov asked anxiously, hurrying after Lebeziatnikov.
"Simply frantic. That is, it's not Sofya Semyonovna's frantic, but Katerina Ivanovna, though Sofya Semyonova's frantic too. But Katerina Ivanovna is absolutely frantic. I tell you she is quite mad. They'll be taken to the police. You can fancy what an effect that will have. . . . They are on the canal bank, near the bridge now, not far from Sofya Semyonovna's, quite close."
On the canal bank near the bridge and not two houses away from the one where Sonia lodged, there was a crowd of people, consisting principally of gutter children. The hoarse broken voice of Katerina Ivanovna could be heard from the bridge, and it certainly was a strange spectacle likely to attract a street crowd. Katerina Ivanovna in her old dress with the green shawl, wearing a torn straw hat, crushed in a hideous way on one side, was really frantic. She was exhausted and breathless. Her wasted consumptive face looked more suffering than ever, and indeed out of doors in the sunshine a consumptive always looks worse than at home. But her excitement did not flag, and every moment her irritation grew more intense. She rushed at the children, shouted at them, coaxed them, told them before the crowd how to dance and what to sing, began explaining to them why it was necessary, and driven to desperation by their not understanding, beat them. . . . Then she would make a rush at the crowd; if she noticed any decently dressed person stopping to look, she immediately appealed to him to see what these children "from a genteel, one may say aristocratic, house" had been brought to. If she heard laughter or jeering in the crowd, she would rush at once at the scoffers and begin squabbling with them. Some people laughed, others shook their heads, but everyone felt curious at the sight of the madwoman with the frightened children. The frying-pan of which Lebeziatnikov had spoken was not there, at least Raskolnikov did not see it. But instead of rapping on the pan, Katerina Ivanovna began clapping her wasted hands, when she made Lida and Kolya dance and Polenka sing. She too joined in the singing, but broke down at the second note with a fearful cough, which made her curse in despair and even shed tears. What made her most furious was the weeping and terror of Kolya and Lida. Some effort had been made to dress the children up as street singers are dressed. The boy had on a turban made of something red and white to look like a Turk. There had been no costume for Lida; she simply had a red knitted cap, or rather a night cap that had belonged to Marmeladov, decorated with a broken piece of white ostrich feather, which had been Katerina Ivanovna's grandmother's and had been preserved as a family possession. Polenka was in her everyday dress; she looked in timid perplexity at her mother, and kept at her side, hiding her tears. She dimly realised her mother's condition, and looked uneasily about her. She was terribly frightened of the street and the crowd. Sonia followed Katerina Ivanovna, weeping and beseeching her to return home, but Katerina Ivanovna was not to be persuaded.
列别贾特尼科夫神色惊慌不安。
“我是来找您的,索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜。请原谅……我就料到会在家里找到您,”他突然对拉斯科利尼科夫说,“也就是说我根本没往……这方面想过……不过我想的是……卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜在我们那儿发疯了,”他突然撇开拉斯科利尼科夫,斩钉截铁地对索尼娅说。
索尼娅惊叫了一声。
“也就是,至少是看上去好像疯了。不过……我们在那儿都不知道该怎么办,事情就是这样!她回来了,——好像不知从哪里把她赶了出来,也许还打了她……至少看上去好像是这样……她跑去找谢苗·扎哈雷奇的上司,在家里没找到他,他在一位也是将军的人家里吃饭……请您想想看,她就到他们吃饭的那儿去了……也就是到那另一位将军家里去了,而且,请您想想看,她坚持要把谢苗·扎哈雷奇的上司叫出来,而且,好像是要把人家从饭桌旁叫出来。可想而知,那里发生了什么事情。当然,人家赶走了她;她却说,她把他骂了一顿,还朝他扔了个什么东西。这甚至是可以想象得到的……怎么会没把她抓起来,——这可就不知道了!现在她正对大家讲这件事,也对阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜说,只不过很难听懂她说什么,她在大喊大叫,浑身发抖……啊,对了:她说,而且高声叫嚷说,因为现在大家都抛弃了她,所以她要带着孩子们上街去,背着手摇风琴,让孩子们唱歌跳舞,她也唱歌跳舞,向观众讨钱,而且每天都到那位将军的窗子底下去……她说,‘让他们看到,父亲做过官的高贵的子弟怎样在街上乞讨!’她打那些孩子们,孩子们在哭。她教廖尼娅唱《小小农庄》,教男孩子跳舞,也教波琳娜·米哈依洛芙娜跳舞,撕掉所有的衣服;给他们做了些像给演员戴的那种小帽子;她想带着一个面盆,去敲敲打打,当作音乐……她什么话也不听……请您想想看,怎么能这样呢?这样简直是不行的!”
列别贾特尼科夫也许还会说下去的,但是几乎气也不喘地听着的索尼娅,突然抓起披巾、帽子,跑出屋去,一面跑,一面戴上帽子,披上披巾。拉斯科利尼科夫也跟着她出去了,列别贾特尼科夫跟在他的后面。
“一定是疯了!”他对拉斯科利尼科夫说,跟他一道来到了街上,“我只是不想吓坏索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,所以说:‘好像’,不过,这是毫无疑问的。据说,害肺病的人,结核也会突然跑到脑子里去;可惜我不懂医学。不过我曾试图说服她,可她什么话也不听。”
“您跟她谈结核了?”
“也就是说,不完全是谈结核。而且她什么也不会懂的。不过我说的是:如果合乎逻辑地劝说一个人,告诉他,其实他没有什么好哭的,那么他就不会再哭了。这是很清楚的。您却认为,他不会不哭吗?”
“要是那样的话,生活也就太容易了,”拉斯科利尼科夫回答。
“对不起,对不起;当然,要让卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜理解,那是相当困难的;不过您是不是知道,巴黎已经在进行认真的试验了,试验单用合乎逻辑地劝说的办法,是不是有可能治好疯子?那里有一个教授,不久前才去世,是个很严肃的学者,他认为,可以这样治疗。他的基本观念是,疯子的机体并没有受到特殊损害,而疯狂这种症状,可以说是一种逻辑性的错误,判断的错误,对事物的不正确的看法。他逐渐驳倒病人的错误看法,您要知道,据说,获得了结果!不过因为他同时还使用了淋浴疗法,所以这种治疗的效果当然也就受到了怀疑……至少看来好像是这样……”
拉斯科利尼科夫早就已经没听他在说什么了。来到了自己那幢房子跟前,他向列别贾特尼科夫点了点头,转身进了大门。列别贾特尼科夫明白过来,朝四下里望了望,继续往前跑去。
拉斯科利尼科夫回到自己那间小屋里,站到房屋中间。
“他为什么回到这里来呢?”他扫视了一下这些微微发黄的破旧的墙纸,这些灰尘,他那张沙发床……从院子里传来不知是敲打什么的、连续不断的、刺耳的响声;好像什么地方在钉什么,在钉钉子……他走到窗前,踮起脚尖,朝院子里望了好久,好像异常关心的样子。但院子里空荡荡的,看不见有人在敲打什么。左边厢房里,可以看到有些地方窗子敞着;窗台上摆着几盆长得很不茂盛的天竺葵,窗外晾着内衣……
这一切他都太熟悉了。于是他转身坐到沙发上。
他从来,还从来没感到过这样可怕的孤独!
是的,他又一次感觉到,也许他真的会痛恨索尼娅,而且正是现在,在他使她更加不幸以后,他却要恨她。“他为什么去她那里,乞求她的眼泪?他为什么一定要坑害她一辈子?
噢,卑鄙!”
“我还是孤单单的一个人吧!”他突然坚决地说,“她也不会到监狱去看我!”
过了大约五分钟,他抬起头来,奇怪地微微一笑。这是一个奇怪的想法:“也许去服苦役当真会好一些,”他突然想。
他脑子里塞满种种模模糊糊的想法,他记不得这样在自己屋里坐了多久。突然房门开了,进来的是阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜。她先站住,像不久前索尼娅进来时那样,从门口看了看他,然后才进来,在他对面的椅子上坐下,坐在昨天她坐过的地方。他默默地看了她一眼,不知为什么心里什么也没有想。
“你别生气,哥哥,我只待一会儿,”杜尼娅说。她脸上的表情若有所思,但并不严峻。她的目光明亮而且平静。他看出,这一个也是满怀着爱心来找他的。
“哥哥,我现在什么都知道了,一切都知道了。德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇把一切都告诉了我,讲给我听了。由于愚蠢和卑鄙的怀疑,你受到迫害,受尽折磨……德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇对我说,没有任何危险,你用不着对这件事感到那么害怕。我倒不这样想,而且完全理解你心里感到多么愤慨,这样的愤慨会在你心里留下永不磨灭的痕迹。我担心的就是这一点。你抛弃了我们,我并不责备你,也不敢责备你,我以前责备过你,请你原谅我。我自己也觉得,如果我心里有这么大的痛苦,我也会离开所有的人。关于这件事,我什么也不会告诉母亲,不过会经常不断地谈起你,还要用你的名义告诉她,说你很快就会去看她。你不要为她难过,我会安慰她的;不过请你也不要折磨她,——哪怕去看她一次也好;你要记住,她是母亲!现在我来,只是要告诉你(杜尼娅说着从座位上站起来),如果万一你需要我做什么事情,或者你需要……我的整个生命或者什么……那么只要你喊一声,我就会来。别了!”
她急遽地转身往门口走去。
“杜尼娅!”拉斯科利尼科夫叫住了她,站起来,走到她跟前,“这个拉祖米欣,德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇,是个很好的人。”
杜尼娅微微脸红了。
“说呀!”稍等了一会儿,她问。
“他是个能干、勤劳、正直而且能热爱人的人……别了,杜尼娅!”
杜尼娅满脸绯红,随后突然惊慌起来:
“可你这是什么意思,哥哥,难道我们真的要永远分别了,所以你给我……留下这几句遗言?”
“反正一样……别了……”
他转身离开她,朝窗前走去。她站了一会儿,担心地看了看他,十分担忧地走了。
不,他对她并不是冷酷无情。有一瞬间(最后一刹那),他非常想紧紧拥抱她,和她告别,甚至还想告诉她,可是就连跟她握手,他也下不了决心:
“以后,她想起现在我拥抱过她,也许会发抖的,还会说,是我偷去了她的吻!”
“这个人经受得住吗?”几分钟以后他暗自补充说。“不,她经受不住;这样的人是经受不住的!这样的人永远也经受不住……”
于是他想起了索尼娅。
从窗外吹进一阵凉爽的微风。外面光线已经不是那么亮了。他突然拿起帽子,走了出去。
他当然不能,而且也不想注意自己的病情。但是所有这些不断的担忧和内心的恐惧,对他的病情却不能不产生影响。如果说他虽然在发高烧,却没有完全病倒,那也许正是因为这内心里不断的忧虑还在支持着他,不让他倒下来,让他的头脑保持清醒,不过这种状况是人为的,暂时的。
他无目的地徘徊着。太阳正在慢慢地落下去。最近他开始感到一种特殊的烦闷。这烦闷中并没有任何特别刺激他、让他特别伤心的东西;但是他却感觉到,这愁闷是经常的和永恒的,预感到这令人沮丧的、无情的烦闷将终生伴随着他,无穷无尽,预感到他将永远站在那“一俄尺见方的空间”。通常,在黄昏时分,这种感觉会使他更加痛苦。
“太阳落山会让人身体特别虚弱,在这种十分愚蠢、纯粹是体力虚弱的情况下,可要当心,别干出什么蠢事来!这时你不但会去找索尼娅,而且还会去找杜尼娅呢!”他憎恨地喃喃地说。
有人喊了他一声。他回头一看;列别贾特尼科夫向他跑来。
“您要知道,我去过您那里,去找您。您信不信,她怎么想,真的就那么干了,领着孩子们出去了!我和索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜好容易才找到他们。她自己敲着煎锅,让孩子们跳舞。孩子们在哭。他们停在十字路口几家小铺子前面。一群蠢人跟着他们跑。咱们快去吧。”
“索尼娅呢?……”拉斯科利尼科夫担心地问,赶紧跟着列别贾特尼科夫走了。
“简直是发疯了。也就是说,发疯的不是索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,而是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,不过索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜也快疯了。我告诉您,她完全疯了。会把他们弄到警察局去的。您要知道,这会产生什么影响啊……他们这会儿在运河岸上,x桥附近,离索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜那里不远。近得很。”
离桥不太远,和索尼娅住的房子隔着不到两幢房子,那儿运河岸上聚集着一小群人。小男孩和小姑娘们特别多。还从桥上就听到了卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜异常激动的、嘶哑的声音。这当真是一个很能吸引街头观众的、奇怪的场面。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜穿着她那件旧连衫裙,披着德拉德达姆呢的披巾,歪戴着一顶已经压得不像帽子的破草帽,的确像真的疯了一样。她累坏了,气喘吁吁。她那害肺病的、疲惫不堪的脸,看上去比以往任何时候都更痛苦(何况在街上,在阳光下,害肺病的人看上去总好像比在屋里的时候病得更厉害,显得更难看);但是她那激动的心情并未平静下来,她的怒气反而每时每刻都在增长。她冲到孩子们跟前,对他们高声叫喊,就在这里,当着观众,哄他们,教他们跳舞、唱歌,还对他们解释,为什么要这样做,因为他们不理解她的意思,她感到绝望了,于是动手打他们……随后,跟孩子们还没说完,又突然朝观众跑去;如果发现一个穿得稍微像样一点儿的人站下来观看,她就立刻对他解释说,请看,“高贵的家庭里,甚至可以说是贵族家庭的子弟”沦落到了什么样的地步。如果听到人群中有笑声或者是有人讥笑他们,她立刻就冲到那些无礼的人面前,和他们对骂起来。有人当真笑了,另一些人却在摇头;总之大家都很好奇,都想看看这个疯婆娘和那些吓坏了的孩子们。列别贾特尼科夫说的那个煎锅不见了,至少拉斯科利尼科夫没有看到;不过卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜虽然没敲煎锅,在她逼着波列奇卡唱歌、廖尼娅和科利亚跳舞的时候,却用她那干瘦的手掌打起拍子来;而且她自己也跟着和唱,可是由于痛苦的咳嗽,每次唱到第二个音的时候,就猝然中断了,这样一来她又感到悲观失望了,于是咒骂自己的咳嗽,甚至会哭起来。最惹她生气的是科利亚和廖尼娅的哭泣和恐惧。真的,她曾试图让孩子们装扮起来,给他们穿上街头卖唱的男女艺人们穿的那种服装。男孩子头上裹着不知用什么做的红白相间的缠头巾,让他扮作土耳其人。廖尼娅却没有服装化装了;只给她头上戴了一顶已故的谢苗·扎哈雷奇的红绒线帽(或者不如说是一顶尖顶帽),帽子上又插了一段白鸵鸟毛,这鸵鸟毛还是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜祖母的遗物,至今一直作为传家宝保藏在箱子里。波列奇卡还是穿着平常穿的衣服。她胆怯而且惊慌失措地瞅着母亲,一步也不离开她,不让人看见她在掉泪,她猜到母亲疯了,不时焦急不安地朝四下里看看。街道和人群都让她觉得非常害怕。索尼娅寸步不离地紧跟着卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,哭着不断地恳求她回家去。但是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜无动于衷。
"Leave off, Sonia, leave off," she shouted, speaking fast, panting and coughing. "You don't know what you ask; you are like a child! I've told you before that I am not coming back to that drunken German. Let everyone, let all Petersburg see the children begging in the streets, though their father was an honourable man who served all his life in truth and fidelity, and one may say died in the service." (Katerina Ivanovna had by now invented this fantastic story and thoroughly believed it.) "Let that wretch of a general see it! And you are silly, Sonia: what have we to eat? Tell me that. We have worried you enough, I won't go on so! Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, is that you?" she cried, seeing Raskolnikov and rushing up to him. "Explain to this silly girl, please, that nothing better could be done! Even organ-grinders earn their living, and everyone will see at once that we are different, that we are an honourable and bereaved family reduced to beggary. And that general will lose his post, you'll see! We shall perform under his windows every day, and if the Tsar drives by, I'll fall on my knees, put the children before me, show them to him, and say 'Defend us father.' He is the father of the fatherless, he is merciful, he'll protect us, you'll see, and that wretch of a general. . . . Lida, /tenez vous droite/! Kolya, you'll dance again. Why are you whimpering? Whimpering again! What are you afraid of, stupid? Goodness, what am I to do with them, Rodion Romanovitch? If you only knew how stupid they are! What's one to do with such children?"
And she, almost crying herself--which did not stop her uninterrupted, rapid flow of talk--pointed to the crying children. Raskolnikov tried to persuade her to go home, and even said, hoping to work on her vanity, that it was unseemly for her to be wandering about the streets like an organ-grinder, as she was intending to become the principal of a boarding-school.
"A boarding-school, ha-ha-ha! A castle in the air," cried Katerina Ivanovna, her laugh ending in a cough. "No, Rodion Romanovitch, that dream is over! All have forsaken us! . . . And that general. . . . You know, Rodion Romanovitch, I threw an inkpot at him--it happened to be standing in the waiting-room by the paper where you sign your name. I wrote my name, threw it at him and ran away. Oh, the scoundrels, the scoundrels! But enough of them, now I'll provide for the children myself, I won't bow down to anybody! She has had to bear enough for us!" she pointed to Sonia. "Polenka, how much have you got? Show me! What, only two farthings! Oh, the mean wretches! They give us nothing, only run after us, putting their tongues out. There, what is that blockhead laughing at?" (She pointed to a man in the crowd.) "It's all because Kolya here is so stupid; I have such a bother with him. What do you want, Polenka? Tell me in French, /parlez-moi francais/. Why, I've taught you, you know some phrases. Else how are you to show that you are of good family, well brought-up children, and not at all like other organ-grinders? We aren't going to have a Punch and Judy show in the street, but to sing a genteel song. . . . Ah, yes, . . . What are we to sing? You keep putting me out, but we . . . you see, we are standing here, Rodion Romanovitch, to find something to sing and get money, something Kolya can dance to. . . . For, as you can fancy, our performance is all impromptu. . . . We must talk it over and rehearse it all thoroughly, and then we shall go to Nevsky, where there are far more people of good society, and we shall be noticed at once. Lida knows 'My Village' only, nothing but 'My Village,' and everyone sings that. We must sing something far more genteel. . . . Well, have you thought of anything, Polenka? If only you'd help your mother! My memory's quite gone, or I should have thought of something. We really can't sing 'An Hussar.' Ah, let us sing in French, 'Cinq sous,' I have taught it you, I have taught it you. And as it is in French, people will see at once that you are children of good family, and that will be much more touching. . . . You might sing 'Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre,' for that's quite a child's song and is sung as a lullaby in all the aristocratic houses.
"/Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre Ne sait quand reviendra/ . . ."
she began singing. "But no, better sing 'Cinq sous.' Now, Kolya, your hands on your hips, make haste, and you, Lida, keep turning the other way, and Polenka and I will sing and clap our hands!
"/Cinq sous, cinq sous Pour monter notre menage."
(Cough-cough-cough!) "Set your dress straight, Polenka, it's slipped down on your shoulders," she observed, panting from coughing. "Now it's particularly necessary to behave nicely and genteelly, that all may see that you are well-born children. I said at the time that the bodice should be cut longer, and made of two widths. It was your fault, Sonia, with your advice to make it shorter, and now you see the child is quite deformed by it. . . . Why, you're all crying again! What's the matter, stupids? Come, Kolya, begin. Make haste, make haste! Oh, what an unbearable child!
"Cinq sous, cinq sous.
"A policeman again! What do you want?"
A policeman was indeed forcing his way through the crowd. But at that moment a gentleman in civilian uniform and an overcoat--a solid- looking official of about fifty with a decoration on his neck (which delighted Katerina Ivanovna and had its effect on the policeman)-- approached and without a word handed her a green three-rouble note. His face wore a look of genuine sympathy. Katerina Ivanovna took it and gave him a polite, even ceremonious, bow.
"I thank you, honoured sir," she began loftily. "The causes that have induced us (take the money, Polenka: you see there are generous and honourable people who are ready to help a poor gentlewoman in distress). You see, honoured sir, these orphans of good family--I might even say of aristocratic connections--and that wretch of a general sat eating grouse . . . and stamped at my disturbing him. 'Your excellency,' I said, 'protect the orphans, for you knew my late husband, Semyon Zaharovitch, and on the very day of his death the basest of scoundrels slandered his only daughter.' . . . That policeman again! Protect me," she cried to the official. "Why is that policeman edging up to me? We have only just run away from one of them. What do you want, fool?"
"It's forbidden in the streets. You mustn't make a disturbance."
"It's you're making a disturbance. It's just the same as if I were grinding an organ. What business is it of yours?"
"You have to get a licence for an organ, and you haven't got one, and in that way you collect a crowd. Where do you lodge?"
"What, a license?" wailed Katerina Ivanovna. "I buried my husband to-day. What need of a license?"
"Calm yourself, madam, calm yourself," began the official. "Come along; I will escort you. . . . This is no place for you in the crowd. You are ill."
"Honoured sir, honoured sir, you don't know," screamed Katerina Ivanovna. "We are going to the Nevsky. . . . Sonia, Sonia! Where is she? She is crying too! What's the matter with you all? Kolya, Lida, where are you going?" she cried suddenly in alarm. "Oh, silly children! Kolya, Lida, where are they off to? . . ."
Kolya and Lida, scared out of their wits by the crowd, and their mother's mad pranks, suddenly seized each other by the hand, and ran off at the sight of the policeman who wanted to take them away somewhere. Weeping and wailing, poor Katerina Ivanovna ran after them. She was a piteous and unseemly spectacle, as she ran, weeping and panting for breath. Sonia and Polenka rushed after them.
"Bring them back, bring them back, Sonia! Oh stupid, ungrateful children! . . . Polenka! catch them. . . . It's for your sakes I . . ."
She stumbled as she ran and fell down.
"She's cut herself, she's bleeding! Oh, dear!" cried Sonia, bending over her.
All ran up and crowded around. Raskolnikov and Lebeziatnikov were the first at her side, the official too hastened up, and behind him the policeman who muttered, "Bother!" with a gesture of impatience, feeling that the job was going to be a troublesome one.
"Pass on! Pass on!" he said to the crowd that pressed forward.
"She's dying," someone shouted.
"She's gone out of her mind," said another.
"Lord have mercy upon us," said a woman, crossing herself. "Have they caught the little girl and the boy? They're being brought back, the elder one's got them. . . . Ah, the naughty imps!"
When they examined Katerina Ivanovna carefully, they saw that she had not cut herself against a stone, as Sonia thought, but that the blood that stained the pavement red was from her chest.
"I've seen that before," muttered the official to Raskolnikov and Lebeziatnikov; "that's consumption; the blood flows and chokes the patient. I saw the same thing with a relative of my own not long ago . . . nearly a pint of blood, all in a minute. . . . What's to be done though? She is dying."
"This way, this way, to my room!" Sonia implored. "I live here! . . . See, that house, the second from here. . . . Come to me, make haste," she turned from one to the other. "Send for the doctor! Oh, dear!"
Thanks to the official's efforts, this plan was adopted, the policeman even helping to carry Katerina Ivanovna. She was carried to Sonia's room, almost unconscious, and laid on the bed. The blood was still flowing, but she seemed to be coming to herself. Raskolnikov, Lebeziatnikov, and the official accompanied Sonia into the room and were followed by the policeman, who first drove back the crowd which followed to the very door. Polenka came in holding Kolya and Lida, who were trembling and weeping. Several persons came in too from the Kapernaumovs' room; the landlord, a lame one-eyed man of strange appearance with whiskers and hair that stood up like a brush, his wife, a woman with an everlastingly scared expression, and several open-mouthed children with wonder-struck faces. Among these, Svidrigailov suddenly made his appearance. Raskolnikov looked at him with surprise, not understanding where he had come from and not having noticed him in the crowd. A doctor and priest wore spoken of. The official whispered to Raskolnikov that he thought it was too late now for the doctor, but he ordered him to be sent for. Kapernaumov ran himself.
“别说了,索尼娅,别说了!”她急急忙忙,说得很快地高声叫嚷,气喘吁吁,不停地咳嗽。“你自己也不知道你是在要求什么,就像个小孩子似的!我已经跟你说过了,我决不回到那个醉鬼德国女人那里去。让大家都看到,让全圣彼得堡都看到,高贵的父亲的孩子们在乞讨,他们的父亲忠诚地服务了一辈子,而且可以说是以身殉职。(卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜已经臆造出这样一个故事,而且盲目地对此深信不疑。)让这个,让这个卑鄙的将军看看。唉,索尼娅,你真傻:现在我们吃什么呢,你说说看?我们拖累了你,让你受够了苦,我不想再拖累你了!哎哟,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,这是您吗!”她看到了拉斯科利尼科夫,向他跑了过去,同时大声叫喊,“请您跟这个傻丫头解释解释,再没有比这样做更聪明的办法了!就连背手摇风琴的流浪乐师也能挣钱,可是人们一眼就能看出,就能分辨出来,我们是高贵的贫困家庭里的人,无依无靠,沦落到赤贫的地步,这个卑鄙的将军准会丢掉官职的,您瞧着吧!我们每天都到他窗子底下去,要是皇上打这儿路过,我就跪下来,让这些孩子们跪在前面,让他看看他们:‘父亲,你要保护他们呀!’他是孤儿们的父亲,他是仁慈的,他一定会保护我们,您会看到的,而这个卑鄙的将军……廖尼娅!tenez-vousdroite!①你,科利亚,马上又要跳舞了。你抽抽搭搭地哭什么?又哭!唉,你怕什么,怕什么呢,小傻瓜!上帝啊!我可拿他们怎么办呢,罗季昂·罗曼内奇!要是您知道的话,他们是多么不懂事啊!唉,拿这样的孩子们可怎么办呢!……”
--------
①法文,“站直”之意。
她向他指着那些嘤嘤啜泣的孩子,自己也几乎要哭出来了(但是这并不妨碍她继续滔滔不绝、毫不停顿、很快地说话)。拉斯科利尼科夫本想试图劝她回去,甚至想激起她的自尊心,说她像流浪乐师那样到街头来卖唱是不成体统的,因为她打算作贵族女子寄宿中学的校长……
“寄宿中学,哈——哈——哈!无法实现的梦想!”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜高声叫喊,笑过一阵以后,立刻不停地咳嗽起来,“不,罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇,梦想已经破灭了!所有人都抛弃了我们!……而这个卑鄙的将军……您要知道,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,我拿墨水瓶朝他扔了过去,——刚好在门房里的桌子上,签名簿旁有一个墨水瓶,我签了名,把墨水瓶朝他扔过去,就跑掉了。噢,卑鄙的人们,卑鄙的人们。我才瞧不起他们呢;现在我要自己来养活这些孩子,决不向任何人弯腰低头!我们折磨她已经折磨得够了!(她指指索尼娅。)波列奇卡,让我看看,收了多少钱了?怎么?总共才两个戈比?噢,这些卑鄙的家伙!什么也不给,只是伸着舌头跟着我们跑!喂,这个蠢货笑什么?(她指指人群中的一个人。)这都是因为,这个科利亚这么不机灵,尽给我添麻烦!你是怎么了,波列奇卡?用法语跟我说,parlez-moifrancais①我不是教过你,你不是会说几句吗!……要不然,怎么能看得出来,你们是高贵家庭里受过教育的孩子,根本不像那些流浪乐师们呢;我们可不是在街头演什么《彼特鲁什卡》②,而是唱高尚的抒情歌曲……啊,对了!我们唱什么呢?你们老是打断我,可我们……您要知道,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,我们在这里停留下来,是想挑一首歌来演唱的,——挑一首科利亚能够伴舞的歌……因为这一切,您要知道,我们都没有准备;应当商量一下,完全排练好,然后我们到涅瓦大街去,那儿上流社会的人要多得多,我们立刻就会引起他们的注意:廖尼娅会唱《小小农庄》……不过老是唱什么《小小农庄》,《小小农庄》,这首歌大家都会唱!我们应当唱一首优美得多的歌……喂,你想出什么来吗,波莉娅,哪怕你能帮帮母亲也好啊!我记性太差,记性太差了,要不,我会想得起来的!真的,不该唱《一个骠骑兵拄着马刀》③!哦,咱们用法语来唱《Cinqsous!》④吧!我不是教过你们吗,是教过啊。主要是因为,这是用法语来唱的,那么人家立刻就会看出,你们是贵族家庭的孩子,这会更让人感动……甚至也可以唱《Malboroughs’enva-t-enguerre》⑤,因为这完全是一首儿童歌曲,贵族家庭里摇着孩子哄他们睡觉的时候,都是唱这首歌:
--------
①法文,“用法语对我说”之意。
②《彼特鲁什卡》是俄罗斯民间讽刺木偶戏中一个很受欢迎的人物。
③用俄罗斯诗人康·尼·巴丘什科夫(一七八七——一八五五)的一首诗《离别》谱写的歌曲。在十九世纪,这首歌十分流行。
④法文,《五个苏》。这是法国剧本《上帝的恩惠》中乞丐们唱的一首歌。一个苏等于二十分之一法郎。
⑤法文,《马尔布鲁格准备远征》。这是一首流行的法国诙谐歌曲。
Malboroughs’enva-t-enguerre,
Nesaitquandreviendra……”①
她本来已经开始唱了……“不过,不,最好还是唱《Cinqsous》!喂,科利亚,双手插腰,快,而你,廖尼娅,你也要往相反的方向转圈子,我跟波列奇卡和唱,打拍子!
Cinqsous,cinqsous,
Pourmonternotreménage……②
--------
①法文,马尔布鲁格准备远征,
不知何时才能踏上归程……
②法文,五个苏,五个苏,
安排我们家里的开支……
咳——咳——咳!(她不停地咳嗽起来。)把衣服拉好,波列奇卡,背带都滑下来了,”她咳着,稍喘了口气,说。“现在你们特别需要举止得体,显得特别尊严,好让大家都看到,你们是贵族子弟。当时我就说过,胸衣要裁得长一些,而且要用两幅布料。是你,索尼娅,当时你出主意说:‘短一些,短一些’,你看,结果让孩子穿着显得多难看……唉,你们又哭了!你们是怎么搞的,傻孩子们!好,科利亚,快点儿,开始吧,快点儿,快点儿,——哎呀,这孩子多讨厌啊!……
当兵的又来了!喂,你来干什么?”
真的,有个警察从人丛中挤了过来。可是就在这时候,有一个穿文官制服和大衣的先生,一个五十来岁、神态庄严、脖子上挂着勋章(对这一点卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜非常高兴,而且这也影响了那个警察)的官员走近前来,默默地递给卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜一张绿色的三卢布的钞票。他脸上流露出真挚的同情。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜接过钱来,并且彬彬有礼,甚至是恭恭敬敬地向他鞠了个躬。
“谢谢您,先生,”她高傲地说,“使我们流落街头的原因……波列奇卡,把钱拿去。你看,是有一些高尚和慷慨的人,立刻准备向落难的贵族妇人伸出援助之手。先生,您看到这些出身于高贵家庭的孤儿们了,甚至可以说他们有贵族亲友……可是这个将军却坐着吃松鸡……还要跺脚,因为我打扰了他……‘大人,’我说,‘请您保护这些孤儿,因为您很熟悉已故的谢苗·扎哈雷奇,而且因为,就在他去世的那天,有一个最卑鄙的家伙诬陷他的亲生女儿……’这个当兵的又来了!请您保护我们!”她对那个官员高声呼喊,“这个当兵的干吗老来找我的麻烦?我们已经躲开了一个,从小市民街逃到这里来了……喂,关你什么事,傻瓜!”
“因为不准在街上这样。请不要胡闹。”
“你自己才是胡闹!我不过是像背着手摇风琴那样嘛,这关你什么事?”
“背手摇风琴要得到许可,可您未经许可,而且惊动了这么多人。您住在哪里?”
“怎么,许可,”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜喊叫起来。“我今天才安葬了丈夫,这还要什么许可!”
“太太,太太,请您安静下来,”那个官员说,“我们一道走,我送您回去……这儿,在人群当中,这可不好……您有病……”
“先生,先生,您什么也不了解!”卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜大声叫喊,“我们去涅瓦大街,——索尼娅,索尼娅!她在哪儿?她也在哭!你们大家到底是怎么了!……科利亚,廖尼娅,你们上哪儿去?”她突然惊恐地大喊一声,“噢,傻孩子们!科利亚,廖尼娅,他们这是上哪儿去!……”
事情是这样的,科利亚和廖尼娅被街上的人群和发疯的母亲的反常行为吓坏了,而且看到那个当兵的要把他们抓起来,送到什么地方去,突然不约而同地手拉手逃跑了。可怜的卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜高声哭喊着跑去追赶他们。她边哭边跑,气喘吁吁,那样子叫人看了觉得又不像话,又很可怜。
索尼娅和波列奇卡都急忙跑去追她。
“叫他们回来,叫他们回来,索尼娅!噢,这些不知好歹的傻孩子!……波莉娅!抓住他们……我都是为了你们呀……”
她拼命地跑着,绊了一下,跌倒了。
“她跌伤了,流血了!噢,上帝啊!”索尼娅弯下腰去看着她,喊了一声。
大家都跑拢来,拥挤着围成一圈。最先跑过来的人们当中有拉斯科利尼科夫和列别贾特尼科夫;那个官员也急忙走了过来,那个警察跟在他后面,抱怨说:“唉——!”并且挥了挥手,预感到事情麻烦了。
“走!走!”他赶开挤在周围的人们。
“她要死了!”有人叫喊。
“她疯了!”另一个说。
“上帝啊,保佑她吧!”一个女人画着十字说。“小姑娘和小男孩给抓住了吗?那不是,把他们领来了,大女儿抓住的……唉,这些任性的孩子!”
可是等大家仔细看了看卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,这才看清,她并不是像索尼娅所想的那样,碰到石头上,摔伤了,染红了路面的血是从她胸膛里、由喉咙里涌出来的。
“这我是知道的,我看到过,”那个官员对拉斯科利尼科夫和列别贾特尼科夫低声说,“这是肺痨;血这样涌出来,是会把人憋死的。还在不久前我就曾亲眼看到,我的一个女亲戚也是这样,吐出的血有一杯半……突然……不过,怎么办呢?她马上就会死的。”
“这儿来,这儿来,到我家去!”索尼娅恳求说,“瞧,我就住在这里!……就是这幢房子,从这儿数起,第二幢……到我家去,快,快!……”她一会儿跑到这个人那里,一会儿跑到另一个人跟前。“叫人去请医生……噢,上帝啊!”
多亏那个官员努力,事情总算顺利解决了,就连那个警察也帮着来抬卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜。把她抬到索尼娅家去的时候,她几乎已经失去知觉,把她放到了床上。还在继续吐血,不过她开始慢慢苏醒过来了。几个人一起走进屋里,除了索尼娅,还有拉斯科利尼科夫和列别贾特尼科夫,那个官员和预先驱散了看热闹的人群的警察,人群中有几个一直跟着他们,直到门口。波列奇卡拉看浑身发抖、正在哭泣的科利亚和廖尼娅的手,把他们领进屋里。卡佩尔纳乌莫夫家的人也全都跑来了:卡佩尔纳乌莫夫是个跛子,又是独眼,样子很古怪,又粗又硬的头发直竖着,还留着连鬓胡子;他的妻子神情好像总是有点儿害怕的样子;他们的几个孩子脸上经常露出惊讶的神情,因此反而显得很呆板,而且他们都一直张着嘴。斯维德里盖洛夫突然也在这群人中间出现了。拉斯科利尼科夫惊讶地望了望他,不明白他是打哪儿来的,也不记得曾在看热闹的人群中看到过他。
Meanwhile Katerina Ivanovna had regained her breath. The bleeding ceased for a time. She looked with sick but intent and penetrating eyes at Sonia, who stood pale and trembling, wiping the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief. At last she asked to be raised. They sat her up on the bed, supporting her on both sides.
"Where are the children?" she said in a faint voice. "You've brought them, Polenka? Oh the sillies! Why did you run away. . . . Och!"
Once more her parched lips were covered with blood. She moved her eyes, looking about her.
"So that's how you live, Sonia! Never once have I been in your room."
She looked at her with a face of suffering.
"We have been your ruin, Sonia. Polenka, Lida, Kolya, come here! Well, here they are, Sonia, take them all! I hand them over to you, I've had enough! The ball is over." (Cough!) "Lay me down, let me die in peace."
They laid her back on the pillow.
"What, the priest? I don't want him. You haven't got a rouble to spare. I have no sins. God must forgive me without that. He knows how I have suffered. . . . And if He won't forgive me, I don't care!"
She sank more and more into uneasy delirium. At times she shuddered, turned her eyes from side to side, recognised everyone for a minute, but at once sank into delirium again. Her breathing was hoarse and difficult, there was a sort of rattle in her throat.
"I said to him, your excellency," she ejaculated, gasping after each word. "That Amalia Ludwigovna, ah! Lida, Kolya, hands on your hips, make haste! /Glissez, glissez! pas de basque!/ Tap with your heels, be a graceful child!
"/Du hast Diamanten und Perlen/
"What next? That's the thing to sing.
"/Du hast die schonsten Augen Madchen, was willst du mehr?/
"What an idea! /Was willst du mehr?/ What things the fool invents! Ah, yes!
"In the heat of midday in the vale of Dagestan.
"Ah, how I loved it! I loved that song to distraction, Polenka! Your father, you know, used to sing it when we were engaged. . . . Oh those days! Oh that's the thing for us to sing! How does it go? I've forgotten. Remind me! How was it?"
She was violently excited and tried to sit up. At last, in a horribly hoarse, broken voice, she began, shrieking and gasping at every word, with a look of growing terror.
"In the heat of midday! . . . in the vale! . . . of Dagestan! . . . With lead in my breast! . . ."
"Your excellency!" she wailed suddenly with a heart-rending scream and a flood of tears, "protect the orphans! You have been their father's guest . . . one may say aristocratic. . . ." She started, regaining consciousness, and gazed at all with a sort of terror, but at once recognised Sonia.
"Sonia, Sonia!" she articulated softly and caressingly, as though surprised to find her there. "Sonia darling, are you here, too?"
They lifted her up again.
"Enough! It's over! Farewell, poor thing! I am done for! I am broken!" she cried with vindictive despair, and her head fell heavily back on the pillow.
She sank into unconsciousness again, but this time it did not last long. Her pale, yellow, wasted face dropped back, her mouth fell open, her leg moved convulsively, she gave a deep, deep sigh and died.
Sonia fell upon her, flung her arms about her, and remained motionless with her head pressed to the dead woman's wasted bosom. Polenka threw herself at her mother's feet, kissing them and weeping violently. Though Kolya and Lida did not understand what had happened, they had a feeling that it was something terrible; they put their hands on each other's little shoulders, stared straight at one another and both at once opened their mouths and began screaming. They were both still in their fancy dress; one in a turban, the other in the cap with the ostrich feather.
And how did "the certificate of merit" come to be on the bed beside Katerina Ivanovna? It lay there by the pillow; Raskolnikov saw it.
He walked away to the window. Lebeziatnikov skipped up to him.
"She is dead," he said.
"Rodion Romanovitch, I must have two words with you," said Svidrigailov, coming up to them.
Lebeziatnikov at once made room for him and delicately withdrew. Svidrigailov drew Raskolnikov further away.
"I will undertake all the arrangements, the funeral and that. You know it's a question of money and, as I told you, I have plenty to spare. I will put those two little ones and Polenka into some good orphan asylum, and I will settle fifteen hundred roubles to be paid to each on coming of age, so that Sofya Semyonovna need have no anxiety about them. And I will pull her out of the mud too, for she is a good girl, isn't she? So tell Avdotya Romanovna that that is how I am spending her ten thousand."
"What is your motive for such benevolence?" asked Raskolnikov.
"Ah! you sceptical person!" laughed Svidrigailov. "I told you I had no need of that money. Won't you admit that it's simply done from humanity? She wasn't 'a louse,' you know" (he pointed to the corner where the dead woman lay), "was she, like some old pawnbroker woman? Come, you'll agree, is Luzhin to go on living, and doing wicked things or is she to die? And if I didn't help them, Polenka would go the same way."
He said this with an air of a sort of gay winking slyness, keeping his eyes fixed on Raskolnikov, who turned white and cold, hearing his own phrases, spoken to Sonia. He quickly stepped back and looked wildly at Svidrigailov.
"How do you know?" he whispered, hardly able to breathe.
"Why, I lodge here at Madame Resslich's, the other side of the wall. Here is Kapernaumov, and there lives Madame Resslich, an old and devoted friend of mine. I am a neighbour."
"You?"
"Yes," continued Svidrigailov, shaking with laughter. "I assure you on my honour, dear Rodion Romanovitch, that you have interested me enormously. I told you we should become friends, I foretold it. Well, here we have. And you will see what an accommodating person I am. You'll see that you can get on with me!"
大家都在谈论,该请医生和神甫来。那个官员虽然悄悄对拉斯科利尼科夫说,看来,现在请医生已经是多此一举了,不过还是叫人去请了。卡佩尔纳乌莫夫亲自跑去请医生。
然而卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜已经苏醒过来,吐血也暂时停止了。她用痛苦的、然而是专注和感人的目光瞅着面色苍白、浑身发抖的索尼娅,索尼娅正在用手帕擦去她额上的汗珠;最后,她请求把她扶起来。让她在床上坐了起来,两边都有人扶着她。
“孩子们呢?”她有气无力地问。“你把他们领来了,波莉娅?噢,傻孩子们!……唉,你们跑什么……哎呀!”
鲜血还积在她那干裂的嘴唇上。她转着眼珠朝四下里望望,说:
“原来你是住在这样的地方,索尼娅!我连一次也没来过你这儿……现在却有机会……”
她痛苦地瞅了瞅索尼娅:
“我们把你的血都吸干了,索尼娅……波莉娅,廖尼娅,科利亚,到这儿来……瞧,他们都在这儿了,索尼娅,你就收留下他们吧……我把他们交给你了……就我来说,已经够了!……一切都完了!啊!……让我睡下来,至少让我安安静静地死吧……”
又让她躺到枕头上。
“什么?请神甫?……用不着……你们哪儿来的闲钱?……我没有罪!……不用忏悔,上帝也会宽恕我……他知道我受了多少苦!……即使他不宽恕我,那也就算了!……”
她越来越陷入不安宁的昏迷状态。有时她打个哆嗦,用眼睛往四下里看看,有一会儿认出了大家;但短时间的清醒后立刻又变得不省人事了。她声音嘶哑、困难地喘着气,仿佛喉咙里有个什么东西呼哧呼哧地响。
“我对他说:‘大人!……’”她拼命地喊出来,每说出一个词,都要喘息一下,“这个阿玛莉娅·柳德维戈芙娜……唉!廖尼娅,科利亚!双手叉腰,快,快,滑步——滑步,巴斯克人①的舞步!用脚打拍子……要作个舞姿优美的好孩子。
DuhastDiamantenundPerlen……②下面怎么唱
啊?应该唱……
--------
①巴斯克人是西班牙和法国的一个少数民族。
②德文,你有钻石和珍珠(这是舒伯特以海涅的诗句作歌词谱写的一首抒情歌曲)。
Duhastdiescho(nstenAugen,
Ma(dchen,waswillstdumehr?①
嗯,是吗,才不是这样呢!waswillstdumehr,——这是他臆造的,傻瓜!……啊,对了,还有:
中午溽暑难熬,在达吉斯坦伪山谷里……②
--------
①德文,你有一双最美的眼睛,姑娘,你还需要什么?
②这是俄罗斯著名作曲家米·阿·巴拉基烈夫(一八三六——一九一○)用莱蒙托夫的诗《梦》作歌词谱写的一首抒情歌曲。
啊,我多喜欢啊……这首抒情歌曲我真喜欢极了,波列奇卡!……你要知道,你父亲……在他还是我未婚夫的时候,他就唱过……噢,那些日子啊!……要是我们,要是我们也来唱这首歌,那该多好!啊!怎么唱的了,怎么唱的了……我忘了……你们提示一下啊,是怎么唱来的?”她异常激动,努力欠起身来。终于用可怕的嘶哑的声音,拼命叫喊着唱了起来,每唱一个词都累得喘不过气来,神色也越来越可怕了:
“中午溽暑难熬,在山谷里!……达吉斯坦!……
胸膛里带着一颗子弹!……”
“大人!”突然一声裂人心肺的哀号,泪水止不住地从她眼里流淌出来,“请您保护这些孤儿啊!您受过已故的谢苗·扎哈雷奇的款待!……甚至可以说是贵族家庭的!……啊!”她颤栗了一下,突然清醒过来,恐惧地看了看所有在场的人,但立刻认出了索尼娅。“索尼娅,索尼娅!”她柔和而又亲切地说,看到她站在自己面前,似乎感到惊讶,“索尼娅,亲爱的,你也在这里吗?”
又扶着她稍微欠起身来。
“够了!……是时候了!……别了,苦命的人!……驽马已经给赶得精疲力尽!①……再也没有——力——气了!”她绝望而痛恨地大喊一声,头沉重地倒在了枕头上。
--------
①这里她是以一匹累坏的马自比。这句话的意思是:“我这个身体虚弱的人已经给折磨得精疲力尽”。
她又昏迷过去了,但是这最后一次昏迷持续的时间不长。她那白中透黄、憔悴不堪的脸往后一仰,嘴张了开来,两条腿抽搐着伸直了。她深深地叹了一口气,死了。
索尼娅扑到她的尸体上,双手抱住她,头紧贴在死者干瘦的胸膛上,就这样一动不动了。波列奇卡伏在母亲脚边,吻她的脚,放声大哭。科利亚和廖尼娅还不明白发生了什么事,不过预感到这非常可怕,彼此用双手搭在对方的肩上,目不转睛地互相对看着,突然一下子一起张开小嘴,高声叫喊起来。两人还都穿着演出的服装:一个头上裹着缠头巾,另一个戴一顶插着鸵鸟毛的小圆帽。
这张“奖状”怎么会突然出现在床上,放在卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜身旁?它就放在枕头旁边;拉斯科利尼科夫看到了它。
他走到窗前。列别贾特尼科夫也急忙到他跟前来了。
“她死了!”列别贾特尼科夫说。
“罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇,我要对您说两句必须要说的话,”斯维德里盖洛夫走过来,说。列别贾特尼科夫立刻让开,很客气地悄悄走到一边去了。斯维德里盖洛夫把感到惊讶的拉斯科利尼科夫拉到更远一些的一个角落里。
“这一切麻烦事,也就是安葬等等,都由我负责。您听我说,这需要钱,我不是对您说过吗,我有一笔用不到的钱。这两个孩子和这个波列奇卡,我把他们安置到一个比较好的孤儿院里。在他们成年以前,我给他们每人一千五百卢布,作为他们的生活费,好让索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜完全放心。而且也要把她从火坑里拉出来,因为她是个好姑娘,不是吗?嗯,那么请您转告阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜,她的那一万卢布,我就这样用掉了。”
“您这样行善有什么目的呢?”拉斯科利尼科夫问。
“哎呀!真是个多疑的人!”斯维德里盖洛夫笑了。“我不是说过吗,我这笔钱是用不到的。嗯,没有什么用意,只不过是出于人道主义精神,您不准许,还是怎么呢?因为她不是‘虱子’(他用手指指指停放着死者的那个角落),可不像那个放高利贷的老太婆。好,您得承认,‘难道真的该让卢任活着干坏事,还是该让她死呢?’如果我不帮助他们,那么‘波列奇卡,譬如说,就也得走那条路……’”
他说这话的时候,目不转睛地瞅着拉斯科利尼科夫,神情十分快活,好像在向他使眼色,心里不知有什么狡猾的想法。拉斯科利尼科夫听到他自己对索尼娅说过的话,不由得脸色发白,浑身发冷。他很快退后一步,惊愕地看了看斯维德里盖洛夫。
“您怎么……知道的?”他悄悄地说,好容易喘过一口气来。
“因为我就住在这儿,隔壁,住在列斯莉赫太太家。这儿是卡佩尔纳乌莫夫的家,那边是列斯莉赫太太的家,她是我最忠实的朋友。我们是邻居。”
“您?”
“我,”斯维德里盖洛夫接着说下去,笑得前仰后合,“而且我以人格担保,最亲爱的罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇,请您相信,您让我很感兴趣。我就说过嘛,我们会成为朋友的,我曾经向您作过这样的预言,——瞧,现在我们已经成了朋友了。您会看到,我是一个多么好说话的人。您会看到,跟我还可以相处……”

峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 46楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第六部 第一章
A strange period began for Raskolnikov: it was as though a fog had fallen upon him and wrapped him in a dreary solitude from which there was no escape. Recalling that period long after, he believed that his mind had been clouded at times, and that it had continued so, with intervals, till the final catastrophe. He was convinced that he had been mistaken about many things at that time, for instance as to the date of certain events. Anyway, when he tried later on to piece his recollections together, he learnt a great deal about himself from what other people told him. He had mixed up incidents and had explained events as due to circumstances which existed only in his imagination. At times he was a prey to agonies of morbid uneasiness, amounting sometimes to panic. But he remembered, too, moments, hours, perhaps whole days, of complete apathy, which came upon him as a reaction from his previous terror and might be compared with the abnormal insensibility, sometimes seen in the dying. He seemed to be trying in that latter stage to escape from a full and clear understanding of his position. Certain essential facts which required immediate consideration were particularly irksome to him. How glad he would have been to be free from some cares, the neglect of which would have threatened him with complete, inevitable ruin.
He was particularly worried about Svidrigailov, he might be said to be permanently thinking of Svidrigailov. From the time of Svidrigailov's too menacing and unmistakable words in Sonia's room at the moment of Katerina Ivanovna's death, the normal working of his mind seemed to break down. But although this new fact caused him extreme uneasiness, Raskolnikov was in no hurry for an explanation of it. At times, finding himself in a solitary and remote part of the town, in some wretched eating-house, sitting alone lost in thought, hardly knowing how he had come there, he suddenly thought of Svidrigailov. He recognised suddenly, clearly, and with dismay that he ought at once to come to an understanding with that man and to make what terms he could. Walking outside the city gates one day, he positively fancied that they had fixed a meeting there, that he was waiting for Svidrigailov. Another time he woke up before daybreak lying on the ground under some bushes and could not at first understand how he had come there.
But during the two or three days after Katerina Ivanovna's death, he had two or three times met Svidrigailov at Sonia's lodging, where he had gone aimlessly for a moment. They exchanged a few words and made no reference to the vital subject, as though they were tacitly agreed not to speak of it for a time.
Katerina Ivanovna's body was still lying in the coffin, Svidrigailov was busy making arrangements for the funeral. Sonia too was very busy. At their last meeting Svidrigailov informed Raskolnikov that he had made an arrangement, and a very satisfactory one, for Katerina Ivanovna's children; that he had, through certain connections, succeeded in getting hold of certain personages by whose help the three orphans could be at once placed in very suitable institutions; that the money he had settled on them had been of great assistance, as it is much easier to place orphans with some property than destitute ones. He said something too about Sonia and promised to come himself in a day or two to see Raskolnikov, mentioning that "he would like to consult with him, that there were things they must talk over. . . ."
This conversation took place in the passage on the stairs. Svidrigailov looked intently at Raskolnikov and suddenly, after a brief pause, dropping his voice, asked: "But how is it, Rodion Romanovitch; you don't seem yourself? You look and you listen, but you don't seem to understand. Cheer up! We'll talk things over; I am only sorry, I've so much to do of my own business and other people's. Ah, Rodion Romanovitch," he added suddenly, "what all men need is fresh air, fresh air . . . more than anything!"
He moved to one side to make way for the priest and server, who were coming up the stairs. They had come for the requiem service. By Svidrigailov's orders it was sung twice a day punctually. Svidrigailov went his way. Raskolnikov stood still a moment, thought, and followed the priest into Sonia's room. He stood at the door. They began quietly, slowly and mournfully singing the service. From his childhood the thought of death and the presence of death had something oppressive and mysteriously awful; and it was long since he had heard the requiem service. And there was something else here as well, too awful and disturbing. He looked at the children: they were all kneeling by the coffin; Polenka was weeping. Behind them Sonia prayed, softly and, as it were, timidly weeping.
"These last two days she hasn't said a word to me, she hasn't glanced at me," Raskolnikov thought suddenly. The sunlight was bright in the room; the incense rose in clouds; the priest read, "Give rest, oh Lord. . . ." Raskolnikov stayed all through the service. As he blessed them and took his leave, the priest looked round strangely. After the service, Raskolnikov went up to Sonia. She took both his hands and let her head sink on his shoulder. This slight friendly gesture bewildered Raskolnikov. It seemed strange to him that there was no trace of repugnance, no trace of disgust, no tremor in her hand. It was the furthest limit of self-abnegation, at least so he interpreted it.
Sonia said nothing. Raskolnikov pressed her hand and went out. He felt very miserable. If it had been possible to escape to some solitude, he would have thought himself lucky, even if he had to spend his whole life there. But although he had almost always been by himself of late, he had never been able to feel alone. Sometimes he walked out of the town on to the high road, once he had even reached a little wood, but the lonelier the place was, the more he seemed to be aware of an uneasy presence near him. It did not frighten him, but greatly annoyed him, so that he made haste to return to the town, to mingle with the crowd, to enter restaurants and taverns, to walk in busy thoroughfares. There he felt easier and even more solitary. One day at dusk he sat for an hour listening to songs in a tavern and he remembered that he positively enjoyed it. But at last he had suddenly felt the same uneasiness again, as though his conscience smote him. "Here I sit listening to singing, is that what I ought to be doing?" he thought. Yet he felt at once that that was not the only cause of his uneasiness; there was something requiring immediate decision, but it was something he could not clearly understand or put into words. It was a hopeless tangle. "No, better the struggle again! Better Porfiry again . . . or Svidrigailov. . . . Better some challenge again . . . some attack. Yes, yes!" he thought. He went out of the tavern and rushed away almost at a run. The thought of Dounia and his mother suddenly reduced him almost to a panic. That night he woke up before morning among some bushes in Krestovsky Island, trembling all over with fever; he walked home, and it was early morning when he arrived. After some hours' sleep the fever left him, but he woke up late, two o'clock in the afternoon.
He remembered that Katerina Ivanovna's funeral had been fixed for that day, and was glad that he was not present at it. Nastasya brought him some food; he ate and drank with appetite, almost with greediness. His head was fresher and he was calmer than he had been for the last three days. He even felt a passing wonder at his previous attacks of panic.
The door opened and Razumihin came in.
"Ah, he's eating, then he's not ill," said Razumihin. He took a chair and sat down at the table opposite Raskolnikov.
He was troubled and did not attempt to conceal it. He spoke with evident annoyance, but without hurry or raising his voice. He looked as though he had some special fixed determination.
"Listen," he began resolutely. "As far as I am concerned, you may all go to hell, but from what I see, it's clear to me that I can't make head or tail of it; please don't think I've come to ask you questions. I don't want to know, hang it! If you begin telling me your secrets, I dare say I shouldn't stay to listen, I should go away cursing. I have only come to find out once for all whether it's a fact that you are mad? There is a conviction in the air that you are mad or very nearly so. I admit I've been disposed to that opinion myself, judging from your stupid, repulsive and quite inexplicable actions, and from your recent behavior to your mother and sister. Only a monster or a madman could treat them as you have; so you must be mad."
"When did you see them last?"
"Just now. Haven't you seen them since then? What have you been doing with yourself? Tell me, please. I've been to you three times already. Your mother has been seriously ill since yesterday. She had made up her mind to come to you; Avdotya Romanovna tried to prevent her; she wouldn't hear a word. 'If he is ill, if his mind is giving way, who can look after him like his mother?' she said. We all came here together, we couldn't let her come alone all the way. We kept begging her to be calm. We came in, you weren't here; she sat down, and stayed ten minutes, while we stood waiting in silence. She got up and said: 'If he's gone out, that is, if he is well, and has forgotten his mother, it's humiliating and unseemly for his mother to stand at his door begging for kindness.' She returned home and took to her bed; now she is in a fever. 'I see,' she said, 'that he has time for /his girl/.' She means by /your girl/ Sofya Semyonovna, your betrothed or your mistress, I don't know. I went at once to Sofya Semyonovna's, for I wanted to know what was going on. I looked round, I saw the coffin, the children crying, and Sofya Semyonovna trying them on mourning dresses. No sign of you. I apologised, came away, and reported to Avdotya Romanovna. So that's all nonsense and you haven't got a girl; the most likely thing is that you are mad. But here you sit, guzzling boiled beef as though you'd not had a bite for three days. Though as far as that goes, madmen eat too, but though you have not said a word to me yet . . . you are not mad! That I'd swear! Above all, you are not mad! So you may go to hell, all of you, for there's some mystery, some secret about it, and I don't intend to worry my brains over your secrets. So I've simply come to swear at you," he finished, getting up, "to relieve my mind. And I know what to do now."
对拉斯科利尼科夫来说,一个奇怪的时期开始了:好像一片大雾突然降落到他的面前,把他禁锢在毫无出路的、痛苦的孤独之中。已经过了很久以后,回想起这段时间,他才恍然大悟,有时他的思想仿佛变得糊里糊涂,就这样一直持续下去,直到发生最后的灾难,不过这中间也偶尔有明白的时候。他完全确信,当时在许多事情上他都犯了错误,譬如,对某些事件的期限和时间,就是如此。至少他后来回忆、并竭力想弄清回想起来的那些事情的时候,根据从旁人那里得到的材料,他知道了许多关于自己的情况。譬如,他曾经把一件事情和另一件事情混淆起来;把另一件事情看作仅仅存在于他想象中的某一事件的后果。有时病态的痛苦的担心完全支配了他,这种担心甚至会转变为惊慌失措的恐惧。不过他也记得,往往有这样的几分钟,几个小时,甚至也许是几天,支配着他的是一种与以前的恐惧恰恰相反的漠然态度,——很像有些垂死的人那种病态的冷漠。总之,在这最后几天,他似乎有意竭力避免完全弄清自己的处境;有些迫切需要立刻得到解释的事实尤其使他感到苦恼不堪;如果能摆脱某些忧虑,能够回避它们,他将会感到多么高兴啊,然而处在他的地位上,忘记这些让他担心的事,就不可避免地有遭到完全毁灭的危险。
特别让他担心的是斯维德里盖洛夫:甚至可以说,他似乎把注意力完全集中在斯维德里盖洛夫身上了。自从卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜咽气的时候,斯维德里盖洛夫在索尼娅家过于明显地说了那些对他具有过于严重的威胁性的话,他平常的思路仿佛一下子给打乱了。然而,尽管这个新的事实使他感到异常不安,不知为什么,他却不急于弄清,这到底是怎么回事。有时他突然发觉自己到了城市里某个远离市中心区的僻静地方,独自坐在一家下等小饭馆里一张桌子旁边,陷入沉思,几乎记不起他是怎么来到这里的,却突然会想起斯维德里盖洛夫来:他突然十分清楚而又担心地意识到,需要尽快和这个人达成协议,可能的话,要彻底结束这件事。有一次他来到城外某处,甚至想象,他是在这儿等着斯维德里盖洛夫,他们已经约好,要在这里会面。还有一次,他睡在某处灌木丛里的地上,黎明前醒来,几乎记不得是怎么来到这里的了。不过在卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜死后的这两三天里,他已经有两次碰到过斯维德里盖洛夫,每次几乎都是在索尼娅家里,他去那里并没有什么目的,而且几乎总是只逗留一会儿工夫。他们总是简短地交谈几句,一次也没谈到过那个重要问题,似乎他们之间自然而然地达成了协议,暂时不谈这个问题。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的尸体还停放在棺材里。斯维德里盖洛夫在料理丧事,忙忙碌碌。索尼娅也很忙。最近一次见面的时候,斯维德里盖洛夫对拉斯科利尼科夫说,卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的孩子们的事情,他已经办妥了,而且办得很顺利;说是他通过某些关系,找到了这样几个人,在他们的帮助下,可以立刻把三个孤儿都安置到对他们非常合适的孤儿院里;还说,为他们存的那笔钱对安置他们大有帮助,因为安置有钱的孤儿,比安置贫苦的孤儿要容易得多。他还谈到了索尼娅,答应这几天内,说不定什么时候就会去拉斯科利尼科夫那里,还提到“想要向他请教;有些事情很需要和他谈谈……”这些话是在穿堂里、楼梯附近说的。斯维德里盖洛夫凝神注视着拉斯科利尼科夫的眼睛,沉默了一会儿以后,突然压低了声音问:
“您这是怎么了,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,您好像心神不定,精神恍惚?真的!您在听,也在看,可是好像什么也不理解。您要振作起来。咱们谈谈吧,只可惜事情太多,有别人的事,也有自己的……唉,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,”他突然补上一句:
“人人都需要空气,空气,空气……首先需要空气!”
他突然闪开,让上楼来的神甫和教堂执事过去。他们是来追荐亡魂的。照斯维德里盖洛夫吩咐的,每天要按时追荐两次。斯维德里盖洛夫径自走了。拉斯科利尼科夫稍站了一会儿,想了想,然后跟着神甫走进索尼娅的住房。
他在门口站住了。追荐仪式已经开始,肃静、庄严而又悲哀。从儿时起,一想到死,感觉到死亡确实存在,他总是感到很难过,神秘,可怕;而且已经有很久没听到过追荐亡魂了。而且这儿还有一种非常可怕、令人惊惶不安的气氛。他望着孩子们:他们都脆在棺材前,波列奇卡在哭。索尼娅跪在他们后面,轻轻地祈祷,好像是胆怯地低声啜泣。“这几天她没朝我看过一眼,也没跟我说过一句话,”拉斯科利尼科夫突然想。太阳明晃晃地照耀着这间屋子;香炉里的烟袅袅升起;神甫在念“上帝啊,让她安息吧。”拉斯科利尼科夫一直站到追荐仪式结束。神甫祝福和告辞的时候,有点儿奇怪地朝四下里望了望。追荐仪式结束后,拉斯科利尼科夫走到索尼娅跟前。她突然握住他的双手,把头靠到他的肩上。这亲昵的姿态甚至使拉斯科利尼科夫吃了一惊,感到困惑不解;甚至觉得奇怪:这是怎么了?对他毫不厌恶,毫无反感,她的手一点儿也不发抖!这是一种极端自卑的表现。至少他是这样理解的。索尼娅什么也没说。拉斯科利尼科夫握了握她的手,就走了出去。他感到非常痛苦。如果这时能随便躲到哪里去,只有他孤单单的一个人,哪怕终生如此,他也认为自己是幸福的。然而问题在于:最近一个时期,尽管他几乎总是一个人,却怎么也不能感觉到他确实是形单影只,孑然一身。有时他到城外去,走到一条大路上,有一次他甚至走进一片小树林里;但地方越僻静,他就越发强烈地意识到,似乎有人就站在他身旁,让他感到惶恐不安,倒不是觉得可怕,然而不知怎的,让他感到十分苦恼,于是他赶快回到城里,混杂在人群中间,走进小饭馆、小酒店,到旧货市场或干草广场去。在这些地方似乎反而会觉得轻松些,甚至也更孤独些。一天傍晚,一家小酒馆里有人在唱歌,他在那里坐了整整一个钟头,听人唱歌,记得,当时他甚至觉得十分愉快。可是最后他又突然感到不安了;仿佛良心的谴责突然又让他痛苦起来:“瞧,我坐在这儿听唱歌呢,可难道这是我应该做的吗!”他似乎这样想。不过他立刻猜到,并不仅仅是这一点使他感到不安;有一件要求立刻解决的事情,然而这件事既无法理解,也不能用语言表达出来。一切都纠缠在一起,乱作一团。
“不,最好还是斗争!最好是波尔菲里再来……或者斯维德里盖洛夫……但愿赶快再来一个什么挑战,或者有人攻击……是的!是的!”他想。他走出小酒馆,几乎奔跑起来。一想到杜尼娅和母亲,不知为什么他突然仿佛感到心惊胆战,说不出的恐惧。这天夜里,黎明前他在克列斯托夫岛上的灌木丛里醒来了,他在发烧,浑身发抖;他走回家去,清晨才回到家里。睡了几个钟头以后,烧退了,但是醒来的时候已经很迟:下午两点了。
他想起这天是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜安葬的日子,他没去参加,为此感到高兴。娜斯塔西娅给他送来了吃的;他津津有味地吃着,喝着,胃口好极了,几乎是贪婪地把送来的东西一扫而光。他的头脑清醒些了,心情也比最近三天来安宁些了。有一会儿,他甚至为先前那种突然而来的无以名状的恐惧感到惊讶。房门开了,拉祖米欣走了进来。
“啊!在吃饭,可见病好了!”拉祖米欣说,端过一把椅子,挨着桌子,坐在拉斯科利尼科夫的对面。他心情焦急不安,也不设法掩饰这种心情。他说话时流露出明显的烦恼神情,不过说得从容不迫,也没有特别提高嗓音。可以认为,他心里有个特别的、甚至是十分独特的打算。“你听我说,”他坚决地说,“对你的事,我一点儿也不感兴趣,不过就我目前所看到的情况来说,我清清楚楚地看出,我什么也不明白;请你别以为我是来盘问你。我才不呢!我不想问!就是你现在自己公开你的全部秘密,把什么都告诉我,也许我连听都不要听,我会啐一口唾沫,转身就走。我来找你,只不过是想亲自彻底弄个明白:第一,你是个疯子,这是不是真的?你要知道,对你有一种坚定的看法(嗯,不管是什么地方吧),认为你大概是个疯子,或者很容易变成疯子。我老实告诉你,我自己也非常同意这种看法;第二,根据你那些愚蠢的、在某种程度上也是卑鄙的行为(无法解释的)看来,是如此;第三,从你不久前对令堂和令妹的行为来看,也是如此。如果不是疯子,只有恶棍和坏蛋才会像你那样对待她们;可见你是疯子……”
“你见到她们已经很久了吗?”
“刚刚见到她们。而你从那时候起就没见过她们吗?你去哪儿闲逛了,请你告诉我,我已经来找过你三次了。从昨天起,令堂就病得很厉害。她打算来看你;阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜不让她来;她什么话也不想听,她说:‘如果说他有病,如果说他精神不正常,那么母亲不去照顾他,谁去照顾他呢?’我们和她一道来过这里,因为我们不能丢下她一个人不管。一路上,直到你的房门口,我们一直劝她安静下来。进到屋里,你不在家;瞧,她就坐在这儿。坐了十分钟,我们站在她身边,一句话也不说。她站起来,说:‘既然他出去了,可见他身体是健康的,既然他把母亲忘了,那么做母亲的站在门口,像乞求施舍一样恳求他的爱,是不成体统的,也是可耻的。’回家以后,她就病倒了;现在在发烧,她说:‘现在我明白了,为了自己人,他倒是有时间的。’她认为,这个自己人就是索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,她是你的未婚妻,还是情妇,这我就不知道了。我刚才去找过索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,因为,老兄,我想把事情弄清楚,我到了那里,一看:停着一口棺材,孩子们在哭。索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜在给他们试穿孝服。你不在那里。我看了看,道了歉,就走了,把这情况告诉了阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜。这么说,这一切全都是瞎猜,这儿根本没有什么自己人,可见,最正确的看法是,你发疯了。可是,瞧,你坐在这儿狼吞虎咽地吃炖牛肉,就像三天没吃饭似的。假定说,疯子也吃东西,可是虽然你还没跟我说过一句话,可是你……不是疯子!对这一点,我可以起誓。首先,你不是疯子。那么我就不管你的事了,因为这儿准是有个什么秘密,一件不能让人知道的事;我可不想绞尽脑汁去猜测你的秘密。所以我只是来骂你一顿,”说完他站了起来,“发泄一下,我知道现在该做什么了!”
“现在你要做什么?”
“现在我要做什么,关你什么事?”
"What do you mean to do now?"
"What business is it of yours what I mean to do?"
"You are going in for a drinking bout."
"How . . . how did you know?"
"Why, it's pretty plain."
Razumihin paused for a minute.
"You always have been a very rational person and you've never been mad, never," he observed suddenly with warmth. "You're right: I shall drink. Good-bye!"
And he moved to go out.
"I was talking with my sister--the day before yesterday, I think it was--about you, Razumihin."
"About me! But . . . where can you have seen her the day before yesterday?" Razumihin stopped short and even turned a little pale.
One could see that his heart was throbbing slowly and violently.
"She came here by herself, sat there and talked to me."
"She did!"
"Yes."
"What did you say to her . . . I mean, about me?"
"I told her you were a very good, honest, and industrious man. I didn't tell her you love her, because she knows that herself."
"She knows that herself?"
"Well, it's pretty plain. Wherever I might go, whatever happened to me, you would remain to look after them. I, so to speak, give them into your keeping, Razumihin. I say this because I know quite well how you love her, and am convinced of the purity of your heart. I know that she too may love you and perhaps does love you already. Now decide for yourself, as you know best, whether you need go in for a drinking bout or not."
"Rodya! You see . . . well. . . . Ach, damn it! But where do you mean to go? Of course, if it's all a secret, never mind. . . . But I . . . I shall find out the secret . . . and I am sure that it must be some ridiculous nonsense and that you've made it all up. Anyway you are a capital fellow, a capital fellow! . . ."
"That was just what I wanted to add, only you interrupted, that that was a very good decision of yours not to find out these secrets. Leave it to time, don't worry about it. You'll know it all in time when it must be. Yesterday a man said to me that what a man needs is fresh air, fresh air, fresh air. I mean to go to him directly to find out what he meant by that."
Razumihin stood lost in thought and excitement, making a silent conclusion.
"He's a political conspirator! He must be. And he's on the eve of some desperate step, that's certain. It can only be that! And . . . and Dounia knows," he thought suddenly.
"So Avdotya Romanovna comes to see you," he said, weighing each syllable, "and you're going to see a man who says we need more air, and so of course that letter . . . that too must have something to do with it," he concluded to himself.
"What letter?"
"She got a letter to-day. It upset her very much--very much indeed. Too much so. I began speaking of you, she begged me not to. Then . . . then she said that perhaps we should very soon have to part . . . then she began warmly thanking me for something; then she went to her room and locked herself in."
"She got a letter?" Raskolnikov asked thoughtfully.
"Yes, and you didn't know? hm . . ."
They were both silent.
"Good-bye, Rodion. There was a time, brother, when I. . . . Never mind, good-bye. You see, there was a time. . . . Well, good-bye! I must be off too. I am not going to drink. There's no need now. . . . That's all stuff!"
He hurried out; but when he had almost closed the door behind him, he suddenly opened it again, and said, looking away:
"Oh, by the way, do you remember that murder, you know Porfiry's, that old woman? Do you know the murderer has been found, he has confessed and given the proofs. It's one of those very workmen, the painter, only fancy! Do you remember I defended them here? Would you believe it, all that scene of fighting and laughing with his companions on the stairs while the porter and the two witnesses were going up, he got up on purpose to disarm suspicion. The cunning, the presence of mind of the young dog! One can hardly credit it; but it's his own explanation, he has confessed it all. And what a fool I was about it! Well, he's simply a genius of hypocrisy and resourcefulness in disarming the suspicions of the lawyers--so there's nothing much to wonder at, I suppose! Of course people like that are always possible. And the fact that he couldn't keep up the character, but confessed, makes him easier to believe in. But what a fool I was! I was frantic on their side!"
"Tell me, please, from whom did you hear that, and why does it interest you so?" Raskolnikov asked with unmistakable agitation.
"What next? You ask me why it interests me! . . . Well, I heard it from Porfiry, among others . . . It was from him I heard almost all about it."
"From Porfiry?"
"From Porfiry."
"What . . . what did he say?" Raskolnikov asked in dismay.
"He gave me a capital explanation of it. Psychologically, after his fashion."
"He explained it? Explained it himself?"
"Yes, yes; good-bye. I'll tell you all about it another time, but now I'm busy. There was a time when I fancied . . . But no matter, another time! . . . What need is there for me to drink now? You have made me drunk without wine. I am drunk, Rodya! Good-bye, I'm going. I'll come again very soon."
He went out.
"He's a political conspirator, there's not a doubt about it," Razumihin decided, as he slowly descended the stairs. "And he's drawn his sister in; that's quite, quite in keeping with Avdotya Romanovna's character. There are interviews between them! . . . She hinted at it too . . . So many of her words. . . . and hints . . . bear that meaning! And how else can all this tangle be explained? Hm! And I was almost thinking . . . Good heavens, what I thought! Yes, I took leave of my senses and I wronged him! It was his doing, under the lamp in the corridor that day. Pfoo! What a crude, nasty, vile idea on my part! Nikolay is a brick, for confessing. . . . And how clear it all is now! His illness then, all his strange actions . . . before this, in the university, how morose he used to be, how gloomy. . . . But what's the meaning now of that letter? There's something in that, too, perhaps. Whom was it from? I suspect . . .! No, I must find out!"
He thought of Dounia, realising all he had heard and his heart throbbed, and he suddenly broke into a run.
As soon as Razumihin went out, Raskolnikov got up, turned to the window, walked into one corner and then into another, as though forgetting the smallness of his room, and sat down again on the sofa. He felt, so to speak, renewed; again the struggle, so a means of escape had come.
"Yes, a means of escape had come! It had been too stifling, too cramping, the burden had been too agonising. A lethargy had come upon him at times. From the moment of the scene with Nikolay at Porfiry's he had been suffocating, penned in without hope of escape. After Nikolay's confession, on that very day had come the scene with Sonia; his behaviour and his last words had been utterly unlike anything he could have imagined beforehand; he had grown feebler, instantly and fundamentally! And he had agreed at the time with Sonia, he had agreed in his heart he could not go on living alone with such a thing on his mind!
"And Svidrigailov was a riddle . . . He worried him, that was true, but somehow not on the same point. He might still have a struggle to come with Svidrigailov. Svidrigailov, too, might be a means of escape; but Porfiry was a different matter.
"And so Porfiry himself had explained it to Razumihin, had explained it /psychologically/. He had begun bringing in his damned psychology again! Porfiry? But to think that Porfiry should for one moment believe that Nikolay was guilty, after what had passed between them before Nikolay's appearance, after that tete-a-tete interview, which could have only /one/ explanation? (During those days Raskolnikov had often recalled passages in that scene with Porfiry; he could not bear to let his mind rest on it.) Such words, such gestures had passed between them, they had exchanged such glances, things had been said in such a tone and had reached such a pass, that Nikolay, whom Porfiry had seen through at the first word, at the first gesture, could not have shaken his conviction.
"And to think that even Razumihin had begun to suspect! The scene in the corridor under the lamp had produced its effect then. He had rushed to Porfiry. . . . But what had induced the latter to receive him like that? What had been his object in putting Razumihin off with Nikolay? He must have some plan; there was some design, but what was it? It was true that a long time had passed since that morning--too long a time--and no sight nor sound of Porfiry. Well, that was a bad sign. . . ."
Raskolnikov took his cap and went out of the room, still pondering. It was the first time for a long while that he had felt clear in his mind, at least. "I must settle Svidrigailov," he thought, "and as soon as possible; he, too, seems to be waiting for me to come to him of my own accord." And at that moment there was such a rush of hate in his weary heart that he might have killed either of those two--Porfiry or Svidrigailov. At least he felt that he would be capable of doing it later, if not now.
"We shall see, we shall see," he repeated to himself.
But no sooner had he opened the door than he stumbled upon Porfiry himself in the passage. He was coming in to see him. Raskolnikov was dumbfounded for a minute, but only for one minute. Strange to say, he was not very much astonished at seeing Porfiry and scarcely afraid of him. He was simply startled, but was quickly, instantly, on his guard. "Perhaps this will mean the end? But how could Porfiry have approached so quietly, like a cat, so that he had heard nothing? Could he have been listening at the door?"
"You didn't expect a visitor, Rodion Romanovitch," Porfiry explained, laughing. "I've been meaning to look in a long time; I was passing by and thought why not go in for five minutes. Are you going out? I won't keep you long. Just let me have one cigarette."
"Sit down, Porfiry Petrovitch, sit down." Raskolnikov gave his visitor a seat with so pleased and friendly an expression that he would have marvelled at himself, if he could have seen it.
The last moment had come, the last drops had to be drained! So a man will sometimes go through half an hour of mortal terror with a brigand, yet when the knife is at his throat at last, he feels no fear.
Raskolnikov seated himself directly facing Porfiry, and looked at him without flinching. Porfiry screwed up his eyes and began lighting a cigarette.
"Speak, speak," seemed as though it would burst from Raskolnikov's heart. "Come, why don't you speak?"
“当心,你要喝酒去!”
“为什么……这你是怎么知道的?”
“哈,让我猜着了!”
拉祖米欣沉默了一会儿。
“你一向是个很理智的人,你从来,从来就不是疯子!”他突然激动地说。“这你说对了:我是要去喝酒!别了!”他说罢就走。
“大概是前天,我跟妹妹说起过你,拉祖米欣。”
“说我!对了……前天你能在哪儿见到过她?”拉祖米欣突然站住了,脸甚至有点儿发白。可以猜到,他的心在胸膛里慢慢地、紧张地跳动起来。
“她到这儿来了,一个人来的,坐在这儿,和我说过话。”
“她!”
“是的,是她。”
“你说什么了……我是想说,你说我什么了?”
“我对她说,你是个好人,正直而且勤劳。至于你爱她,我可没告诉她,因为这个她自己也知道。”
“她自己知道?”
“嗯,那还用说!不管我去哪里,不管我出什么事,你都要像神明一样,和她们待在一起。我,可以这么说吧,把她们托付给你了,拉祖米欣。我所以这么说,是因为我完全明白,你多么爱她,而且对于你心地纯洁,深信不疑。我也知道,她会爱你,甚至也许已经在爱着你了。现在你自己决定好了,你自己知道得最清楚,——你该不该去喝酒。”
“罗季卡……你要知道……嗯……唉,见鬼!可是你想上哪儿去?你瞧:如果这全都是秘密,那就算了!不过我……我一定会把这个秘密打听出来……而且相信,这一定是什么胡说八道,是一些可怕的荒唐念头,而且这全都是你胡思乱想,自己想出来的。不过,你是个最好的好人!最好的好人!
……”
“我正想对你补充一句,可是你打断了我的话,我要补充的就是,刚才你说不打听这些秘密,这些不能让人知道的事情,你的这个决定是很对的。暂时你先别管,请别劳神。到时候你会全知道的,确切地说,就是到必要的时候。昨天有个人对我说,人需要空气,空气,空气!现在我想去他那里,去弄清楚,这话是什么意思。”
拉祖米欣站着,陷入沉思,心情激动,在考虑着什么。
“这是个政治阴谋家!一定是!他正处于采取某一决定性步骤的前夕,——这是一定的!不可能不是这样,而且……
而且杜尼娅知道……”他突然暗自想。
“这么说,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜常来看你,”他一字一顿地说,“你呢,要去会见一个人,这个人说,需要更多的空气,空气,而且……而且,这样看来,这封信……也是从那儿来的了,”他仿佛自言自语地断定。
“什么信?”
“她收到了一封信,就是今天,这使她惊慌不安。很不安。甚至非常担心。我跟她谈你的事——她求我不要说。后来……后来她说,也许我们很快就会分手,随后她又为了什么事情热烈地感谢我;随后她就回到自己屋里,把门锁上了。”
“她收到了一封信?”拉斯科利尼科夫若有所思地又问了一声。
“是啊,一封信;可是你不知道吗?嗯哼。”
他们两人都不说话了。
“再见,罗季昂。我,老兄……有一个时期……不过,再见,你要知道,有一个时期……嗯,再见!我也该走了。我不会去喝酒。现在用不着了……你胡说!”
他匆匆地走了;但是已经出去,已经几乎随手掩上了房门,却又突然把门推开,望着旁边什么地方,说:
“顺带说一声!你记得这件凶杀案吗,嗯,就是这个波尔菲里经办的:谋杀那个老太婆的案子?嗯,要知道,凶手已经查明,他自己招认了,还提供了一切证据。这就是那两个工人,那两个油漆匠当中的一个,你想想看,还记得吧,在这儿我还为他们辩护过呢?你相信吗,那几个人——管院子和那两个见证人上楼去的时候,他和他的同伴打打闹闹,在楼梯上哈哈大笑,这都是他为了转移别人的视线,故意做出来的。这个狗崽子多么狡猾,多么镇静!让人难以相信;可是他自己作了解释,自己全都招认了!我上当了!有什么呢,照我看,这只不过是一个善于伪装、善于随机应变的天才,一个从法律观点来看善于转移视线的天才,——所以没什么好奇怪的!难道不可能有这样的人吗?至于他没能坚持到底,终于招认了,这就让我更加相信他的话了。更合乎情理嘛……
可是我,那时候我却上当了!为了他们气得发狂!”
“请你说说看,这一切你是怎么知道的,对这件事你为什么这么感兴趣?”拉斯科利尼科夫问,看得出来,他很焦急。
“这还用问!我为什么感兴趣!是你问我!……我是从波尔菲里那里知道的,也从别人那里听说过。不过从他那里几乎了解了一切情况。”
“从波尔菲里那里?”
“从波尔菲里那里。”
“他……他的意思呢?”拉斯科利尼科夫惊慌地问。
“关于这件事,他对我作了极好的解释。按照他的方式,从心理学上作了解释。”
“他作了解释?他亲自给你作了解释?”
“亲自,亲自;再见!以后还要跟你谈点儿事情,不过现在我还有事。以后再说……有一段时间,我以为……没什么;以后再说!……现在我干吗还要喝酒呢。不用酒,你已经把我灌醉了!我真的醉了,罗季卡!现在不用喝酒我就醉了,好,再见;我还会来的,很快就来。”
他走了。
“这,这是个政治阴谋家,一定是的,一定是!”拉祖米欣慢慢下楼去的时候,完全肯定地暗自断定。“把妹妹也拉进去了;像阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜这样的性格,这非常,非常可能。他们见过好几次面……要知道,她也对我暗示过。根据她的许多话……她的片言只语……和暗示来看,这一切都只能是这个意思!不然,对这些错综复杂、一团乱麻似的情况应作何解释呢?嗯哼,我本来以为……噢,上帝啊,我怎么会这样想呢。是的,这是我一时糊涂,我对不起他!这是他当时在走廊上,在灯光下把我搞糊涂了。呸!我的想法多么可恶、不可宽恕而且卑鄙啊!尼科尔卡招认了,他真是好样的……以前的所有情况,现在全都清楚了!那时候他的病,他那些奇怪的行为,甚至以前,以前,还在大学里的时候,他一向都是那么阴郁,那么愁闷……不过现在这封信又是什么意思?大概这也有什么用意。这封信是谁来的?我怀疑……
嗯哼。不,我一定要把这一切都弄清楚。”
他回忆着,并细细考虑着有关杜涅奇卡的一切,他的心揪紧了。他拔脚就跑。
拉祖米欣刚走,拉斯科利尼科夫就站起来,转身走向窗前,一下子走到这个角落,一下子又走到另一个角落,仿佛忘记了他这间小屋是那么狭小,后来……又坐到了沙发上。他好像获得了新生;再作斗争——那么,出路就找到了!“是的,那么,出路就找到了!不然,这一切积累在一起,毫无出路,压得人喘不过气来,痛苦不堪,使人昏昏沉沉,糊里糊涂。自从在波尔菲里那里看到米科尔卡演的那场戏,他就感到毫无出路,陷入了绝境。看了米科尔卡的演出以后,就在那天,在索尼娅家里又发生了那样的情景,那幕戏是由他导演的,可是演出的情况和结局都完全,完全不像他以前想象的那样……他变得虚弱无力了,就是说,转瞬间变得完全虚弱无力了!一下子!不是吗,当时他曾同意索尼娅的意见,自己同意了,心里同意了,认为心里有这么一件事,独自一个人是无法活下去的!可是斯维德里盖洛夫呢?斯维德里盖洛夫是个谜……斯维德里盖洛夫搅得他心神不定,这是实情,不过在某种程度上,不该光从这方面考虑。也许跟斯维德里盖洛夫也还要进行一场斗争。斯维德里盖洛夫也许是一条出路;不过波尔菲里却是另一回事。
“这么说,波尔菲里还亲自向拉祖米欣作了解释,从心理学上给他作了解释!又把他那可恶的心理学搬出来了!波尔菲里吗?难道波尔菲里会相信米科尔卡有罪?哪怕是有一分钟相信?既然在米科尔卡到来之前,当时他和波尔菲里之间曾经有过那样的事,出现过那样的情景,他们曾面对面地交谈,而除了一种解释,对这找不出任何合理的解释。(这几天拉斯科利尼科夫头脑里有好多次闪现出、并且回想起会见波尔菲里的情景的几个片断;回忆当时的全部情景是他受不了的。)当时他们之间说过那样的一些话,做过那样的一些动作和手势,说话时使用过那样的语调,而且达到了这样的界限,在发生了这一切之后,米科尔卡(从他开始说第一句话,从他的第一个动作,波尔菲里就已经把他看透了),米科尔卡可动摇不了他的基本信念。
“怎么!连拉祖米欣也产生怀疑了!当时在走廊上,在灯光下发生的那幕情景不是没有结果的。于是他跑去找波尔菲里了……不过这家伙何必要这样欺骗他呢?他让拉祖米欣把视线转移到米科尔卡身上去,究竟有什么目的?因为他一定有什么想法;这肯定有什么意图,不过是什么意图呢?不错,从那天早上,已经过了很多时候了,——太多了,太多了,但关于波尔菲里,却毫无消息。看来,这当然更加不妙……”拉斯科利尼科夫拿起帽子,沉思了一会儿,从屋里走了出去。在这段时间里,这还是第一天他感觉到,至少他的思想是正常的。“得把跟斯维德里盖洛夫的事情了结掉,”他想,“而且无论如何也要了结掉,尽可能快一点儿:看来这一个也是等着我自己去找他”。在这一瞬间,从他疲惫不堪的心灵里突然升起一股如此强烈的憎恨情绪,说不定他真会杀死两个人当中的一个:斯维德里盖洛夫,或者是波尔菲里。至少他觉得,即使不是现在,那么以后他也会这么做。“咱们等着瞧,咱们等着瞧吧,”他暗自反复地说。
可是他刚打开通穿堂的门,突然遇到了波尔菲里本人。他进到屋里来了。拉斯科利尼科夫呆呆地愣了一会儿。奇怪,波尔菲里来找他,他并不觉得十分惊讶,几乎不怕他。他只是颤栗了一下,但很快,刹时间就作好了思想准备。“也许,这就是结局!不过他怎么会像只猫一样悄悄地走近,我竟什么也没听到呢?难道他在偷听吗?”
“没想到有客人来吧,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇笑着高声说。“早就想顺便来看看了,我打这儿路过,心想,为什么不进去看看,坐上五分钟呢。您要上哪儿去?我不耽误您的时间。只稍坐一会儿,抽支烟,如果您允许的话。”
“请坐,波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇,请坐,”拉斯科利尼科夫请客人坐下,看样子他很满意,而且相当友好,如果他能看看自己,一定会对自己感到惊讶。图穷匕见,去伪存真,一切马上就要见分晓了!有时一个人遇到强盗,有半个小时会吓得要命,可是当刀子架到他脖子上的时候,甚至会突然不害怕了。他正对着波尔菲里坐下来,不眨眼地直瞅着他。波尔菲里眯缝起眼,点着了烟。
“喂,说吧,说吧,”好像这样的话就要从拉斯科利尼科夫的心里跳出来了。“喂,怎么,怎么,你怎么不说啊?”


峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 47楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第二章
"Ah these cigarettes!" Porfiry Petrovitch ejaculated at last, having lighted one. "They are pernicious, positively pernicious, and yet I can't give them up! I cough, I begin to have tickling in my throat and a difficulty in breathing. You know I am a coward, I went lately to Dr. B----n; he always gives at least half an hour to each patient. He positively laughed looking at me; he sounded me: 'Tobacco's bad for you,' he said, 'your lungs are affected.' But how am I to give it up? What is there to take its place? I don't drink, that's the mischief, he-he-he, that I don't. Everything is relative, Rodion Romanovitch, everything is relative!"
"Why, he's playing his professional tricks again," Raskolnikov thought with disgust. All the circumstances of their last interview suddenly came back to him, and he felt a rush of the feeling that had come upon him then.
"I came to see you the day before yesterday, in the evening; you didn't know?" Porfiry Petrovitch went on, looking round the room. "I came into this very room. I was passing by, just as I did to-day, and I thought I'd return your call. I walked in as your door was wide open, I looked round, waited and went out without leaving my name with your servant. Don't you lock your door?"
Raskolnikov's face grew more and more gloomy. Porfiry seemed to guess his state of mind.
"I've come to have it out with you, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow! I owe you an explanation and must give it to you," he continued with a slight smile, just patting Raskolnikov's knee.
But almost at the same instant a serious and careworn look came into his face; to his surprise Raskolnikov saw a touch of sadness in it. He had never seen and never suspected such an expression in his face.
"A strange scene passed between us last time we met, Rodion Romanovitch. Our first interview, too, was a strange one; but then . . . and one thing after another! This is the point: I have perhaps acted unfairly to you; I feel it. Do you remember how we parted? Your nerves were unhinged and your knees were shaking and so were mine. And, you know, our behaviour was unseemly, even ungentlemanly. And yet we are gentlemen, above all, in any case, gentlemen; that must be understood. Do you remember what we came to? . . . and it was quite indecorous."
"What is he up to, what does he take me for?" Raskolnikov asked himself in amazement, raising his head and looking with open eyes on Porfiry.
"I've decided openness is better between us," Porfiry Petrovitch went on, turning his head away and dropping his eyes, as though unwilling to disconcert his former victim and as though disdaining his former wiles. "Yes, such suspicions and such scenes cannot continue for long. Nikolay put a stop to it, or I don't know what we might not have come to. That damned workman was sitting at the time in the next room--can you realise that? You know that, of course; and I am aware that he came to you afterwards. But what you supposed then was not true: I had not sent for anyone, I had made no kind of arrangements. You ask why I hadn't? What shall I say to you? it had all come upon me so suddenly. I had scarcely sent for the porters (you noticed them as you went out, I dare say). An idea flashed upon me; I was firmly convinced at the time, you see, Rodion Romanovitch. Come, I thought--even if I let one thing slip for a time, I shall get hold of something else--I shan't lose what I want, anyway. You are nervously irritable, Rodion Romanovitch, by temperament; it's out of proportion with other qualities of your heart and character, which I flatter myself I have to some extent divined. Of course I did reflect even then that it does not always happen that a man gets up and blurts out his whole story. It does happen sometimes, if you make a man lose all patience, though even then it's rare. I was capable of realising that. If I only had a fact, I thought, the least little fact to go upon, something I could lay hold of, something tangible, not merely psychological. For if a man is guilty, you must be able to get something substantial out of him; one may reckon upon most surprising results indeed. I was reckoning on your temperament, Rodion Romanovitch, on your temperament above all things! I had great hopes of you at that time."
"But what are you driving at now?" Raskolnikov muttered at last, asking the question without thinking.
"What is he talking about?" he wondered distractedly, "does he really take me to be innocent?"
"What am I driving at? I've come to explain myself, I consider it my duty, so to speak. I want to make clear to you how the whole business, the whole misunderstanding arose. I've caused you a great deal of suffering, Rodion Romanovitch. I am not a monster. I understand what it must mean for a man who has been unfortunate, but who is proud, imperious and above all, impatient, to have to bear such treatment! I regard you in any case as a man of noble character and not without elements of magnanimity, though I don't agree with all your convictions. I wanted to tell you this first, frankly and quite sincerely, for above all I don't want to deceive you. When I made your acquaintance, I felt attracted by you. Perhaps you will laugh at my saying so. You have a right to. I know you disliked me from the first and indeed you've no reason to like me. You may think what you like, but I desire now to do all I can to efface that impression and to show that I am a man of heart and conscience. I speak sincerely."
Porfiry Petrovitch made a dignified pause. Raskolnikov felt a rush of renewed alarm. The thought that Porfiry believed him to be innocent began to make him uneasy.
"It's scarcely necessary to go over everything in detail," Porfiry Petrovitch went on. "Indeed, I could scarcely attempt it. To begin with there were rumours. Through whom, how, and when those rumours came to me . . . and how they affected you, I need not go into. My suspicions were aroused by a complete accident, which might just as easily not have happened. What was it? Hm! I believe there is no need to go into that either. Those rumours and that accident led to one idea in my mind. I admit it openly--for one may as well make a clean breast of it--I was the first to pitch on you. The old woman's notes on the pledges and the rest of it--that all came to nothing. Yours was one of a hundred. I happened, too, to hear of the scene at the office, from a man who described it capitally, unconsciously reproducing the scene with great vividness. It was just one thing after another, Rodion Romanovitch, my dear fellow! How could I avoid being brought to certain ideas? From a hundred rabbits you can't make a horse, a hundred suspicions don't make a proof, as the English proverb says, but that's only from the rational point of view--you can't help being partial, for after all a lawyer is only human. I thought, too, of your article in that journal, do you remember, on your first visit we talked of it? I jeered at you at the time, but that was only to lead you on. I repeat, Rodion Romanovitch, you are ill and impatient. That you were bold, headstrong, in earnest and . . . had felt a great deal I recognised long before. I, too, have felt the same, so that your article seemed familiar to me. It was conceived on sleepless nights, with a throbbing heart, in ecstasy and suppressed enthusiasm. And that proud suppressed enthusiasm in young people is dangerous! I jeered at you then, but let me tell you that, as a literary amateur, I am awfully fond of such first essays, full of the heat of youth. There is a mistiness and a chord vibrating in the mist. Your article is absurd and fantastic, but there's a transparent sincerity, a youthful incorruptible pride and the daring of despair in it. It's a gloomy article, but that's what's fine in it. I read your article and put it aside, thinking as I did so 'that man won't go the common way.' Well, I ask you, after that as a preliminary, how could I help being carried away by what followed? Oh, dear, I am not saying anything, I am not making any statement now. I simply noted it at the time. What is there in it? I reflected. There's nothing in it, that is really nothing and perhaps absolutely nothing. And it's not at all the thing for the prosecutor to let himself be carried away by notions: here I have Nikolay on my hands with actual evidence against him--you may think what you like of it, but it's evidence. He brings in his psychology, too; one has to consider him, too, for it's a matter of life and death. Why am I explaining this to you? That you may understand, and not blame my malicious behaviour on that occasion. It was not malicious, I assure you, he-he! Do you suppose I didn't come to search your room at the time? I did, I did, he-he! I was here when you were lying ill in bed, not officially, not in my own person, but I was here. Your room was searched to the last thread at the first suspicion; but /umsonst/! I thought to myself, now that man will come, will come of himself and quickly, too; if he's guilty, he's sure to come. Another man wouldn't, but he will. And you remember how Mr. Razumihin began discussing the subject with you? We arranged that to excite you, so we purposely spread rumours, that he might discuss the case with you, and Razumihin is not a man to restrain his indignation. Mr. Zametov was tremendously struck by your anger and your open daring. Think of blurting out in a restaurant 'I killed her.' It was too daring, too reckless. I thought so myself, if he is guilty he will be a formidable opponent. That was what I thought at the time. I was expecting you. But you simply bowled Zametov over and . . . well, you see, it all lies in this--that this damnable psychology can be taken two ways! Well, I kept expecting you, and so it was, you came! My heart was fairly throbbing. Ach!
"Now, why need you have come? Your laughter, too, as you came in, do you remember? I saw it all plain as daylight, but if I hadn't expected you so specially, I should not have noticed anything in your laughter. You see what influence a mood has! Mr. Razumihin then--ah, that stone, that stone under which the things were hidden! I seem to see it somewhere in a kitchen garden. It was in a kitchen garden, you told Zametov and afterwards you repeated that in my office? And when we began picking your article to pieces, how you explained it! One could take every word of yours in two senses, as though there were another meaning hidden.
“要知道,所有这些香烟!”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇把烟抽着了,抽了几口以后,终于说话了,“都是有害的,只有害处,可我就是戒不掉!我常咳嗽,喉咙里发痒,呼吸困难。您要知道,我胆很小,前两天去包医生①那里看病,每个病人他minimum②给检查半个小时;他看着我,甚至大笑起来:他敲了敲,听了听,说,您不能抽烟;肺扩张了。唉,可是我怎么能不抽呢?拿什么来代替它?我不喝酒,这可真是毫无办法,嘿——嘿——嘿,我不喝酒,真是糟糕透了!要知道,什么都是相对的,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,什么都是相对的!”
“他这是干什么,又在玩以前玩弄过的老把戏吗,还是怎么的!”拉斯科利尼科夫心里厌恶地想。他不由得想起不久前他们最后一次会见的情景,当时的感情又像波浪一般突然涌上他的心头。
--------
①指包特金医生(一八三二——一八八九)。一八六五年陀思妥耶夫斯基在他那里看过病。
②拉丁文,“最少”,“至少”之意。
“前天晚上我已经来找过您了;您不知道吗?”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇接着说下去,同时在打量这间房子,“我走进屋里,就是这间屋里。也是像今天一样,打附近路过,我想,去拜访拜访他吧。我来了,可是房门敞着;我朝四下里看了看,等了一会儿,连您的女仆也没告诉一声,就出去了。您不锁门?”
拉斯科利尼科夫的脸色越来越阴沉了。波尔菲里立刻猜到了他在想什么。
“我是来解释一下,亲爱的罗季昂·罗曼内奇,我是来向您作解释的!我应该,而且有责任向您解释一下,”他微笑着继续说,甚至用手掌轻轻拍了拍拉斯科利尼科夫的膝盖,但是几乎就在同时,他脸上突然露出严肃、忧虑的神情;甚至仿佛蒙上了一层愁云,这使拉斯科利尼科夫感到十分惊讶。他还从来没见过,也从未想到,波尔菲里的脸上会有这样的表情。“最后一次见面的时候,我们之间发生过一种奇怪的情景,罗季昂·罗曼内奇。大概,我们第一次会见的时候,也发生过这种奇怪的情景;不过当时……唉,现在已经是一次接着一次了!事情是这样的:我也许很对不起您;这一点我感觉到了。我们是怎样分手的呢,您记得吗:您神经紧张,双膝颤抖,我也神经紧张,双膝颤抖。您要知道,当时我们之间甚至是剑拔弩张,缺乏君子风度。可我们毕竟都是君子;也就是说,无论如何,我们首先都是君子;这一点必须明白。您该记得,事情闹到了什么地步……甚至已经完全不成体统了。”
“他这是干什么,他把我当成了什么人?”拉斯科利尼科夫惊讶地问自己,微微抬起头,睁大了眼睛直瞅着波尔菲里。
“我考虑过了,认为现在我们最好还是开诚布公,”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇接着说,微微仰起头,低下眼睛,仿佛不愿再以自己的目光让自己以前的受害者感到困惑不解,似乎也不屑再使用以前使用的那些手法,不屑再玩弄以前玩弄过的那些诡计了,“是的,这样的猜疑和这样的争吵是不能长久继续下去的。当时米科尔卡使我们摆脱了困境,不然我真不知道我们之间会闹到什么地步。当时这个该死的小市民就坐在隔板后面,——这您想象得到吗?当然,这事现在您已经知道了;而且我也知道,后来他上您这儿来过;但是当时您猜测的事情却是没有的:当时我并没派人去叫任何人,也没布置过什么。您会问,为什么不布置?怎么跟您讲呢:当时这一切似乎使我自己也大吃一惊。就连那两个管院子的,我也是勉强派人去把他们叫来的。(您出去的时候,大概看到那两个管院子的了吧。)当时有个想法,真的,有一个想法,像闪电一样在我脑子里飞快地一闪而过;您要知道,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,当时我坚信不疑。我想,让我哪怕是暂时放过一个去好了,然而我会抓住另一个的尾巴,——至少不会放过自己的那一个,自己的那一个。您很容易激动,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,天生容易激动;甚至是太容易激动了,虽说您还有其他性格和心情上的种种主要特点,对此我多少有点儿了解,所以就把希望寄托在这上面了。嗯,当然啦,就是在那时候,我也能考虑到,一个人突然站起来,冒冒失失地把全部底细都告诉您,这样的事不是经常会发生的。虽说也会有这样的事,特别是当一个人给弄得失去最后的忍耐的时候,不过无论如何这十分罕见。这一点我也能考虑到。不,我想,我要是掌握了一点事实,那就好了!哪怕是微不足道的一点事实,只要有一点就够了,不过是可以用手抓得到的,是个实实在在的东西,而不是这种心理上的玩意儿。因为,我想,如果一个人有罪,那么当然无论如何也可以从他那里得到点儿什么非常重要的东西;甚至可以指望得到最出乎意外的结果。当时我把希望寄托在您的性格上,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,最大的希望寄托在性格上!当时我对您确实抱有很大的希望。”
“可是您……可现在您为什么还是这么说呢,”拉斯科利尼科夫终于含糊不清地说,甚至不大理解这句问话的意义。
“他说这话是什么意思,”他感到困惑莫解,“难道他真的认为我是无辜的吗?”
“我为什么这么说吗?我是来作解释的,可以这么说吧,我认为这是我神圣的责任。我想把一切统统都对您说出来,事情的全部经过,当时那些,可以说是不愉快的事情,统统都对您讲清楚。我让您忍受了许多痛苦,罗季昂·罗曼内奇。可我不是恶魔。因为我也理解,一个精神负担很重、然而骄傲、庄严和缺乏耐性的人,特别是一个缺乏耐性的人,怎么能忍受得了这一切呢!不管怎样,我还是把您看作一个最高尚的人,甚至有舍己为人的精神,尽管我不同意您所有的那些信念,并且认为有责任把话说在前头,坦率地、十分真诚地说出自己的意见,因为首先,我不想欺骗您。自从认识了您,我就对您有一种依依不舍的感情。对我的这些话,您也许会哑然失笑吧?您当然有笑的权利。我知道,您从一见到我就不喜欢我,因为实际上也没有什么好喜欢的。不过,不管您认为怎样,请您相信,现在我想从我这方面用一切办法来改变我给您留下的印象,而且向您证明,我也是个有人性、有良心的人。我说这话是很真诚的。”
波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇尊严地停顿了一下。拉斯科利尼科夫感觉到,一阵新的恐惧犹如浪涛一般涌上心头。波尔菲里认为他是无辜的,这个想法突然使他感到害怕起来。
“按照顺序把一切都讲一遍,讲一讲当时这是怎么突然发生的,这大概没有必要,”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇接着说;“我认为,这甚至是多余的。而且我也未必能都说清楚。因为,怎么能详细说明这一切呢?一开始是有一些传说。至于这是些什么传闻,是谁说的,是什么时候……又是因为什么牵连到您,——我想,这些也都不必说了。就我个人来说,这是从一件偶然的事情开始的,是一件纯属偶然的事情,这件事情极有可能发生,也极可能不发生,——那么是件什么事情呢?嗯哼,我想,这也没有什么好说的。所有这一切,那些传闻,还有那些偶然的事情,凑在一起就使我当时产生了一个想法。我坦白地承认,因为既然承认,那就得毫无保留地承认一切,——当时是我首先对您产生了怀疑。就算是有老太婆在抵押的东西上所做的记号以及其他等等,——所有这一切都是无稽之谈。这种玩意儿数以百计。当时我也有机会得知区警察分局办公室里发生的那一幕的详情细节,也是偶然听说的,倒不是道听途说,而是从一个特殊的、很重要的人那里听说的,他自己也没意识到,他把当时的情景叙述得多么生动。要知道,这些事情是一件接着一件,一件接着一件,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,亲爱的朋友!嗯,这怎么能不使注意力转向某个一定的方向呢?一百只兔子永远也凑不成一匹马,一百个疑点永远也不能构成一个证据,不是有这么一句英国谚语吗,然而,要知道,这只是一种理智的说法,可是对于热情,对于热情,你倒试试看去控制它吧,因为侦查员也是人啊。这时我也想起了您在杂志上发表的那篇文章,您还记得吧,还有您第一次去我家的时候,咱们就详细谈过这篇文章。当时我嘲讽了一番,但这是为了让您作进一步的发挥。我再说一遍,您没有耐性,而且病得很厉害,罗季昂·罗曼内奇。至于您大胆,骄傲,严肃,而且……您有所感受,您有很多感受,这一切我早就知道了。所有这些感受我都并不陌生,就连您那篇文卓,我看着也觉得是熟悉的。这篇文章是在不眠之夜和近乎发狂的情况下酝酿构思的,当时一定是心情振奋,心在怦怦地狂跳,而且满怀着受压抑的激情。然而青年人的这种受压抑的激情是危险的!当时我曾对这篇文章冷嘲热讽,可现在却要对您说,也就是说,作为一个欣赏者,我非常喜欢这篇青春时期热情洋溢的处女作。烟,雾,琴弦在茫茫雾海中发出铮铮的响声①。您的文章是荒谬的,脱离实际的,但是也闪烁着如此真挚的感情,它包含有青年人的骄傲和坚定不移的信念,包含有无所顾忌的大胆;这是一篇心情阴郁的文章,不过这很好。我看了您的文章,就把它放到了一边,而且……在把它放到一边去的时候,我心里就想:‘唉,这个人是不会碌碌终生的!’现在请您说说看,既然有了上述情况,以后发生的事怎么会不让我发生兴趣呢!唉,上帝啊?难道我是在没什么吗?难道我是在证明什么吗?当时我只不过是注意到了。我想,这儿有什么呢?这儿什么也没有,也就是根本什么都没有,也许是完全没有什么。我,一个侦查员,这样全神贯注,甚至是完全不应该的:我手里已经有一个米科尔卡,而且已经有一些事实,——不管您有什么看法,可这都是事实!他在谈他的心理;在他身上还得下点儿工夫;因为这是件生死攸关的事。现在我为什么要向你解释这一切呢?为了让您知道,而且以您的智慧和您的心灵作出判断,不致为我当时那些恶意的行为而责备我。不是恶意的,我这样说是真诚的,嘿——嘿!您认为当时我没上您这儿来搜查过吗?来过,来过,嘿——嘿,当您在这儿卧病在床的时候,我来搜查过了。不是正式搜查,也不是以侦查员的身份,可是来搜查过了。甚至是根据最初留下的痕迹,在您屋里仔细察看过了,没有漏掉任何最细小的东西;然而——um-sonst!②我想:现在这个人会来的,他会自己来的,而且不久就要来;如果他有罪,他就一定会来。别人不会来,可这个人会来。您记得拉祖米欣先生曾向您泄露消息吗?这是我们安排的,目的是让您心里发慌,因此我们故意放出谣言,让他透露给您,而拉祖米欣先生是个心中有气就忍不住的人。
"So in this way, Rodion Romanovitch, I reached the furthest limit, and knocking my head against a post, I pulled myself up, asking myself what I was about. After all, I said, you can take it all in another sense if you like, and it's more natural so, indeed. I couldn't help admitting it was more natural. I was bothered! 'No, I'd better get hold of some little fact' I said. So when I heard of the bell-ringing, I held my breath and was all in a tremor. 'Here is my little fact,' thought I, and I didn't think it over, I simply wouldn't. I would have given a thousand roubles at that minute to have seen you with my own eyes, when you walked a hundred paces beside that workman, after he had called you murderer to your face, and you did not dare to ask him a question all the way. And then what about your trembling, what about your bell-ringing in your illness, in semi-delirium?
"And so, Rodion Romanovitch, can you wonder that I played such pranks on you? And what made you come at that very minute? Someone seemed to have sent you, by Jove! And if Nikolay had not parted us . . . and do you remember Nikolay at the time? Do you remember him clearly? It was a thunderbolt, a regular thunderbolt! And how I met him! I didn't believe in the thunderbolt, not for a minute. You could see it for yourself; and how could I? Even afterwards, when you had gone and he began making very, very plausible answers on certain points, so that I was surprised at him myself, even then I didn't believe his story! You see what it is to be as firm as a rock! No, thought I, /Morgenfruh/. What has Nikolay got to do with it!"
"Razumihin told me just now that you think Nikolay guilty and had yourself assured him of it. . . ."
His voice failed him, and he broke off. He had been listening in indescribable agitation, as this man who had seen through and through him, went back upon himself. He was afraid of believing it and did not believe it. In those still ambiguous words he kept eagerly looking for something more definite and conclusive.
"Mr. Razumihin!" cried Porfiry Petrovitch, seeming glad of a question from Raskolnikov, who had till then been silent. "He-he-he! But I had to put Mr. Razumihin off; two is company, three is none. Mr. Razumihin is not the right man, besides he is an outsider. He came running to me with a pale face. . . . But never mind him, why bring him in? To return to Nikolay, would you like to know what sort of a type he is, how I understand him, that is? To begin with, he is still a child and not exactly a coward, but something by way of an artist. Really, don't laugh at my describing him so. He is innocent and responsive to influence. He has a heart, and is a fantastic fellow. He sings and dances, he tells stories, they say, so that people come from other villages to hear him. He attends school too, and laughs till he cries if you hold up a finger to him; he will drink himself senseless--not as a regular vice, but at times, when people treat him, like a child. And he stole, too, then, without knowing it himself, for 'How can it be stealing, if one picks it up?' And do you know he is an Old Believer, or rather a dissenter? There have been Wanderers(*) in his family, and he was for two years in his village under the spiritual guidance of a certain elder. I learnt all this from Nikolay and from his fellow villagers. And what's more, he wanted to run into the wilderness! He was full of fervour, prayed at night, read the old books, 'the true' ones, and read himself crazy.
(*) A religious sect.--TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.
"Petersburg had a great effect upon him, especially the women and the wine. He responds to everything and he forgot the elder and all that. I learnt that an artist here took a fancy to him, and used to go and see him, and now this business came upon him.
"Well, he was frightened, he tried to hang himself! He ran away! How can one get over the idea the people have of Russian legal proceedings? The very word 'trial' frightens some of them. Whose fault is it? We shall see what the new juries will do. God grant they do good! Well, in prison, it seems, he remembered the venerable elder; the Bible, too, made its appearance again. Do you know, Rodion Romanovitch, the force of the word 'suffering' among some of these people! It's not a question of suffering for someone's benefit, but simply, 'one must suffer.' If they suffer at the hands of the authorities, so much the better. In my time there was a very meek and mild prisoner who spent a whole year in prison always reading his Bible on the stove at night and he read himself crazy, and so crazy, do you know, that one day, apropos of nothing, he seized a brick and flung it at the governor; though he had done him no harm. And the way he threw it too: aimed it a yard on one side on purpose, for fear of hurting him. Well, we know what happens to a prisoner who assaults an officer with a weapon. So 'he took his suffering.'
"So I suspect now that Nikolay wants to take his suffering or something of the sort. I know it for certain from facts, indeed. Only he doesn't know that I know. What, you don't admit that there are such fantastic people among the peasants? Lots of them. The elder now has begun influencing him, especially since he tried to hang himself. But he'll come and tell me all himself. You think he'll hold out? Wait a bit, he'll take his words back. I am waiting from hour to hour for him to come and abjure his evidence. I have come to like that Nikolay and am studying him in detail. And what do you think? He-he! He answered me very plausibly on some points, he obviously had collected some evidence and prepared himself cleverly. But on other points he is simply at sea, knows nothing and doesn't even suspect that he doesn't know!
"No, Rodion Romanovitch, Nikolay doesn't come in! This is a fantastic, gloomy business, a modern case, an incident of to-day when the heart of man is troubled, when the phrase is quoted that blood 'renews,' when comfort is preached as the aim of life. Here we have bookish dreams, a heart unhinged by theories. Here we see resolution in the first stage, but resolution of a special kind: he resolved to do it like jumping over a precipice or from a bell tower and his legs shook as he went to the crime. He forgot to shut the door after him, and murdered two people for a theory. He committed the murder and couldn't take the money, and what he did manage to snatch up he hid under a stone. It wasn't enough for him to suffer agony behind the door while they battered at the door and rung the bell, no, he had to go to the empty lodging, half delirious, to recall the bell-ringing, he wanted to feel the cold shiver over again. . . . Well, that we grant, was through illness, but consider this: he is a murderer, but looks upon himself as an honest man, despises others, poses as injured innocence. No, that's not the work of a Nikolay, my dear Rodion Romanovitch!"
All that had been said before had sounded so like a recantation that these words were too great a shock. Raskolnikov shuddered as though he had been stabbed.
"Then . . . who then . . . is the murderer?" he asked in a breathless voice, unable to restrain himself.
Porfiry Petrovitch sank back in his chair, as though he were amazed at the question.
"Who is the murderer?" he repeated, as though unable to believe his ears. "Why, /you/, Rodion Romanovitch! You are the murderer," he added, almost in a whisper, in a voice of genuine conviction.
Raskolnikov leapt from the sofa, stood up for a few seconds and sat down again without uttering a word. His face twitched convulsively.
"Your lip is twitching just as it did before," Porfiry Petrovitch observed almost sympathetically. "You've been misunderstanding me, I think, Rodion Romanovitch," he added after a brief pause, "that's why you are so surprised. I came on purpose to tell you everything and deal openly with you."
"It was not I murdered her," Raskolnikov whispered like a frightened child caught in the act.
"No, it was you, you Rodion Romanovitch, and no one else," Porfiry whispered sternly, with conviction.
They were both silent and the silence lasted strangely long, about ten minutes. Raskolnikov put his elbow on the table and passed his fingers through his hair. Porfiry Petrovitch sat quietly waiting. Suddenly Raskolnikov looked scornfully at Porfiry.
"You are at your old tricks again, Porfiry Petrovitch! Your old method again. I wonder you don't get sick of it!"
"Oh, stop that, what does that matter now? It would be a different matter if there were witnesses present, but we are whispering alone. You see yourself that I have not come to chase and capture you like a hare. Whether you confess it or not is nothing to me now; for myself, I am convinced without it."
"If so, what did you come for?" Raskolnikov asked irritably. "I ask you the same question again: if you consider me guilty, why don't you take me to prison?"
"Oh, that's your question! I will answer you, point for point. In the first place, to arrest you so directly is not to my interest."
"How so? If you are convinced you ought. . . ."
"Ach, what if I am convinced? That's only my dream for the time. Why should I put you in safety? You know that's it, since you ask me to do it. If I confront you with that workman for instance and you say to him 'were you drunk or not? Who saw me with you? I simply took you to be drunk, and you were drunk, too.' Well, what could I answer, especially as your story is a more likely one than his? for there's nothing but psychology to support his evidence--that's almost unseemly with his ugly mug, while you hit the mark exactly, for the rascal is an inveterate drunkard and notoriously so. And I have myself admitted candidly several times already that that psychology can be taken in two ways and that the second way is stronger and looks far more probable, and that apart from that I have as yet nothing against you. And though I shall put you in prison and indeed have come--quite contrary to etiquette--to inform you of it beforehand, yet I tell you frankly, also contrary to etiquette, that it won't be to my advantage. Well, secondly, I've come to you because . . ."
您的愤怒和露骨的大胆行为首先引起了扎苗托夫先生的注意:嗯,竟突然在小饭馆里贸然说:‘我杀了人!’太大胆了,太放肆了,我想,如果他有罪,那么这是个可怕的对手!当时我这么想。我在等着。竭力耐心等着,而扎苗托夫当时简直让您给搞得十分沮丧……问题在于,这该死的心理是可以作不同解释的!嗯,于是我就等着您,一看,您真的来了!我的心怦怦地直跳。唉!当时您为什么要来呢?您的笑,您记得吗,那时候您一进来就哈哈大笑,当时我就像透过玻璃一样识破了一切,如果我不是怀着特殊的心情等着您,那么在您的大笑中是不会发现什么的。瞧,精神准备是多么重要。拉祖米欣先生当时也,——啊!石头,石头,您记得吗,还有把东西蒙在一块什么石头底下?嗯,我好像看到了那块石头,在什么地方菜园里的那块石头——您不是对扎苗托夫说过,是在菜园里吗,后来在我那里又说过一次?当时我们开始分析您这篇文章,您给我作了说明——您说的每一句话都有双重含意,仿佛每句话的背后都隐藏着另一种意思!瞧,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,我就这样走到了极限,直到碰了壁,这才清醒过来。不,我说,我这是怎么了!我说,如果愿意,那么这一切,直到最后一个细节,都可以作另一种解释,那样甚至更自然些。真伤脑筋啊!‘不,’我想,‘我最好是能有一个事实!……’当时我一听到这拉门铃的事,我甚至都呆住了,甚至浑身颤栗起来。‘嘿,’我想,‘这就是事实!这就是的!’当时我没好好考虑一下,简直就不想多加考虑。那时候我情愿自己掏出一千卢布,只要能亲眼看一看,看您当时是怎样和那个小市民并肩走了百来步,他当面管您叫‘杀人凶手’,在这以后你们并肩走了整整一百步,您却什么也不敢问他!……嗯,还有那透入脊髓的冷气?这拉门铃的事是在病中,是在神智不清的时候干出来的吗?所以,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,在这以后,我跟您开了那样一些玩笑,难道您还会感到惊讶吗?您为什么正好在这个时候来呢?真好像是有人推着您来的,真的,要不是米科尔卡让我们分手,那……您记得米科尔卡当时的样子吗?记得很清楚?这可真是一声霹雳!乌云中突然一声霹雳,一道闪电!嗯,我是怎样接待他的呢?对这道闪电,我根本就不相信,这您自己也看得出来!我怎么能相信呢!后来,您走了以后,他开始很有条理地回答了某几个问题,这使我感到惊讶,可是以后我对他的话一点儿也不相信了!对此变得像金刚石一般坚定。不,我想,莫尔根·弗里③!
这哪里会是米科尔卡!”
--------
①引自果戈理的《狂人日记》。但引文不确切。原文是:“灰蓝色的雾在脚下弥漫,琴弦在雾中震颤。”
②德文,“徒劳”之意。
③德文,明天早晨。这里的意思是“去他的”。
“拉祖米欣刚才对我说,现在您也认为米科尔卡有罪,而且还要让拉祖米欣也相信……”
他感到喘不过气来,没有把话说完。他异常焦急不安地听着,这个对他了解得十分透彻的人竟放弃了自己的看法。他不敢相信,也不相信。他贪婪地在这些仍然是语意双关的话里寻找并抓住更为确切、更为确定的东西。
“拉祖米欣先生嘛!”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇高声说,仿佛对一直默默无言的拉斯科利尼科夫提出问题感到高兴似的,“嘿!嘿!嘿!本来就不该让拉祖米欣先生插进来:两个人满好嘛,第三者请别来干涉。拉祖米欣先生是另一回事,而且他是局外人,他跑到我那里去,脸色那么白……嗯,上帝保佑他,用不着他来多管闲事!至于米科尔卡,您想不想知道这是个什么人,也就是说,在我看来,他是个什么样的人?首先,这还是个未成年的孩子,倒不是说,他是个胆小鬼,而是说,他好像是个艺术家。真的,我这样来形容他,您可别笑。他天真,对一切都很敏感。他有良心;是个爱幻想的人。他会唱歌,也会跳舞,据说,他讲起故事来讲得那么生动,人们都从别处来听他讲故事。他上过学,别人伸出手指来指指他,他也会哈哈大笑,一直笑得浑身瘫软无力,他也会喝得烂醉如泥,倒不是因为喝酒毫无节制,而是有时会让人给灌醉,他还像个小孩子。于是他也偷东西了,可是自己并不知道这是偷窃;因为‘既然他是在地上拾的,那能算偷吗?’您知道不知道,他是个分裂派教徒①,还不仅是分裂派教徒,而且简直就是其中某个教派的信徒;他的家族中有几个别古纳②,不久前他本人曾经有整整两年在农村里受过一个长老的精神熏陶。这一切我是从米科尔卡和他的一些同乡那里了解到的。他怎么会杀人呢!他简直想跑到荒凉无人的地方去!他很虔诚,每天夜里向上帝祈祷,他看‘真正’古老的经书,看得入了迷。彼得堡对他产生了强烈的影响,特别是女人,嗯,还有酒。他很容易受环境影响,把长老啊什么的全都忘了。我知道,这儿有个画家很喜欢他,开始去找他,可是这件事情发生了!嗯,他吓坏了,想要上吊!逃跑!民间对我们的法律就是这样理解的,有什么办法呢!对‘审判’这个词儿,有人觉得可怕。唉,但愿上帝保佑!嗯,看来,现在他在监狱里想起这位正直的长老来了;《圣经》也又出现了。罗季昂·罗曼内奇,您知道吗,在他们当中的某些人看来,‘受苦’意味着什么?这倒不是说为了什么人去受苦,而只不过是‘应该受苦’;这意思就是说,对痛苦应该逆来顺受,来自当局的痛苦,那就更应该忍受了。我任职期间,有个最驯良的犯人坐了整整一年牢,每天夜里都在火坑上看《圣经》,看得入了迷,您要知道,他简直已经走火入魔了,竟无缘无故抓起一块砖头,朝典狱长扔了过去,可他毫无伤害他的意思。他扔的时候故意不对准,砖头从典狱长身旁一俄尺远的地方飞了过去,免得打伤了他!犯人用武器袭击长官,那还得了,大家都知道,他会有什么样的下场:‘这就是说,他要受苦了’。所以,现在我也怀疑,米科尔卡是想要‘受苦’,或者是有类似的想法。我确实知道,甚至根据事实来看,也是如此。不过他自己不知道,我知道他心里的想法。怎么,您不认为这样的人里面会有怪人吗?有的是呢。现在长老又开始起作用了,特别是在上吊以后,他又想起长老来了。不过,他自己会来告诉我的。您认为他会坚持到底吗?您先别忙,他还会反供的!我随时都在等着他来推翻自己的供词。我很喜欢这个米科尔卡,正在细细研究他。您是怎么想的呢!嘿!嘿!有些问题,他对我回答得很有条理,显然,他得到了必要的材料,作过精心准备;可是对于另一些问题,却完全茫然了,什么也不知道,而且自己并没意识到他不知道!不,罗季昂·罗曼内奇老兄,这不是米科尔卡干的!这是一件荒诞的、阴暗的案件,现代的案件,发生在我们时代的事,在这个时代,人心都变糊涂了;文章里总爱引用血会使一切‘焕然一新’这句话;宣传人生的全部意义就在于过舒适的生活。这是书本上的幻想,这是一颗被理论搅得失去了平静的心;这儿可以看得出迈出第一步的决心,然而是一种特殊类型的决心,——他下定了决心,就好像是从山上跌下来,或者从钟楼上掉下去似的,而且好像是不由自主地去犯了罪。他忘了随手关门,却杀了人,杀了两个人,这是根据理论杀的。他杀了人,却不会偷钱,而来得及拿到的东西,又都藏到石头底下去了。他呆在门后担惊受怕,还嫌不够,又闯进门去,去拉门铃,——不,后来他在神智不清的情况下,又走进那套空房子,去回味门铃的响声,想再体验一下背脊上发冷的滋味……嗯,就假定说他是有病吧,可是还有这样的事:他杀了人,却自以为他是个正直的人,蔑视别人,他面色苍白,还装得像个天使一样,这哪里会是米科尔卡呢,亲爱的罗季昂·罗曼内奇,这不是米科尔卡!”
在他以前说了那些好像是放弃对他怀疑的话以后,这最后几句话实在是太出乎意外了。拉斯科利尼科夫像给扎了一刀似的,浑身颤抖起来。
--------
①脱离了正统东正教教会的宗教派别,叫分裂派;分裂派中又分为一些不同的教派。所有这些教派的信徒统称为分裂派教徒。
②别古纳是分裂派中的一个教派。这个教派产生于十八世纪末,其成员脱离家庭,不服从当时的政权,逃到森林中去生活。
“那么……是谁……杀的呢?”他忍不住用气喘吁吁的声音问。波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇甚至急忙往椅背上一靠,仿佛这个问题提得这么出乎意料,使他吃了一惊。
“怎么是谁杀的?……”他反问,似乎不相信自己的耳朵,“是您杀的,罗季昂·罗曼内奇!就是您杀的……”他用深信不疑的语气几乎是低声补上一句。
拉斯科利尼科夫霍地从沙发上站起来,站了几秒钟,什么话也没说,又坐了下去。他脸上掠过一阵轻微的痉挛。
“嘴唇又像那时候一样发抖了,”波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇甚至好像同情似地喃喃地说。“罗季昂·罗曼内奇,看来,您没正确理解我的意思,”沉默了一会儿,他又补充说,“所以您才这么吃惊。我来这里正是为了把一切都说出来,把事情公开。”
“这不是我杀的,”拉斯科利尼科夫喃喃地说,真像被当场捉住、吓得要命的小孩子。
“不,这是您,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,是您,再不会是任何别的人,”波尔菲里严峻而且深信不疑地低声说。
他们俩都不说话了,沉默持续得太久了,甚至让人感到奇怪,约摸有十来分钟。拉斯科利尼科夫把胳膊肘撑在桌子上,默默地用手指抓乱自己的头发。波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇安静地坐在那儿等着。突然拉斯科利尼科夫轻蔑地朝波尔菲里看了一眼。
“您又把老一套搬出来了,波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇!还是您那套手法:这一套您真的不觉得厌烦吗?”
“唉,够了,现在我干吗还要玩弄手法呢!如果这儿有证人,那就是另一回事了;可我们是两个人私下里悄悄地谈谈。您自己也看得出来,我并不是像追兔子那样来追捕您。您承认也好,不承认也好,——这个时候对我来说反正一样。您不承认,我心里也已经深信不疑了。”
“既然如此,那您来干什么呢?”拉斯科利尼科夫气愤地问。“我向您提出一个从前已经问过的问题:既然您认为我有罪,为什么不把我抓起来,关进监狱?”
“唉,这可真是个问题!我可以逐点回答您:第一,这样直接把您抓起来,对我不利。”
"Yes, yes, secondly?" Raskolnikov was listening breathless.
"Because, as I told you just now, I consider I owe you an explanation. I don't want you to look upon me as a monster, as I have a genuine liking for you, you may believe me or not. And in the third place I've come to you with a direct and open proposition--that you should surrender and confess. It will be infinitely more to your advantage and to my advantage too, for my task will be done. Well, is this open on my part or not?"
Raskolnikov thought a minute.
"Listen, Porfiry Petrovitch. You said just now you have nothing but psychology to go on, yet now you've gone on mathematics. Well, what if you are mistaken yourself, now?"
"No, Rodion Romanovitch, I am not mistaken. I have a little fact even then, Providence sent it me."
"What little fact?"
"I won't tell you what, Rodion Romanovitch. And in any case, I haven't the right to put it off any longer, I must arrest you. So think it over: it makes no difference to me /now/ and so I speak only for your sake. Believe me, it will be better, Rodion Romanovitch."
Raskolnikov smiled malignantly.
"That's not simply ridiculous, it's positively shameless. Why, even if I were guilty, which I don't admit, what reason should I have to confess, when you tell me yourself that I shall be in greater safety in prison?"
"Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, don't put too much faith in words, perhaps prison will not be altogether a restful place. That's only theory and my theory, and what authority am I for you? Perhaps, too, even now I am hiding something from you? I can't lay bare everything, he-he! And how can you ask what advantage? Don't you know how it would lessen your sentence? You would be confessing at a moment when another man has taken the crime on himself and so has muddled the whole case. Consider that! I swear before God that I will so arrange that your confession shall come as a complete surprise. We will make a clean sweep of all these psychological points, of a suspicion against you, so that your crime will appear to have been something like an aberration, for in truth it was an aberration. I am an honest man, Rodion Romanovitch, and will keep my word."
Raskolnikov maintained a mournful silence and let his head sink dejectedly. He pondered a long while and at last smiled again, but his smile was sad and gentle.
"No!" he said, apparently abandoning all attempt to keep up appearances with Porfiry, "it's not worth it, I don't care about lessening the sentence!"
"That's just what I was afraid of!" Porfiry cried warmly and, as it seemed, involuntarily. "That's just what I feared, that you wouldn't care about the mitigation of sentence."
Raskolnikov looked sadly and expressively at him.
"Ah, don't disdain life!" Porfiry went on. "You have a great deal of it still before you. How can you say you don't want a mitigation of sentence? You are an impatient fellow!"
"A great deal of what lies before me?"
"Of life. What sort of prophet are you, do you know much about it? Seek and ye shall find. This may be God's means for bringing you to Him. And it's not for ever, the bondage. . . ."
"The time will be shortened," laughed Raskolnikov.
"Why, is it the bourgeois disgrace you are afraid of? It may be that you are afraid of it without knowing it, because you are young! But anyway /you/ shouldn't be afraid of giving yourself up and confessing."
"Ach, hang it!" Raskolnikov whispered with loathing and contempt, as though he did not want to speak aloud.
He got up again as though he meant to go away, but sat down again in evident despair.
"Hang it, if you like! You've lost faith and you think that I am grossly flattering you; but how long has your life been? How much do you understand? You made up a theory and then were ashamed that it broke down and turned out to be not at all original! It turned out something base, that's true, but you are not hopelessly base. By no means so base! At least you didn't deceive yourself for long, you went straight to the furthest point at one bound. How do I regard you? I regard you as one of those men who would stand and smile at their torturer while he cuts their entrails out, if only they have found faith or God. Find it and you will live. You have long needed a change of air. Suffering, too, is a good thing. Suffer! Maybe Nikolay is right in wanting to suffer. I know you don't believe in it--but don't be over-wise; fling yourself straight into life, without deliberation; don't be afraid--the flood will bear you to the bank and set you safe on your feet again. What bank? How can I tell? I only believe that you have long life before you. I know that you take all my words now for a set speech prepared beforehand, but maybe you will remember them after. They may be of use some time. That's why I speak. It's as well that you only killed the old woman. If you'd invented another theory you might perhaps have done something a thousand times more hideous. You ought to thank God, perhaps. How do you know? Perhaps God is saving you for something. But keep a good heart and have less fear! Are you afraid of the great expiation before you? No, it would be shameful to be afraid of it. Since you have taken such a step, you must harden your heart. There is justice in it. You must fulfil the demands of justice. I know that you don't believe it, but indeed, life will bring you through. You will live it down in time. What you need now is fresh air, fresh air, fresh air!"
Raskolnikov positively started.
"But who are you? what prophet are you? From the height of what majestic calm do you proclaim these words of wisdom?"
"Who am I? I am a man with nothing to hope for, that's all. A man perhaps of feeling and sympathy, maybe of some knowledge too, but my day is over. But you are a different matter, there is life waiting for you. Though, who knows? maybe your life, too, will pass off in smoke and come to nothing. Come, what does it matter, that you will pass into another class of men? It's not comfort you regret, with your heart! What of it that perhaps no one will see you for so long? It's not time, but yourself that will decide that. Be the sun and all will see you. The sun has before all to be the sun. Why are you smiling again? At my being such a Schiller? I bet you're imagining that I am trying to get round you by flattery. Well, perhaps I am, he-he-he! Perhaps you'd better not believe my word, perhaps you'd better never believe it altogether--I'm made that way, I confess it. But let me add, you can judge for yourself, I think, how far I am a base sort of man and how far I am honest."
"When do you mean to arrest me?"
"Well, I can let you walk about another day or two. Think it over, my dear fellow, and pray to God. It's more in your interest, believe me."
"And what if I run away?" asked Raskolnikov with a strange smile.
"No, you won't run away. A peasant would run away, a fashionable dissenter would run away, the flunkey of another man's thought, for you've only to show him the end of your little finger and he'll be ready to believe in anything for the rest of his life. But you've ceased to believe in your theory already, what will you run away with? And what would you do in hiding? It would be hateful and difficult for you, and what you need more than anything in life is a definite position, an atmosphere to suit you. And what sort of atmosphere would you have? If you ran away, you'd come back to yourself. /You can't get on without us./ And if I put you in prison--say you've been there a month, or two, or three--remember my word, you'll confess of yourself and perhaps to your own surprise. You won't know an hour beforehand that you are coming with a confession. I am convinced that you will decide, 'to take your suffering.' You don't believe my words now, but you'll come to it of yourself. For suffering, Rodion Romanovitch, is a great thing. Never mind my having grown fat, I know all the same. Don't laugh at it, there's an idea in suffering, Nokolay is right. No, you won't run away, Rodion Romanovitch."
Raskolnikov got up and took his cap. Porfiry Petrovitch also rose.
"Are you going for a walk? The evening will be fine, if only we don't have a storm. Though it would be a good thing to freshen the air."
He, too, took his cap.
"Porfiry Petrovitch, please don't take up the notion that I have confessed to you to-day," Raskolnikov pronounced with sullen insistence. "You're a strange man and I have listened to you from simple curiosity. But I have admitted nothing, remember that!"
"Oh, I know that, I'll remember. Look at him, he's trembling! Don't be uneasy, my dear fellow, have it your own way. Walk about a bit, you won't be able to walk too far. If anything happens, I have one request to make of you," he added, dropping his voice. "It's an awkward one, but important. If anything were to happen (though indeed I don't believe in it and think you quite incapable of it), yet in case you were taken during these forty or fifty hours with the notion of putting an end to the business in some other way, in some fantastic fashion--laying hands on yourself--(it's an absurd proposition, but you must forgive me for it) do leave a brief but precise note, only two lines, and mention the stone. It will be more generous. Come, till we meet! Good thoughts and sound decisions to you!"
Porfiry went out, stooping and avoiding looking at Raskolnikov. The latter went to the window and waited with irritable impatience till he calculated that Porfiry had reached the street and moved away. Then he too went hurriedly out of the room.
“怎么会不利呢!既然您深信不疑,那么您就应该……”
“唉,我深信不疑又怎样呢?因为这一切暂时还都是我的幻想。我为什么要把您关到那里去,让您安心呢?这一点您自己也是知道的,既然您自己要求到那里去。譬如说吧,我把那个小市民带来,让他揭发您,您就会对他说:“你是不是喝醉了?谁看见我跟你在一起了?我只不过是把你当成了醉鬼,你的确是喝醉了’,到那时我跟您说什么呢,尤其是因为,您的话比他的话更合乎情理,因为他的供词里只有心理分析,——这种话甚至不该由像他这样的人来说,——您却正好击中了要害,因为这个坏蛋是个出了名的酒鬼。而且我自己也已经有好几次坦白地向您承认,这种心理上的玩意儿可以作两种解释,而第二种解释更为合情合理,而且合理得多,此外,我手里暂时还没掌握任何能证明您有罪的东西。尽管我还是要把您关起来,甚至现在亲自来(完全不合乎情理)把一切预先告诉您,可我还是要坦白地对您说(也不合乎情理),这会对我不利。嗯,第二,我所以要到您这儿来……”
“嗯,这第二呢?”(拉斯科利尼科夫仍然喘不过气来。)
“因为,正像我刚才已经说过的,我认为有责任来向您解释一下。我不想让您把我看作恶棍,何况我对您真诚地抱有好感,不管您是不是相信。因此,第三,我来找您是为了向您提出一个诚恳、坦率的建议——投案自首。这对您有数不清的好处,对我也比较有利,——因为一副重担可以卸下来了。怎么样,从我这方面来说,是不是够坦白了?”
拉斯科利尼科夫想了大约一分钟。
“请您听我说,波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇,您自己不是说,只有心理分析吗,然而您却岔到数学上去了。如果现在您弄错了,那会怎样呢?”
“不,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,我没弄错。这样的事实我还是有的。要知道,这个事实我当时就掌握了;上帝赐给我的!”
“什么事实?”
“是什么事实,我可不告诉您,罗季昂·罗曼内奇。而且无论如何现在我无权再拖延了;我会把您关起来的。那么请您考虑考虑:对我来说,现在反正都一样了,所以,我只是为您着想。真的,这样会好一些,罗季昂·罗曼内奇!”
拉斯科利尼科夫恶狠狠地冷笑了一声。
“要知道,这不但可笑,这甚至是无耻。哼,即使我有罪(我根本没说我真的有罪),可我何苦要向您自首呢,既然您自己也说,坐进你们的监狱,我就会安心了?”
“唉,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,对我的话您可别完全信以为真;也许,您并不会完全安心!因为这只是理论,而且还是我的理论,可对您来说,我算什么权威呢?也许,就连现在我也还对您瞒着点儿什么呢。我可不会不管三七二十一,把什么都向您和盘托出啊,嘿!嘿!第二:您怎么问,有什么好处呢?您知道不知道,这样做您会获得减刑,大大缩短刑期?要知道,您是在什么时候去自首的?您只要想想看!您去自首的时候,另一个人已经承认自己有罪,把案情搞得复杂化了,不是吗?我可以向上帝起誓,我会在‘那里’造成假象,安排得似乎您的自首完全是出乎意外的。所有这些心理分析,我们要完全排除掉,对您的一切怀疑,我也要让它完全化为乌有,这样一来,您的犯罪就好像是一时糊涂,因为,凭良心说,也的确是一时糊涂。我是个正直的人,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,我说话是算数的。”
拉斯科利尼科夫忧郁地一言不发,低下了头;他想了好久,最后又冷笑一声,不过他的笑已经是温和而且悲哀的了。
“唉,用不着!”他说,仿佛对波尔菲里已经完全不再隐瞒了。“不值得!我根本不需要你们的减刑!”
“唉,我担心的也就是这一点!”波尔菲里激动地,仿佛不由自主地高声说,“我担心的也就正是这一点:您不需要我们的减刑。”
拉斯科利尼科夫忧郁而又威严地看了他一眼。
“唉,您可不要厌恶生活啊!”波尔菲里接下去说,“前面生活道路还长着呢。怎么不需要减刑呢,怎么会不需要呢!您真是个缺乏耐心的人!”
“前面什么还长着呢?”
“生活嘛!您算是什么先知,您知道得很多吗?寻找,就寻见①。也许这就是上帝对您的期待。而且它也不是永久的,我是说镣铐……”
--------
①见《新约全书·马太音福》第七章第八节。
“会减刑……”拉斯科利尼科夫笑了。
“怎么,您害怕的是不是资产阶级的耻辱?这也许是害怕的,可是您自己并不知道这一点,——因为还年轻!不过您还是不应该害怕,或者耻于自首。”
“哼——,我才不在乎呢!”拉斯科利尼科夫轻蔑而厌恶地低声说,好像不愿说话。他又欠起身来,似乎想上哪里去,可是又坐下了,显然感到了绝望。
“对,对,是不在乎!您不相信我,而且认为我是在拙劣地恭维您;不过您是不是已经生活了很久?您是不是懂得很多呢?您发明了一个理论,可是理论破产了,结果不像您原来所想的那样,于是您感到不好意思了!结果证明这是卑鄙的,这是事实,不过您毕竟不是一个无可救药的卑鄙的人。完全不是一个这样卑鄙的人!您至少没有长期欺骗自己,一下子就走到了尽头。您知道我把您看作什么样的人吗?我把您看作这样的一个人:即使割掉他的肠子,他也会屹立不动,含笑望着折磨他的人,——只要他能找到信仰或上帝。嗯,您去找吧,找到了,那么您就会活下去了。第一,您早就已经该换换空气了。有什么呢,受苦也是件好事。您就去受苦吧,米科尔卡想去受苦,也许是对的。我知道,您不信上帝,——不过请您也别卖弄聪明;干脆顺应生活的安排,别再考虑了;您别担心,——生活会把您送上岸去,让您站稳脚根的。送到什么岸上吗?我怎么知道呢?我只是相信,您还会生活很久。我知道,您现在把我的话当作早已背熟的、长篇大论的教训;不过也许以后什么时候会想起来,会用得到的;正是为此我才说这些话。幸好您只杀了一个老太婆。如果您发明另一个理论,那么说不定会干出比这坏万万倍的事来!也许还得感谢上帝呢;您怎么知道:也许上帝正是为了什么事情而保护您。而您有一颗伟大的心,不必太害怕。您害怕行将到来的伟大的赎罪吗?不,害怕是可耻的。既然您迈出了这一步,那就要坚强起来。这是正义。请您按照正义所要求的去做吧。我知道您不信上帝,可是,真的,生活会把您带上正路的。以后您一定会恢复自尊心。现在您只需要空气,空气,空气!”
拉斯科利尼科夫甚至颤栗了一下。
“可您是什么人?”他大喊一声,“您算是什么先知?您是站在什么样的庄严、宁静的高处,郑重其事地向我宣布聪明的预言?”
“我是什么人吗?我是一个已经毫无希望的人,仅此而已。我大概是个有感情、也有同情心的人,大概也多少有点儿知识,不过已经毫无希望了。而您,却是另一回事:上帝给您把生活安排好了(谁知道呢,也许您的一生会像烟一样消失,什么也不会留下)。您要成为另一类人,那又怎样呢?有您那样的一颗心,您大概不会为失去舒适的生活而感到惋惜吧?也许将有很久,谁也不会看到您,可那又有什么呢?问题不在于时间,而在于您自己。您要是成为太阳,那么大家就都会看见您了。太阳首先应该是太阳。您为什么又笑了:我算是什么席勒吗?我敢打赌,您认为,现在我是在讨好您!也许我真的是在讨好您,可这又有什么呢,嘿!嘿!嘿!罗季昂·罗曼内奇,好吧,您还是别相信我的话,甚至永远也不要完全相信,——我就是这样的性格,这我承认;只不过我要补充一句:我这个人有多卑鄙,也就有多么正直,大概您自己会作出判断的!”
“您打算什么时候逮捕我?”
“我还能让您闲逛这么一天半,或者两天。请您想想看吧,亲爱的朋友,向上帝祈祷吧。这样对您更有好处。真的,更有好处。”
“嗯,如果我逃跑呢?”拉斯科利尼科夫不知为什么奇怪地笑了笑,问。
“不,您是不会逃跑的。乡下人会逃跑,时髦教派的信徒会逃跑,——这种人是别人思想的奴仆,所以只要让他看看指尖,就像对海军准尉德尔卡①那样,那么不管要他怎样,他都会一辈子相信。可您不是已经不再相信您那个理论了吗,——那您怀着什么信念逃跑呢?而且逃亡会给您带来什么?逃亡生活是很讨厌的,很艰难的;而您首先需要生活和一定的地位,还有适当的空气,那里空气对您合适吗?您逃跑了,还会自己回来的。您非有我们不行。如果我把您关进监狱,——您在狱中待上一个月,两个月,三个月,您会突然想起我的话来,自己招认,而且大概您自己也会感到意外。一小时前您自己还不知道您会来自首。我甚至相信,您‘会下决心去受苦’;现在您不相信我的话,可是您自己却会下决心这么做。因为,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,受苦是件伟大的事;您别看我发胖了,这没关系,这我却是知道的;您别笑我说的话,苦难中也含有某种思想。米科尔卡是对的。不,您是不会逃跑的,罗季昂·罗曼内奇。”
--------
①海军准尉德尔卡是果戈理的喜剧《结婚》中一个不出场的人物。其实这里是指同一剧本中另一个海军准尉彼图霍夫。陀思妥耶夫斯基把这两个人弄混淆了。
拉斯科利尼科夫站起来,拿起制帽。波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇也站了起来。
“去散步吗?这个晚上倒是挺不错的,只是可别下大雷雨。
不过下雷雨更好,天气会凉爽些……”
他也拿起了制帽。
“波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇,请您别以为,”拉斯科利尼科夫严肃、坚决地说,“今天我向您承认了。您是个奇怪的人,我听着您说,只是出于好奇。可我什么也没向您承认……这一点请您记住。”
“喂,我知道,我会记住的,——瞧,他甚至在发抖呢。您放心好了,亲爱的朋友;悉听尊便。您去稍微散散步吧;不过不能走得太多。为防万一,我对您还有个小小的请求,”他压低了声音补充说,“这个请求很容易引起误解,不过是重要的:如果,也就是说,万一(不过,对这一点我并不相信,而且认为您根本不会这么做),如果说万一,——嗯,只是为防万一,——如果在这四十到五十个小时里,您想以另一种方式,以一种惊人的方式了结这件事情,——以自杀的方式结束自己的生命(这个假定是荒谬的,请您原谅我作这样的推测),请您留下一张简短、然而详尽的字条。这么着,写上两行,只写两行,请务必也提到那块石头:这样会显得光明正大一些。好吧,再见……希望您会有一些好的想法,会有一个好的开始!”
波尔菲里走了,不知为什么弯下了腰,似乎是避免去看拉斯科利尼科夫。拉斯科利尼科夫走到窗前,气愤而急不可耐地等着,估计波尔菲里已经到了街上,而且又走出了一段路,自己这才从屋里匆匆走了出去。


峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 48楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第三章
He hurried to Svidrigailov's. What he had to hope from that man he did not know. But that man had some hidden power over him. Having once recognised this, he could not rest, and now the time had come.
On the way, one question particularly worried him: had Svidrigailov been to Porfiry's?
As far as he could judge, he would swear to it, that he had not. He pondered again and again, went over Porfiry's visit; no, he hadn't been, of course he hadn't.
But if he had not been yet, would he go? Meanwhile, for the present he fancied he couldn't. Why? He could not have explained, but if he could, he would not have wasted much thought over it at the moment. It all worried him and at the same time he could not attend to it. Strange to say, none would have believed it perhaps, but he only felt a faint vague anxiety about his immediate future. Another, much more important anxiety tormented him--it concerned himself, but in a different, more vital way. Moreover, he was conscious of immense moral fatigue, though his mind was working better that morning than it had done of late.
And was it worth while, after all that had happened, to contend with these new trivial difficulties? Was it worth while, for instance, to manoeuvre that Svidrigailov should not go to Porfiry's? Was it worth while to investigate, to ascertain the facts, to waste time over anyone like Svidrigailov?
Oh, how sick he was of it all!
And yet he was hastening to Svidrigailov; could he be expecting something /new/ from him, information, or means of escape? Men will catch at straws! Was it destiny or some instinct bringing them together? Perhaps it was only fatigue, despair; perhaps it was not Svidrigailov but some other whom he needed, and Svidrigailov had simply presented himself by chance. Sonia? But what should he go to Sonia for now? To beg her tears again? He was afraid of Sonia, too. Sonia stood before him as an irrevocable sentence. He must go his own way or hers. At that moment especially he did not feel equal to seeing her. No, would it not be better to try Svidrigailov? And he could not help inwardly owning that he had long felt that he must see him for some reason.
But what could they have in common? Their very evil-doing could not be of the same kind. The man, moreover, was very unpleasant, evidently depraved, undoubtedly cunning and deceitful, possibly malignant. Such stories were told about him. It is true he was befriending Katerina Ivanovna's children, but who could tell with what motive and what it meant? The man always had some design, some project.
There was another thought which had been continually hovering of late about Raskolnikov's mind, and causing him great uneasiness. It was so painful that he made distinct efforts to get rid of it. He sometimes thought that Svidrigailov was dogging his footsteps. Svidrigailov had found out his secret and had had designs on Dounia. What if he had them still? Wasn't it practically certain that he had? And what if, having learnt his secret and so having gained power over him, he were to use it as a weapon against Dounia?
This idea sometimes even tormented his dreams, but it had never presented itself so vividly to him as on his way to Svidrigailov. The very thought moved him to gloomy rage. To begin with, this would transform everything, even his own position; he would have at once to confess his secret to Dounia. Would he have to give himself up perhaps to prevent Dounia from taking some rash step? The letter? This morning Dounia had received a letter. From whom could she get letters in Petersburg? Luzhin, perhaps? It's true Razumihin was there to protect her, but Razumihin knew nothing of the position. Perhaps it was his duty to tell Razumihin? He thought of it with repugnance.
In any case he must see Svidrigailov as soon as possible, he decided finally. Thank God, the details of the interview were of little consequence, if only he could get at the root of the matter; but if Svidrigailov were capable . . . if he were intriguing against Dounia-- then . . .
Raskolnikov was so exhausted by what he had passed through that month that he could only decide such questions in one way; "then I shall kill him," he thought in cold despair.
A sudden anguish oppressed his heart, he stood still in the middle of the street and began looking about to see where he was and which way he was going. He found himself in X. Prospect, thirty or forty paces from the Hay Market, through which he had come. The whole second storey of the house on the left was used as a tavern. All the windows were wide open; judging from the figures moving at the windows, the rooms were full to overflowing. There were sounds of singing, of clarionet and violin, and the boom of a Turkish drum. He could hear women shrieking. He was about to turn back wondering why he had come to the X. Prospect, when suddenly at one of the end windows he saw Svidrigailov, sitting at a tea-table right in the open window with a pipe in his mouth. Raskolnikov was dreadfully taken aback, almost terrified. Svidrigailov was silently watching and scrutinising him and, what struck Raskolnikov at once, seemed to be meaning to get up and slip away unobserved. Raskolnikov at once pretended not to have seen him, but to be looking absent-mindedly away, while he watched him out of the corner of his eye. His heart was beating violently. Yet, it was evident that Svidrigailov did not want to be seen. He took the pipe out of his mouth and was on the point of concealing himself, but as he got up and moved back his chair, he seemed to have become suddenly aware that Raskolnikov had seen him, and was watching him. What had passed between them was much the same as what happened at their first meeting in Raskolnikov's room. A sly smile came into Svidrigailov's face and grew broader and broader. Each knew that he was seen and watched by the other. At last Svidrigailov broke into a loud laugh.
"Well, well, come in if you want me; I am here!" he shouted from the window.
Raskolnikov went up into the tavern. He found Svidrigailov in a tiny back room, adjoining the saloon in which merchants, clerks and numbers of people of all sorts were drinking tea at twenty little tables to the desperate bawling of a chorus of singers. The click of billiard balls could be heard in the distance. On the table before Svidrigailov stood an open bottle and a glass half full of champagne. In the room he found also a boy with a little hand organ, a healthy-looking red- cheeked girl of eighteen, wearing a tucked-up striped skirt, and a Tyrolese hat with ribbons. In spite of the chorus in the other room, she was singing some servants' hall song in a rather husky contralto, to the accompaniment of the organ.
"Come, that's enough," Svidrigailov stopped her at Raskolnikov's entrance. The girl at once broke off and stood waiting respectfully. She had sung her guttural rhymes, too, with a serious and respectful expression in her face.
"Hey, Philip, a glass!" shouted Svidrigailov.
"I won't drink anything," said Raskolnikov.
"As you like, I didn't mean it for you. Drink, Katia! I don't want anything more to-day, you can go." He poured her out a full glass, and laid down a yellow note.
Katia drank off her glass of wine, as women do, without putting it down, in twenty gulps, took the note and kissed Svidrigailov's hand, which he allowed quite seriously. She went out of the room and the boy trailed after her with the organ. Both had been brought in from the street. Svidrigailov had not been a week in Petersburg, but everything about him was already, so to speak, on a patriarchal footing; the waiter, Philip, was by now an old friend and very obsequious.
The door leading to the saloon had a lock on it. Svidrigailov was at home in this room and perhaps spent whole days in it. The tavern was dirty and wretched, not even second-rate.
"I was going to see you and looking for you," Raskolnikov began, "but I don't know what made me turn from the Hay Market into the X. Prospect just now. I never take this turning. I turn to the right from the Hay Market. And this isn't the way to you. I simply turned and here you are. It is strange!"
"Why don't you say at once 'it's a miracle'?"
"Because it may be only chance."
"Oh, that's the way with all you folk," laughed Svidrigailov. "You won't admit it, even if you do inwardly believe it a miracle! Here you say that it may be only chance. And what cowards they all are here, about having an opinion of their own, you can't fancy, Rodion Romanovitch. I don't mean you, you have an opinion of your own and are not afraid to have it. That's how it was you attracted my curiosity."
"Nothing else?"
"Well, that's enough, you know," Svidrigailov was obviously exhilarated, but only slightly so, he had not had more than half a glass of wine.
"I fancy you came to see me before you knew that I was capable of having what you call an opinion of my own," observed Raskolnikov.
"Oh, well, it was a different matter. everyone has his own plans. And apropos of the miracle let me tell you that I think you have been asleep for the last two or three days. I told you of this tavern myself, there is no miracle in your coming straight here. I explained the way myself, told you where it was, and the hours you could find me here. Do you remember?"
"I don't remember," answered Raskolnikov with surprise.
"I believe you. I told you twice. The address has been stamped mechanically on your memory. You turned this way mechanically and yet precisely according to the direction, though you are not aware of it. When I told you then, I hardly hoped you understood me. You give yourself away too much, Rodion Romanovitch. And another thing, I'm convinced there are lots of people in Petersburg who talk to themselves as they walk. This is a town of crazy people. If only we had scientific men, doctors, lawyers and philosophers might make most valuable investigations in Petersburg each in his own line. There are few places where there are so many gloomy, strong and queer influences on the soul of man as in Petersburg. The mere influences of climate mean so much. And it's the administrative centre of all Russia and its character must be reflected on the whole country. But that is neither here nor there now. The point is that I have several times watched you. You walk out of your house--holding your head high--twenty paces from home you let it sink, and fold your hands behind your back. You look and evidently see nothing before nor beside you. At last you begin moving your lips and talking to yourself, and sometimes you wave one hand and declaim, and at last stand still in the middle of the road. That's not at all the thing. Someone may be watching you besides me, and it won't do you any good. It's nothing really to do with me and I can't cure you, but, of course, you understand me."
他急于去找斯维德里盖洛夫。在这个人身上他能寄托什么希望呢——他自己也不知道。但是这个人身上却暗藏着一种能够支配他的权力。才一意识到这一点,他就已经不能放心了,何况现在时候已经到了呢。
一路上,有一个问题特别使他感到苦恼:斯维德里盖洛夫去没去过波尔菲里那里?
就他所了解的情况来看,他可以起誓——不,没去过!他想了又想,回想波尔菲里来访的全部过程,他明白:不,没去过,当然没去过!
不过如果他还没去过,那么他会不会去找波尔菲里呢?
目前他暂时觉得,不会去。为什么?对此他不能作出解释,不过如果他能解释的话,现在也就不会为此绞尽脑汁了。这一切使他非常苦恼,但同时不知为什么他又顾不得这个了。真是怪事,也许谁也不会相信,然而对自己目前的命运,对必须立刻作出决定的命运,不知为什么他却并不怎么关心,甚至是漫不经心。使他感到痛苦的是另一件重要得多、异常重要的事情,——这也是一件只关系到他本人、与别人都不相干的事,不过是另一件事,也是一件最主要的事情。加以他感到精神上已经疲劳到极点,尽管这天早上他的思考能力比最近这几天都要好一些。
已经发生了这么多事情,现在还值不值得努力设法克服这些新的、微不足道的困难呢?譬如说,还值不值得千方百计竭力不让斯维德里盖洛夫去找波尔菲里;还值不值得去研究、打听,在一个什么斯维德里盖洛夫的身上浪费时间呢?
噢,这一切让他多么厌烦啊!
然而他还是急于去找斯维德里盖洛夫;他是不是期望从他那里了解到什么新情况,从他那里得到什么指示,找到什么出路呢?就连一根稻草也会抓住不放嘛!是不是命运,是不是什么本能促使他们遇到了一起?也许,这只不过是疲倦和绝望;也许需要的不是斯维德里盖洛夫,而是另一个人,而斯维德里盖洛夫只不过是偶然给碰上了而已。索尼娅吗?可现在他去找索尼娅作什么?又去乞求她的眼泪吗?而且索尼娅让他感到可怕。索尼娅就是无情的判决,索尼娅就是不可改变的决定。现在——不是走她的路,就是走他的路。特别是在这个时候,他不能去见她。不,是不是最好去试探一下斯维德里盖洛夫,弄清他究竟是个什么人?他内心里不得不承认,不知为什么他似乎当真是早就已经需要这个人了。
然而他们之间能有什么共同之处呢?就连他们干的坏事也不可能是相同的。而且这个人还很讨厌,显然异常淫荡,一定十分狡猾,喜欢骗人,说不定还很恶毒。关于他,就有一些这样的议论。不错,他为卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的孩子们奔走张罗;可是谁知道他这样做是为了什么,又意味着什么?
这个人总是有什么企图,有什么计划的。
这些天来,拉斯科利尼科夫的头脑里还经常出现一个模模糊糊的想法,这想法使他感到非常不安,尽管他甚至曾努力设法驱除它,它让他感到太苦恼了!有时他想:斯维德里盖洛夫一直在他周围转来转去,现在仍然在他周围转悠;斯维德里盖洛夫已经知道了他的秘密;斯维德里盖洛夫以前曾经有一些算计杜尼娅的阴谋诡计。如果现在还有这样的阴谋呢?几乎可以肯定地说:是的。如果现在,他知道了他的秘密,因而获得了控制他的权力,那么他想不想用这种权力作为武器,来算计杜尼娅呢?
这个想法有时甚至会在梦中折磨他,但是像现在,像他去找斯维德里盖洛夫的时候这样清晰地想到这一切,却还是第一次。单单是这么想一想,就已经使他心情抑郁,怒火中烧了。第一,当时一切都已经发生了变化,就连他自己的处境也改变了,所以应该立刻向杜涅奇卡坦白说出这个秘密。或许应该牺牲自己,以免杜涅奇卡行动不够谨慎。一封信?今天早晨杜尼娅接到了一封信!在彼得堡,她能接到谁的信呢?(难道是卢任吗?)不错,有拉祖米欣在那儿守护着;不过拉祖米欣什么也不知道。或许也应该向拉祖米欣坦白地说出来?
拉斯科利尼科夫极端厌恶地想。
无论如何,必须尽快见到斯维德里盖洛夫,他暗自拿定了主意。谢天谢地,他需要知道的与其说是细节,不如说是事情的实质;不过,如果斯维德里盖洛夫有算计杜尼娅的阴谋,只要他能做得到,那就……
这些时候,这一个月来,拉斯科利尼科夫已经心力交瘁,对类似的问题现在已经不能作出任何别的决定,他能想出的唯一办法就是:“那么我就杀了他”,他怀着冷酷绝望的心情想。他心情沉重,感到压抑;他在街道中间站住了,朝四下里望望:他走的是哪条路,这是上哪儿去啊?他正站在×大街上,离他刚刚穿过的干草广场有三十或四十步远。左边一幢房子的二楼上是一家小饭馆。所有窗子全都大敞着;根据窗内来回走动的人影来看,小饭馆里已经座无虚席。大厅里歌声婉转,黑管和小提琴奏出悠扬的曲调,土耳其鼓敲得热情奔放。还可以听到女人的尖叫声。他感到困惑不解,不知为什么竟会转到×大街上来了,本想转身回去,突然在小饭馆最边上一扇开着的窗户里看到了斯维德里盖洛夫,斯维德里盖洛夫嘴里叼着烟斗,靠窗坐在一张茶桌旁边。这使他十分惊讶,甚至是大吃一惊。斯维德里盖洛夫正在默默地观察他,仔细打量他,这也立刻使拉斯科利尼科夫吃了一惊:似乎斯维德里盖洛夫本想站起来,在还没被发觉之前悄悄地溜走。拉斯科利尼科夫立刻装作好像没看到他的样子,若有所思地望着一旁,可是还在用眼角盯着他。拉斯科利尼科夫的心忐忑不安地怦怦地狂跳。一点不错:斯维德里盖洛夫显然不愿意让人看到自己。他从嘴里拿出烟斗,已经想要躲起来了;可是,站起来,推开椅子以后,大概突然发觉,拉斯科利尼科夫已经看见他了,而且正在观察他。他们之间发生了与他们在拉斯科利尼科夫家初次见面时十分相似的情景,当时拉斯科利尼科夫正在睡觉。斯维德里盖洛夫脸上露出了狡猾的微笑,笑容越来越舒展了。两人都知道,他们彼此都看到了对方,而且在互相观察对方。最后斯维德里盖洛夫高声哈哈大笑起来。
“喂,喂,您高兴的话,那就进来吧;我在这里!”他从窗子里喊。
拉斯科利尼科夫上楼到小饭馆里去了。
他在后面一间很小的房间里找到了他,这间小房间只有一扇窗子,与大厅毗连,大厅里摆着二十张小桌,歌手们正在合唱,扯着嗓子拚命叫喊,一些商人、官吏和各色人等一边听唱歌,一边在喝茶。不知从哪里传来了打台球的响声。斯维德里盖洛夫面前的小桌上放着一瓶已经打开的香槟和一个盛着半杯酒的玻璃杯。这间小房间里还有一个背着一架小手摇风琴的少年流浪乐师,一个身体健康、面颊红润的姑娘,她那条花条裙子的下摆掖在腰里,戴一顶系带子的蒂罗尔①式的帽子,她是个卖唱的,约摸十七、八岁,尽管隔壁屋里正在高声合唱,她却在手摇风琴的伴奏下,用相当嘶哑的女低音在唱一首庸俗的流行歌曲……
“喂,够了!”拉斯科利尼科夫一进来,斯维德里盖洛夫就叫她别唱了。
姑娘立刻停下来,恭恭敬敬地等着。她唱那首押韵的庸俗流行歌曲的时候,脸上也是带着这样严肃而又恭敬的神情。
“喂,菲利普,拿个杯子来!”斯维德里盖洛夫喊了一声。
“我不喝酒,”拉斯科利尼科夫说。
“随您便,我不是给您的。喝吧,卡佳!今天不需要再唱了,你走吧!”他给她斟了满满一杯酒,拿出一张淡黄色的钞票②来。卡佳照妇女们喝酒的方式,也就是接连喝了二十来口,一口气把一杯酒全喝光了,拿了那张钞票,吻了吻斯维德里盖洛夫一本正经伸出来让她吻的手,从屋里走了出去,那个背手摇风琴的男孩子也跟着她慢慢地出去了。他们俩都是从街上叫来的。斯维德里盖洛夫在彼得堡住了还不到一个星期,可是他身边的一切已经带有古代宗法制社会的遗风了。小饭馆里的堂倌菲利普已经成了他的“熟人”,在他面前奴颜婢膝。通大厅的门锁起来了;斯维德里盖洛夫在这间屋里就像在自己家里一样,说不定整天整天都待在这里。这家小饭馆很脏,可以说很不好,甚至够不上中等水平。
--------
①蒂罗尔是奥地利的一个州。
②一卢布的钞票。
“我去您那儿找您,”拉斯科利尼科夫开始说,“可是不知为什么从干草广场拐了个弯,来到了×大街上!我从来不弯到这儿来,也不打这儿经过。我从干草广场往右转弯。而且去您那儿的路也不是往这边来。我刚一拐弯,就看到了您!这真怪!”
“您为什么不直截了当地说:这是奇迹!”
“因为这也许只不过是偶然的。”
“要知道,所有你们这些人都是这样的性格!”斯维德里盖洛夫哈哈大笑起来,“即使心里相信奇迹,可就是不肯承认,您不是说吗:‘也许’只不过是偶然的。谈到发表自己的意见嘛,这儿的人都是些胆小鬼,这您想象不到吧,罗季昂·罗曼内奇!我说的不是您。您有自己的见解,也不怕有自己的见解。正是因为这一点,您才引起了我的好奇心。”
“再没有旁的了吗?”
“就这一点已经足够了。”
显然斯维德里盖洛夫心情是兴奋的,不过只是稍有点儿兴奋;他只喝了半杯酒。
“我觉得,在您知道我能有您所谓的自己的见解之前,您就来找我了,”拉斯科利尼科夫说。
“啊,那时候是另一回事。无论什么事情都有几个发展阶段。至于说到奇迹嘛,我要告诉您,最近这两三天您好像都白白错过了。是我约您到这家小饭馆来的,您径直到这儿来了,根本就不是什么奇迹;我亲自详细告诉过您,到这儿来的路怎么走,还告诉过您,这家小饭馆在哪儿,几点钟的时候可以在这儿找到我。您记得吗?”
“我忘了,”拉斯科利尼科夫惊讶地说。
“我相信。我跟您说过两次了。这个地址不知不觉深深印在了您的脑子里。于是您也就不知不觉弯到这儿来了,然而您是精确地按照地址找来的,虽说您自己并没意识到这一点。当时我跟您说的时候,并没指望您会理解我的意思。您太露马脚了,罗季昂·罗曼内奇。我还要告诉您:我深信,彼得堡有许多人走路的时候都在自言自语。这是个半疯狂的人的城市。如果我们有科学的话,那么医生、法学家和哲学家都可以根据自己的专业作一次极有价值的调查研究。难得找到这么一个地方,像在彼得堡这样,对人有这么多忧郁的、强烈的和奇怪的影响。单是气候的影响就令人吃惊!然而这是全俄罗斯的中心,它的特征应该在一切事物上都反映出来。不过现在问题不在这里,而在于,我已经有好几次对您冷眼旁观了。您从家里出来的时候还在昂着头。走了二十来步,您已经低下头,把双手背在背后了。您在看,可是无论是前面、还是两旁的东西,您已经什么也看不见了。最后,您嘴唇微微翕动,自言自语起来,有时您还伸出一只手,作着手势。这很不好。说不定,除了我,还有别人在注意您,这可就对您不利了。其实,对我来说,反正一样,我不会治好您这个病,不过您当然明白我的意思。”
"Do you know that I am being followed?" asked Raskolnikov, looking inquisitively at him.
"No, I know nothing about it," said Svidrigailov, seeming surprised.
"Well, then, let us leave me alone," Raskolnikov muttered, frowning.
"Very good, let us leave you alone."
"You had better tell me, if you come here to drink, and directed me twice to come here to you, why did you hide, and try to get away just now when I looked at the window from the street? I saw it."
"He-he! And why was it you lay on your sofa with closed eyes and pretended to be asleep, though you were wide awake while I stood in your doorway? I saw it."
"I may have had . . . reasons. You know that yourself."
"And I may have had my reasons, though you don't know them."
Raskolnikov dropped his right elbow on the table, leaned his chin in the fingers of his right hand, and stared intently at Svidrigailov. For a full minute he scrutinised his face, which had impressed him before. It was a strange face, like a mask; white and red, with bright red lips, with a flaxen beard, and still thick flaxen hair. His eyes were somehow too blue and their expression somehow too heavy and fixed. There was something awfully unpleasant in that handsome face, which looked so wonderfully young for his age. Svidrigailov was smartly dressed in light summer clothes and was particularly dainty in his linen. He wore a huge ring with a precious stone in it.
"Have I got to bother myself about you, too, now?" said Raskolnikov suddenly, coming with nervous impatience straight to the point. "Even though perhaps you are the most dangerous man if you care to injure me, I don't want to put myself out any more. I will show you at once that I don't prize myself as you probably think I do. I've come to tell you at once that if you keep to your former intentions with regard to my sister and if you think to derive any benefit in that direction from what has been discovered of late, I will kill you before you get me locked up. You can reckon on my word. You know that I can keep it. And in the second place if you want to tell me anything --for I keep fancying all this time that you have something to tell me--make haste and tell it, for time is precious and very likely it will soon be too late."
"Why in such haste?" asked Svidrigailov, looking at him curiously.
"Everyone has his plans," Raskolnikov answered gloomily and impatiently.
"You urged me yourself to frankness just now, and at the first question you refuse to answer," Svidrigailov observed with a smile. "You keep fancying that I have aims of my own and so you look at me with suspicion. Of course it's perfectly natural in your position. But though I should like to be friends with you, I shan't trouble myself to convince you of the contrary. The game isn't worth the candle and I wasn't intending to talk to you about anything special."
"What did you want me, for, then? It was you who came hanging about me."
"Why, simply as an interesting subject for observation. I liked the fantastic nature of your position--that's what it was! Besides you are the brother of a person who greatly interested me, and from that person I had in the past heard a very great deal about you, from which I gathered that you had a great influence over her; isn't that enough? Ha-ha-ha! Still I must admit that your question is rather complex, and is difficult for me to answer. Here, you, for instance, have come to me not only for a definite object, but for the sake of hearing something new. Isn't that so? Isn't that so?" persisted Svidrigailov with a sly smile. "Well, can't you fancy then that I, too, on my way here in the train was reckoning on you, on your telling me something new, and on my making some profit out of you! You see what rich men we are!"
"What profit could you make?"
"How can I tell you? How do I know? You see in what a tavern I spend all my time and it's my enjoyment, that's to say it's no great enjoyment, but one must sit somewhere; that poor Katia now--you saw her? . . . If only I had been a glutton now, a club gourmand, but you see I can eat this."
He pointed to a little table in the corner where the remnants of a terrible-looking beef-steak and potatoes lay on a tin dish.
"Have you dined, by the way? I've had something and want nothing more. I don't drink, for instance, at all. Except for champagne I never touch anything, and not more than a glass of that all the evening, and even that is enough to make my head ache. I ordered it just now to wind myself up, for I am just going off somewhere and you see me in a peculiar state of mind. That was why I hid myself just now like a schoolboy, for I was afraid you would hinder me. But I believe," he pulled out his watch, "I can spend an hour with you. It's half-past four now. If only I'd been something, a landowner, a father, a cavalry officer, a photographer, a journalist . . . I am nothing, no specialty, and sometimes I am positively bored. I really thought you would tell me something new."
"But what are you, and why have you come here?"
"What am I? You know, a gentleman, I served for two years in the cavalry, then I knocked about here in Petersburg, then I married Marfa Petrovna and lived in the country. There you have my biography!"
"You are a gambler, I believe?"
"No, a poor sort of gambler. A card-sharper--not a gambler."
"You have been a card-sharper then?"
"Yes, I've been a card-sharper too."
"Didn't you get thrashed sometimes?"
"It did happen. Why?"
"Why, you might have challenged them . . . altogether it must have been lively."
"I won't contradict you, and besides I am no hand at philosophy. I confess that I hastened here for the sake of the women."
"As soon as you buried Marfa Petrovna?"
"Quite so," Svidrigailov smiled with engaging candour. "What of it? You seem to find something wrong in my speaking like that about women?"
"You ask whether I find anything wrong in vice?"
"Vice! Oh, that's what you are after! But I'll answer you in order, first about women in general; you know I am fond of talking. Tell me, what should I restrain myself for? Why should I give up women, since I have a passion for them? It's an occupation, anyway."
"So you hope for nothing here but vice?"
"Oh, very well, for vice then. You insist on its being vice. But anyway I like a direct question. In this vice at least there is something permanent, founded indeed upon nature and not dependent on fantasy, something present in the blood like an ever-burning ember, for ever setting one on fire and, maybe, not to be quickly extinguished, even with years. You'll agree it's an occupation of a sort."
"That's nothing to rejoice at, it's a disease and a dangerous one."
"Oh, that's what you think, is it! I agree, that it is a disease like everything that exceeds moderation. And, of course, in this one must exceed moderation. But in the first place, everybody does so in one way or another, and in the second place, of course, one ought to be moderate and prudent, however mean it may be, but what am I to do? If I hadn't this, I might have to shoot myself. I am ready to admit that a decent man ought to put up with being bored, but yet . . ."
"And could you shoot yourself?"
"Oh, come!" Svidrigailov parried with disgust. "Please don't speak of it," he added hurriedly and with none of the bragging tone he had shown in all the previous conversation. His face quite changed. "I admit it's an unpardonable weakness, but I can't help it. I am afraid of death and I dislike its being talked of. Do you know that I am to a certain extent a mystic?"
"Ah, the apparitions of Marfa Petrovna! Do they still go on visiting you?"
"Oh, don't talk of them; there have been no more in Petersburg, confound them!" he cried with an air of irritation. "Let's rather talk of that . . . though . . . H'm! I have not much time, and can't stay long with you, it's a pity! I should have found plenty to tell you."
"What's your engagement, a woman?"
"Yes, a woman, a casual incident. . . . No, that's not what I want to talk of."
"And the hideousness, the filthiness of all your surroundings, doesn't that affect you? Have you lost the strength to stop yourself?"
"And do you pretend to strength, too? He-he-he! You surprised me just now, Rodion Romanovitch, though I knew beforehand it would be so. You preach to me about vice and aesthetics! You--a Schiller, you--an idealist! Of course that's all as it should be and it would be surprising if it were not so, yet it is strange in reality. . . . Ah, what a pity I have no time, for you're a most interesting type! And, by-the-way, are you fond of Schiller? I am awfully fond of him."
"But what a braggart you are," Raskolnikov said with some disgust.
"Upon my word, I am not," answered Svidrigailov laughing. "However, I won't dispute it, let me be a braggart, why not brag, if it hurts no one? I spent seven years in the country with Marfa Petrovna, so now when I come across an intelligent person like you--intelligent and highly interesting--I am simply glad to talk and, besides, I've drunk that half-glass of champagne and it's gone to my head a little. And besides, there's a certain fact that has wound me up tremendously, but about that I . . . will keep quiet. Where are you off to?" he asked in alarm.
Raskolnikov had begun getting up. He felt oppressed and stifled and, as it were, ill at ease at having come here. He felt convinced that Svidrigailov was the most worthless scoundrel on the face of the earth.
"A-ach! Sit down, stay a little!" Svidrigailov begged. "Let them bring you some tea, anyway. Stay a little, I won't talk nonsense, about myself, I mean. I'll tell you something. If you like I'll tell you how a woman tried 'to save' me, as you would call it? It will be an answer to your first question indeed, for the woman was your sister. May I tell you? It will help to spend the time."
"Tell me, but I trust that you . . ."
"Oh, don't be uneasy. Besides, even in a worthless low fellow like me, Avdotya Romanovna can only excite the deepest respect."
“您知道有人在监视我?”拉斯科利尼科夫问,同时试探地打量着他。
“不,我什么也不知道,”斯维德里盖洛夫似乎惊讶地回答。
“嗯,那就请您不要管我,”拉斯科利尼科夫皱起眉头,含糊不清地说。
“好吧,我不管您。”
“您最好还是说说,既然您常来这儿喝酒,而且曾两次约我到这儿来会面,那么现在,我从街上朝窗子里望的时候,您为什么却躲起来,想要溜走呢?这我看得很清楚。”
“嘿!嘿!当时我站在您房门口的时候,您为什么闭着眼睛躺在沙发上,假装睡觉呢?其实您根本就没睡。这我看得很清楚。”
“我可能有……原因……这您是知道的。”
“我也可能有我的原因,虽说您不会知道,是什么原因。”
拉斯科利尼科夫把右胳膊肘撑在桌子上,用右手的手指从下面托着下巴,凝神注视着斯维德里盖洛夫。他对着他的脸仔细看了一会儿,以前这张脸也总是让他感到惊讶。这是一张奇怪的脸,好像是个假面具:面色白中透红,鲜红的嘴唇,留着一部色泽光亮的谈黄色大胡子,一头淡黄色的头发还相当浓密。他的眼睛不知怎么好像太蓝了,目光不知怎么似乎过于阴沉而又呆滞。在这张就年龄来说显得异常年轻的、美丽的脸上,不知有点儿什么让人感到极不愉快的东西。斯维德里盖洛夫的衣服极其考究,是一套轻而薄的夏装,而他特别向人炫耀的,还是他的内衣。一只手指上戴着一枚镶着贵重宝石的老大的戒指。
“难道我也得和您较量较量吗,”拉斯科利尼科夫突然焦躁不安、急不可耐、直截了当地说,“如果您想伤害我,虽然您也许是一个最危险的人,可是我却不想突然改变自己的习惯。我这就让您看看,我并不是像您所想的那样爱惜自己,您大概认为我非常爱惜自己吧。您要知道,我来找您,是要直截了当地告诉您,如果您对舍妹还有从前的那种打算,如果为了达到这个目的,您想利用最近发现的秘密,那么在您把我关进监狱之前,我就先杀了您。我说话是算数的:您要知道,我说得到,就做得到。第二,如果您想对我没什么,——因为这些时候我一直觉得您好像有话要对我说,——那么就请快点儿说吧,因为时间是很宝贵的,也许,要不了多久,就会迟了。”
“您这么急,是急于上哪儿去啊?”斯维德里盖洛夫问,一边好奇地细细打量他。
“什么事情都有几个发展阶段,”拉斯科利尼科夫阴郁地、急不可耐地说。
“您自己刚才要求我们开诚布公,可是对我的第一个问题,您就拒绝回答,”斯维德里盖洛夫微笑着说。“您总是觉得我有什么目的,所以一直用怀疑的目光来看我。有什么呢,处在您的地位上,这是可以理解的。不过不管我多么想跟您交朋友,可我还是不敢让您相信,事情恰恰相反。真的,这样做得不偿失,而且我也没打算跟您谈任何特殊的事情。”“那么您为什么那样需要我呢?您不是对我很感兴趣吗?”
“只不过是作为一个有趣的观察对象罢了。您的处境很不平常,我喜欢这种很不平常的性质,——这就是我对您感兴趣的原因!此外,您是我十分关心的一个女人的哥哥,还有,当时我经常从这个女人那里听到许多关于您的事情,因此我得出结论,您对她有很大的影响;难道这还不够吗?嘿——嘿——嘿!不过,我得承认,对于我来说,您的问题非常复杂,我很难回答您。嗯,譬如说,现在您来找我,不仅是有事,而且还想来了解点儿什么新情况吧?是这样吧?是这样的,不是吗?”斯维德里盖洛夫脸上带着狡猾的微笑,坚持说,“既然如此,那么您要知道,还在我到这儿来的路上,在火车上的时候,我就对您抱有希望了,希望您也能告诉我点儿什么新情况,希望能从您这里得到点儿什么对我有用的东西!
瞧,我们都是多么富有啊!”
“什么有用的东西呢?”
“怎么跟您说呢?难道我知道是什么吗?您瞧,我一直待在一家小饭馆里,就已经感到心满意足了,也就是说,倒不是心满意足,而是说,总得有个地方坐坐吧。嗯,就拿这个可怜的卡佳来说吧,——您看到了吧?……嗯,譬如说,虽然我是个爱吃的人,俱乐部①的美食家,可是您瞧,像这样的东西我也能吃!(他伸出一只手指,指指角落里,那里一张小桌子上摆着一个洋铁盘子,盘子里盛着吃剩的、让人难以下咽的土豆烧牛排。)顺便问一声,您吃过午饭了吗?我稍微吃了一点儿,不想再吃了。譬如说吧,我根本不喝酒。除了香槟,什么也不喝,就连香槟,整整一晚上也只喝了一杯,就这样还觉得头痛。现在我叫了这杯酒,是为了提提神,因为我打算到一个地方去,您看得出来,我的心情有点儿特别。刚才我所以像个小学生样躲起来,是因为我想,您会妨碍我;不过,看来(他掏出表来),还可以跟您在一起坐一个钟头;现在是四点半。您相信吗,要是有个什么专长就好了;要是我是个地主,要么是神甫,要么是熗骑兵,摄影师,新闻记者……那就好了,可是什么、什么专长都没有!有时候甚至觉得无聊。真的,我还以为您会告诉我点儿什么新情况呢。”
--------
①指莫斯科、彼得堡的英国俱乐部,那里有最好的厨师;美食家们都喜欢到那里去享用烹调得最好的菜肴。
“那么您是什么人,您为什么要来这里?”
“我是什么人?您是知道的:我是个贵族,曾在骑兵队里服役两年,后来在这儿,在彼得堡闲荡,后来和玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜结婚,住在乡下。这就是我的履历!”
“您好像是个赌徒?”
“不,我算什么赌徒。是赌棍,不是赌徒。”
“您是赌棍?”
“是啊,是赌棍。”
“怎么,有人打过您吗!”
“有过。那又怎样呢?”
“喂,那么,您可以要求决斗……一般说,决斗会使人获得新生……”
“我不反驳您,而且我也不善于谈论哲学问题。我坦白地对您说,我匆匆赶到这里来,多半是为了女人。”
“刚刚埋葬了玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜,您就赶来了吗?”
“嗯,是的,”斯维德里盖洛夫微微一笑,感到在开诚布公这一点上,他获得了胜利。“那又怎样呢?您好像认为,我这样谈论女人是不道德的?”
“也就是说,我是不是认为,生活放荡是不道德的?”
“生活放荡!唉,您说到哪里去了!不过我要按顺序来回答您,首先一般地谈谈女人,您要知道,我喜欢闲扯。您倒说说看,我为什么要克制自己?既然我爱女人,那我为什么要放弃女人呢?至少可以有事做。”
“那么您在这儿仅仅是希望过放荡的生活了!”
“就算是想过放荡生活吧,那又怎样呢!您老是想着放荡的生活。至少我喜欢直截了当的问题。在这种放荡生活里至少有一种固定不变的东西,它甚至是以天性为基础,而不是为幻想所左右的,它犹如血液中永不熄灭的炭火,永远燃烧着,还要燃烧很久很久,随着年龄的增长,或许也不能让它很快熄灭。您应该承认,这难道不也是一种工作吗?”
“这有什么值得高兴的?这是一种病,而且是一种危险的病。”
“唉,您又说到哪里去了?我同意,这是一种病,正如一切过度的事情一样,——而这种事情是一定会过度的,——不过要知道,这种事情,第一,各人的情况不同,第二,当然啦,一切都要有分寸,要有节制,虽然是下流的,可是有什么办法呢?要不是有这种工作,大概,真会开熗自杀。我同意,一个正派人理应不怕寂寞,可是……”
“您会开熗自杀吗?”
“唉,”斯维德里盖洛夫厌恶地阻止他说,“请您别谈这个,”他又赶紧补充说,甚至不像以前那样,已经不再吹牛了。就连他的脸色也好像变了。“我承认有这个不可原谅的弱点,可是有什么办法呢:我怕死,也不喜欢别人谈死。您知道吗,在某种程度上,我是个神秘主义者。”
“啊!玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜的鬼魂!怎么,还继续出现吗?”
“去它的吧,您别提了;在彼得堡还没出现过;去它的!”他高声说,脸上露出恼怒的神情。“不,最好还是谈谈这个吧……对了,不过……嗯哼!哎呀,时间不多了,我不能跟您长久待在这里,很可惜!本想告诉您的。”
“您有什么事,是女人吗?”
“是的,是女人,一个意外的机会……不,我要说的不是这个。”
“嗯,这儿环境的卑鄙污浊已经不影响您了?您已经无力自制了吗?”
“那么您也希望获得这种力量吗?嘿——嘿——嘿!刚才您让我吃了一惊,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,虽说我早就知道,事情是会这样的。您在跟我大谈放荡的生活,大谈美学!您是席勒,您是理想主义者!当然,这一切理应如此,如果不是这样,倒要让人觉得奇怪了,然而实际上还是奇怪的……唉,可惜,时间不多了,因为您是个非常有趣的人!顺便问一声,您喜欢席勒吗?我倒非常喜欢。”
“不过,您可真是个爱吹牛的人!”拉斯科利尼科夫有些厌恶地说。
“唉,真的,我不是!”斯维德里盖洛夫哈哈大笑着回答,“不过,我不争辩,就算是爱吹牛吧;可是为什么不吹呢,既然吹牛并不会伤害别人。我在乡下,在玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜的庄园里住了七年,所以现在急于想跟像您这样的聪明人——聪明而又十分有趣的人谈谈,真高兴海阔天空,随便聊聊,此外,我喝了半杯酒,酒劲已经有点儿冲上来了。主要的是,有一个情况让我感到十分兴奋,不过这件事……我不想谈。您去哪里?”斯维德里盖洛夫突然惊恐地问。
拉斯科利尼科夫站了起来。他来到这里,感到难过,气闷,不大舒服。他确信,斯维德里盖洛夫是世界上最无聊、最渺小的一个恶棍。
“唉——!别走,再坐一会儿嘛,”斯维德里盖洛夫请求说。“至少也得要杯茶喝。好,请坐一会儿,好,我不再胡扯了,也就是说,不再谈我自己的事了。我要告诉您一件事。嗯,如果您想听,我跟您谈谈,一个女人怎么,用您的说法,怎么‘救了’我?这甚至就是对您第一个问题的回答,因为这个女人就是令妹。可以谈吗?而且咱们还可以消磨时间。”
“您说吧,不过我希望,您……”
“噢,请您放心!而且就连像我这样一个品质恶劣、精神空虚的人,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜使我心中产生的也只有深深的敬意。”

峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 49楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第四章
"You know perhaps--yes, I told you myself," began Svidrigailov, "that I was in the debtors' prison here, for an immense sum, and had not any expectation of being able to pay it. There's no need to go into particulars how Marfa Petrovna bought me out; do you know to what a point of insanity a woman can sometimes love? She was an honest woman, and very sensible, although completely uneducated. Would you believe that this honest and jealous woman, after many scenes of hysterics and reproaches, condescended to enter into a kind of contract with me which she kept throughout our married life? She was considerably older than I, and besides, she always kept a clove or something in her mouth. There was so much swinishness in my soul and honesty too, of a sort, as to tell her straight out that I couldn't be absolutely faithful to her. This confession drove her to frenzy, but yet she seems in a way to have liked my brutal frankness. She thought it showed I was unwilling to deceive her if I warned her like this beforehand and for a jealous woman, you know, that's the first consideration. After many tears an unwritten contract was drawn up between us: first, that I would never leave Marfa Petrovna and would always be her husband; secondly, that I would never absent myself without her permission; thirdly, that I would never set up a permanent mistress; fourthly, in return for this, Marfa Petrovna gave me a free hand with the maidservants, but only with her secret knowledge; fifthly, God forbid my falling in love with a woman of our class; sixthly, in case I--which God forbid--should be visited by a great serious passion I was bound to reveal it to Marfa Petrovna. On this last score, however, Marfa Petrovna was fairly at ease. She was a sensible woman and so she could not help looking upon me as a dissolute profligate incapable of real love. But a sensible woman and a jealous woman are two very different things, and that's where the trouble came in. But to judge some people impartially we must renounce certain preconceived opinions and our habitual attitude to the ordinary people about us. I have reason to have faith in your judgment rather than in anyone's. Perhaps you have already heard a great deal that was ridiculous and absurd about Marfa Petrovna. She certainly had some very ridiculous ways, but I tell you frankly that I feel really sorry for the innumerable woes of which I was the cause. Well, and that's enough, I think, by way of a decorous /oraison funebre/ for the most tender wife of a most tender husband. When we quarrelled, I usually held my tongue and did not irritate her and that gentlemanly conduct rarely failed to attain its object, it influenced her, it pleased her, indeed. These were times when she was positively proud of me. But your sister she couldn't put up with, anyway. And however she came to risk taking such a beautiful creature into her house as a governess. My explanation is that Marfa Petrovna was an ardent and impressionable woman and simply fell in love herself--literally fell in love--with your sister. Well, little wonder--look at Avdotya Romanovna! I saw the danger at the first glance and what do you think, I resolved not to look at her even. But Avdotya Romanovna herself made the first step, would you believe it? Would you believe it too that Marfa Petrovna was positively angry with me at first for my persistent silence about your sister, for my careless reception of her continual adoring praises of Avdotya Romanovna. I don't know what it was she wanted! Well, of course, Marfa Petrovna told Avdotya Romanovna every detail about me. She had the unfortunate habit of telling literally everyone all our family secrets and continually complaining of me; how could she fail to confide in such a delightful new friend? I expect they talked of nothing else but me and no doubt Avdotya Romanovna heard all those dark mysterious rumours that were current about me. . . . I don't mind betting that you too have heard something of the sort already?"
"I have. Luzhin charged you with having caused the death of a child. Is that true?"
"Don't refer to those vulgar tales, I beg," said Svidrigailov with disgust and annoyance. "If you insist on wanting to know about all that idiocy, I will tell you one day, but now . . ."
"I was told too about some footman of yours in the country whom you treated badly."
"I beg you to drop the subject," Svidrigailov interrupted again with obvious impatience.
"Was that the footman who came to you after death to fill your pipe? . . . you told me about it yourself." Raskolnikov felt more and more irritated.
Svidrigailov looked at him attentively and Raskolnikov fancied he caught a flash of spiteful mockery in that look. But Svidrigailov restrained himself and answered very civilly:
"Yes, it was. I see that you, too, are extremely interested and shall feel it my duty to satisfy your curiosity at the first opportunity. Upon my soul! I see that I really might pass for a romantic figure with some people. Judge how grateful I must be to Marfa Petrovna for having repeated to Avdotya Romanovna such mysterious and interesting gossip about me. I dare not guess what impression it made on her, but in any case it worked in my interests. With all Avdotya Romanovna's natural aversion and in spite of my invariably gloomy and repellent aspect--she did at least feel pity for me, pity for a lost soul. And if once a girl's heart is moved to /pity/, it's more dangerous than anything. She is bound to want to 'save him,' to bring him to his senses, and lift him up and draw him to nobler aims, and restore him to new life and usefulness--well, we all know how far such dreams can go. I saw at once that the bird was flying into the cage of herself. And I too made ready. I think you are frowning, Rodion Romanovitch? There's no need. As you know, it all ended in smoke. (Hang it all, what a lot I am drinking!) Do you know, I always, from the very beginning, regretted that it wasn't your sister's fate to be born in the second or third century A.D., as the daughter of a reigning prince or some governor or pro-consul in Asia Minor. She would undoubtedly have been one of those who would endure martyrdom and would have smiled when they branded her bosom with hot pincers. And she would have gone to it of herself. And in the fourth or fifth century she would have walked away into the Egyptian desert and would have stayed there thirty years living on roots and ecstasies and visions. She is simply thirsting to face some torture for someone, and if she can't get her torture, she'll throw herself out of a window. I've heard something of a Mr. Razumihin--he's said to be a sensible fellow; his surname suggests it, indeed. He's probably a divinity student. Well, he'd better look after your sister! I believe I understand her, and I am proud of it. But at the beginning of an acquaintance, as you know, one is apt to be more heedless and stupid. One doesn't see clearly. Hang it all, why is she so handsome? It's not my fault. In fact, it began on my side with a most irresistible physical desire. Avdotya Romanovna is awfully chaste, incredibly and phenomenally so. Take note, I tell you this about your sister as a fact. She is almost morbidly chaste, in spite of her broad intelligence, and it will stand in her way. There happened to be a girl in the house then, Parasha, a black-eyed wench, whom I had never seen before--she had just come from another village--very pretty, but incredibly stupid: she burst into tears, wailed so that she could be heard all over the place and caused scandal. One day after dinner Avdotya Romanovna followed me into an avenue in the garden and with flashing eyes /insisted/ on my leaving poor Parasha alone. It was almost our first conversation by ourselves. I, of course, was only too pleased to obey her wishes, tried to appear disconcerted, embarrassed, in fact played my part not badly. Then came interviews, mysterious conversations, exhortations, entreaties, supplications, even tears--would you believe it, even tears? Think what the passion for propaganda will bring some girls to! I, of course, threw it all on my destiny, posed as hungering and thirsting for light, and finally resorted to the most powerful weapon in the subjection of the female heart, a weapon which never fails one. It's the well-known resource--flattery. Nothing in the world is harder than speaking the truth and nothing easier than flattery. If there's the hundredth part of a false note in speaking the truth, it leads to a discord, and that leads to trouble. But if all, to the last note, is false in flattery, it is just as agreeable, and is heard not without satisfaction. It may be a coarse satisfaction, but still a satisfaction. And however coarse the flattery, at least half will be sure to seem true. That's so for all stages of development and classes of society. A vestal virgin might be seduced by flattery. I can never remember without laughter how I once seduced a lady who was devoted to her husband, her children, and her principles. What fun it was and how little trouble! And the lady really had principles--of her own, anyway. All my tactics lay in simply being utterly annihilated and prostrate before her purity. I flattered her shamelessly, and as soon as I succeeded in getting a pressure of the hand, even a glance from her, I would reproach myself for having snatched it by force, and would declare that she had resisted, so that I could never have gained anything but for my being so unprincipled. I maintained that she was so innocent that she could not foresee my treachery, and yielded to me unconsciously, unawares, and so on. In fact, I triumphed, while my lady remained firmly convinced that she was innocent, chaste, and faithful to all her duties and obligations and had succumbed quite by accident. And how angry she was with me when I explained to her at last that it was my sincere conviction that she was just as eager as I. Poor Marfa Petrovna was awfully weak on the side of flattery, and if I had only cared to, I might have had all her property settled on me during her lifetime. (I am drinking an awful lot of wine now and talking too much.) I hope you won't be angry if I mention now that I was beginning to produce the same effect on Avdotya Romanovna. But I was stupid and impatient and spoiled it all. Avdotya Romanovna had several times--and one time in particular--been greatly displeased by the expression of my eyes, would you believe it? There was sometimes a light in them which frightened her and grew stronger and stronger and more unguarded till it was hateful to her. No need to go into detail, but we parted. There I acted stupidly again. I fell to jeering in the coarsest way at all such propaganda and efforts to convert me; Parasha came on to the scene again, and not she alone; in fact there was a tremendous to-do. Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, if you could only see how your sister's eyes can flash sometimes! Never mind my being drunk at this moment and having had a whole glass of wine. I am speaking the truth. I assure you that this glance has haunted my dreams; the very rustle of her dress was more than I could stand at last. I really began to think that I might become epileptic. I could never have believed that I could be moved to such a frenzy. It was essential, indeed, to be reconciled, but by then it was impossible. And imagine what I did then! To what a pitch of stupidity a man can be brought by frenzy! Never undertake anything in a frenzy, Rodion Romanovitch. I reflected that Avdotya Romanovna was after all a beggar (ach, excuse me, that's not the word . . . but does it matter if it expresses the meaning?), that she lived by her work, that she had her mother and you to keep (ach, hang it, you are frowning again), and I resolved to offer her all my money--thirty thousand roubles I could have realised then--if she would run away with me here, to Petersburg. Of course I should have vowed eternal love, rapture, and so on. Do you know, I was so wild about her at that time that if she had told me to poison Marfa Petrovna or to cut her throat and to marry herself, it would have been done at once! But it ended in the catastrophe of which you know already. You can fancy how frantic I was when I heard that Marfa Petrovna had got hold of that scoundrelly attorney, Luzhin, and had almost made a match between them--which would really have been just the same thing as I was proposing. Wouldn't it? Wouldn't it? I notice that you've begun to be very attentive . . . you interesting young man. . . ."
“您也许知道(不过,我自己也跟您讲过了),”斯维德里盖洛夫开始说,“因为我欠了一大笔钱,又没有任何财产,可以指望靠它来还债,所以在这儿给关进了债务拘留所。用不着细说,当时玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜是怎么把我赎出来的;您知道吗,有时一个女人爱上一个人,会糊涂到什么程度?这是一个正直和相当聪明的女人(虽然根本没受过教育)。您要知道,这个最爱吃醋的正直女人发狂似地跟我大吵大闹,责备了我许多次以后,竟决心对我采取宽容态度,跟我订了一个合同,在我们婚后的这段时间里,一直履行合同上规定的义务。问题在于,她年龄比我大得多,此外她嘴里还经常含着丁香。我卑鄙到了这种地步,不过也似乎相当诚实,竟直截了当地对她说,我不能对她完全忠实。我这样坦白说出心里的话,把她气得发狂,不过在某种程度上她也喜欢我这种粗鲁的坦率,她说,‘既然他事先向我声明,也就是说,他不想欺骗我,’嗯,对于一个嫉妒的女人来说,这一点是最要紧的。她哭了很久,流了很多眼泪,在这以后,我们之间订立了一个口头协议:第一,我绝不遗弃玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜,永远是她的丈夫;第二,未经她允许,我哪里也不能去;第三,我永远不搞长期的情妇;第四,作为交换条件,玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜允许我有时跟女仆勾搭,可是一定得让她暗暗地知道;第五,绝对不许我爱上我们同一个阶层的女人;第六,万一我又产生严肃认真的真挚爱情,——而这是绝对不允许的,——那么我必须坦白地告诉玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜。不过,对于最后一点,玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜一直相当放心;这是个聪明女人,所以她一定是把我看作一个浪荡子和淫棍,而这样的人是不会严肃认真地爱上什么人的。然而聪明女人和嫉妒的女人是两种不同的人,糟就糟在这里。不过,要对某些人作出公正的判断,就得事先摒弃某些先入为主的偏见,对通常在我们周围的那些人和事物,要改变那些通常的习惯看法。我有理由希望,您会作出比任何人都公正的判断。也许您已经听到过许多有关玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜的可笑和荒唐的事情了。她的确有一些非常可笑的习惯;不过我要坦率地对您说,对于我给她造成的数不尽的伤心事,我真诚地感到悔恨。我觉得,一个最温柔的妻子死后,她最温柔的丈夫能在安葬时说这样几句很不错的o-raisonfunèbre①,也就够了。在我们争吵的时候,我多半一声不响,也不发脾气,这种绅士风度几乎总是会达到预期的目的;这种态度影响了她,她甚至觉得喜欢,有时候她甚至为我感到自豪。可是对令妹,她还是无法容忍了。她竟然冒险请这样一位美人儿到家里来作家庭教师,真不知怎么会发生这样的事!我的解释是这样的:玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜是个非常热情和敏感的女人,她简直是自己爱上了——的确是爱上了令妹。而且阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜也真让人爱!第一眼看到她,我心里就十分清楚,事情不妙,——您想怎么着?——我决定不抬起眼来看她。可是,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜自己迈出了第一步——您信不信?起初我总是绝口不提令妹,玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜不断地夸奖阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜,我对她的这些赞辞根本不感兴趣,玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜甚至为此很生我的气,这您也会相信吗?我自己也不明白,她需要什么!嗯,当然啦,玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜把我的全部底细都讲给阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜听了。她有个很坏的特点,总是把我们家的一切秘密毫无例外地讲给所有的人听,而且逢人就抱怨,不断地对人诉说我不好;她怎么会放过这么一个极好的新朋友呢?我认为,她们谈话,不外乎是谈论我,而且所有这些据认为是我干的极不愉快而又神秘的事情,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜无疑已经全都知道了……我敢打赌,您也已经听到过这一类的故事了吧?”
--------
①法文,“安葬时的悼词”之意。
“听到过了。卢任指控您,甚至把一个孩子的死归罪于您。
这是真的吗?”
“唉,请别提这些卑鄙的事了,”斯维德里盖洛夫厌恶而且抱怨地推托说,“如果您一定想知道这件毫无意思的事情,什么时候我专门讲给您听,可是现在……”
“还谈到了乡下您一个仆人的事,似乎这件事也要怪您。”
“请别说了,够了!”斯维德里盖洛夫又显然很不耐烦地打断了他。
“这是不是那个死后来给您装过烟斗的仆人……还是您自己讲给我听的呢?”拉斯科利尼科夫越来越气愤了。
斯维德里盖洛夫仔细看了看拉斯科利尼科夫,拉斯科利尼科夫仿佛觉得,这个人的目光里好似电光一闪,刹时间露出了恶毒的微笑,然而斯维德里盖洛夫控制住了自己,非常客气地回答:
“这就是那个仆人。我看得出来,您对这一切也非常感兴趣;我认为这是我的义务:一有适当的机会,就一一讲给您听,以满足您的好奇心。见鬼!我看得出来,我的确会被人看作浪漫人物。玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜对令妹讲了那么多关于我的神秘而有趣的事情,您想想看,为此,我该多么感谢我的亡妻啊。我不敢推测,她会产生什么印象;不过无论如何,这对我是有利的。尽管阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜自然会厌恶我,尽管我总是神情阴郁,那副样子就让人感到讨厌,她却终于可怜起我来,可怜起我这个不可救药的人来了。而当一位姑娘心里产生了怜悯,那么,当然,这对她是最危险的了。这时一定会想要‘救’他,想要开导他,使他获得新生,要求他有较为崇高的理想,开始过新的生活,从事新的活动,嗯,大家都知道,会有多少这一类的幻想。我立刻明白,小鸟儿自己飞进网里来了,于是我也作好了准备。您好像皱起了眉头,罗季昂·罗曼内奇?没关系,您要知道,事情没有什么结果。(见鬼,我喝了多少酒啊!)您要知道,从一开始,我就总是感到惋惜,命运怎么不让令妹生在公元二世纪或三世纪,做某位王公、或者执政官、或者小亚细亚总督的千金。无疑她一定会是那些忍受殉难之苦的人们当中的一个,而且,当然啦,用烧红的火钳烫她胸脯的时候,她也会面带笑容。她会自己故意去受这样的痛苦;而在四世纪或五世纪的时候,她就会到埃及的沙漠里去,在那里住上三十年,靠草根、狂热和幻想生活。她自己只渴望并要求尽快去为什么人受苦,如果不让她受苦,大概她就会从窗口跳下去自杀。我听到过有关拉祖米欣先生的一些事情。据说他是个年轻小伙子,通情达理(就连他的姓也显示出,他大概是个教会学校的毕业生),那么就让他来保护令妹吧。总之,我觉得我了解她,并为此感到荣幸。不过当时,也就是说在刚认识的时候,您也知道,不知为什么,人总是较为轻率,也更愚蠢,看问题不正确,往往看不到实质。见鬼,她为什么长得那么美呢?这不是我的过错!总之,我这方面是从无法抑制的性欲冲动开始的。阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜非常贞洁,可说是闻所未闻,见所未见。(请您注意,我对您说的关于令妹的这些话,都是事实。她的贞洁也许达到了病态的程度,尽管她见多识广,聪明过人,可这对她是有害的。)这时我们家来了一个姑娘,叫巴拉莎,黑眼睛的巴拉莎,是刚从另一个村里搭车来的,她是个丫头,我还从来没见过她,——人长得很漂亮,可是蠢得让人难以置信:眼泪汪汪,号叫得到处都能听见,结果大吵了一场。有一次午饭后,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜故意趁我只有一个人的时候,在花园里的林荫道上找到了我,她两眼闪闪发光,要求我别再缠着可怜的巴拉莎。这大概是我们两个人第一次谈话。我当然认为,满足她的愿望是我的荣幸,竭力装出一副惊讶和发窘的样子,总之,这个角色我演得还挺不错。于是开始往来,又是秘密交谈,又是劝谕和开导,又是请求和央告,甚至泪流满面,——您相信吗,甚至还流泪呢!有些姑娘的宣传热情达到了何种程度啊!我当然把一切都归咎于自己的命运,装作一个如饥似渴追求光明的人,最后还采用了征服女人们的心的最伟大和最可靠的办法,这个办法永远不会让任何人失望,无一例外,对所有人都绝对有效。这个办法是尽人皆知的,就是阿谀奉承。世界上没有什么比直言不讳更难,也没有什么比阿谀奉承更容易的了。直言不讳,即使其中只有百分之一的音调是虚假的,那么立刻就会产生不和谐,随之而来的是争吵。而阿谀奉承,即使从头至尾全部音调都是虚假的,可还是让人高兴,听着不会觉得不愉快;哪怕这愉快有点儿肉麻,可还是感到愉快。而且不管阿谀奉承多么肉麻,其中却至少有一半让人觉得好像是真实的。对于各种不同文化程度的人,对于社会上的各个阶层来说,都是如此。就连贞洁的少女,也可以用阿谀奉承去勾引她。至于普通人,那就更不用说了。有一次我勾搭上了一个忠于自己的丈夫、孩子,而且严守闺训的太太,一回想起这件事来,就不禁觉得好笑。这件事是多么让人开心,而且多么不费力啊!这位太太品德当真是高尚的,至少自以为是这样。我的全部策略只不过是每一分钟都表示,我已完全屈服,对她的贞洁佩服得五体投地。我厚颜无耻地奉承她,有时,只要能让她和我握一握手,甚至看我一眼,我就责备自己,说这是我强迫她这样做的,说她曾抗拒过,竭力抗拒过,如果不是我那么恶劣,大概永远什么也得不到;说由于她天真,不能预见到勾引她的阴谋诡计,无意中失身,自己还不知道,等等,等等。总之,我得到了一切,而我的这位太太却仍然完全相信,她是纯洁无瑕和贞洁的,始终信守她的责任和义务,而她的堕落完全是无意的。当我最后向她宣布,我真诚地相信,她也像我一样,是在寻欢作乐,这时她对我是多么生气啊。可怜的玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜也非常爱听恭维话,如果我想这么做的话,那么,毫无疑问,还在她活着的时候,就会把她的全部财产统统留给我了。(不过我酒喝得太多,话也太多了。)如果现在我谈到,对阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜也开始产生了同样的效果,希望您不要生气。可是我很傻,而且缺乏耐心,于是把整个事情都给破坏了。还在以前,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜就有好几次(特别有一次)表示,很不喜欢我的眼神,这您相信吗?总之,我的眼里越来越强烈、越来越不谨慎地燃烧起某种火焰,这使她感到害怕,终于使她感到憎恨了。详细情况用不着说了,不过,我们不再往来了。这时我又干了件蠢事。我以极其粗暴的方式嘲笑所有这些说教和请求;巴拉莎又上场上了,而且还不止她一个,总之,闹得很不像话。噢,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,如果您一生中哪怕只有一次看到令妹的眼睛,看到她的眼睛有时会像那样闪闪发光,那就好了!现在我喝醉了,整整一杯酒都喝光了,这没关系,我说的全是真话;请您相信,我梦见过这样的目光;她的衣服窸窸窣窣的响声也终于让我受不了了。真的,我想,我是发疯了,我从来也没想到,我会这样发狂。总之,必须和解;然而这是不可能的。您想想看,当时我做了些什么?疯狂能使人糊涂到什么程度啊!可千万别在疯狂的时候采取任何行动,罗季昂·罗曼内奇。我考虑到,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜实际上一贫如洗,(唉,请原谅,我并不想这么说……不过如果讲的是同一个概念,用什么词汇不是都一样吗?)总之,是靠自己双手劳动生活,而且令堂和您也都靠她(唉,见鬼,您又皱眉了……),于是我决定把我的钱(当时我可以拿得出三万卢布来)都送给她,让她跟我一起私奔,哪怕逃到这里,逃到彼得堡来也行。当然啦,这时我还发誓永远爱她,让她终生幸福,等等。您相信吗,当时我爱她爱到了这种程度,如果她对我说:你把玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜杀死或者毒死,跟我结婚,那么这立刻就会实现!可结果是一场灾难,这您已经知道了,您自己可以想象得出,当时我得知玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜找到了这个最卑鄙的小官僚卢任,差点儿没给他炮制成了这门亲事,我简直气成了什么样子,——因为这实际上还不就跟我的提议一样吗。是这样吗?是这样吗?是这样的,不是吗?我发觉,您开始注意听了……有意思的青年人……”
Svidrigailov struck the table with his fist impatiently. He was flushed. Raskolnikov saw clearly that the glass or glass and a half of champagne that he had sipped almost unconsciously was affecting him-- and he resolved to take advantage of the opportunity. He felt very suspicious of Svidrigailov.
"Well, after what you have said, I am fully convinced that you have come to Petersburg with designs on my sister," he said directly to Svidrigailov, in order to irritate him further.
"Oh, nonsense," said Svidrigailov, seeming to rouse himself. "Why, I told you . . . besides your sister can't endure me."
"Yes, I am certain that she can't, but that's not the point."
"Are you so sure that she can't?" Svidrigailov screwed up his eyes and smiled mockingly. "You are right, she doesn't love me, but you can never be sure of what has passed between husband and wife or lover and mistress. There's always a little corner which remains a secret to the world and is only known to those two. Will you answer for it that Avdotya Romanovna regarded me with aversion?"
"From some words you've dropped, I notice that you still have designs --and of course evil ones--on Dounia and mean to carry them out promptly."
"What, have I dropped words like that?" Svidrigailov asked in naive dismay, taking not the slightest notice of the epithet bestowed on his designs.
"Why, you are dropping them even now. Why are you so frightened? What are you so afraid of now?"
"Me--afraid? Afraid of you? You have rather to be afraid of me, /cher ami/. But what nonsense. . . . I've drunk too much though, I see that. I was almost saying too much again. Damn the wine! Hi! there, water!"
He snatched up the champagne bottle and flung it without ceremony out of the window. Philip brought the water.
"That's all nonsense!" said Svidrigailov, wetting a towel and putting it to his head. "But I can answer you in one word and annihilate all your suspicions. Do you know that I am going to get married?"
"You told me so before."
"Did I? I've forgotten. But I couldn't have told you so for certain for I had not even seen my betrothed; I only meant to. But now I really have a betrothed and it's a settled thing, and if it weren't that I have business that can't be put off, I would have taken you to see them at once, for I should like to ask your advice. Ach, hang it, only ten minutes left! See, look at the watch. But I must tell you, for it's an interesting story, my marriage, in its own way. Where are you off to? Going again?"
"No, I'm not going away now."
"Not at all? We shall see. I'll take you there, I'll show you my betrothed, only not now. For you'll soon have to be off. You have to go to the right and I to the left. Do you know that Madame Resslich, the woman I am lodging with now, eh? I know what you're thinking, that she's the woman whose girl they say drowned herself in the winter. Come, are you listening? She arranged it all for me. You're bored, she said, you want something to fill up your time. For, you know, I am a gloomy, depressed person. Do you think I'm light-hearted? No, I'm gloomy. I do no harm, but sit in a corner without speaking a word for three days at a time. And that Resslich is a sly hussy, I tell you. I know what she has got in her mind; she thinks I shall get sick of it, abandon my wife and depart, and she'll get hold of her and make a profit out of her--in our class, of course, or higher. She told me the father was a broken-down retired official, who has been sitting in a chair for the last three years with his legs paralysed. The mamma, she said, was a sensible woman. There is a son serving in the provinces, but he doesn't help; there is a daughter, who is married, but she doesn't visit them. And they've two little nephews on their hands, as though their own children were not enough, and they've taken from school their youngest daughter, a girl who'll be sixteen in another month, so that then she can be married. She was for me. We went there. How funny it was! I present myself--a landowner, a widower, of a well- known name, with connections, with a fortune. What if I am fifty and she is not sixteen? Who thinks of that? But it's fascinating, isn't it? It is fascinating, ha-ha! You should have seen how I talked to the papa and mamma. It was worth paying to have seen me at that moment. She comes in, curtseys, you can fancy, still in a short frock--an unopened bud! Flushing like a sunset--she had been told, no doubt. I don't know how you feel about female faces, but to my mind these sixteen years, these childish eyes, shyness and tears of bashfulness are better than beauty; and she is a perfect little picture, too. Fair hair in little curls, like a lamb's, full little rosy lips, tiny feet, a charmer! . . . Well, we made friends. I told them I was in a hurry owing to domestic circumstances, and the next day, that is the day before yesterday, we were betrothed. When I go now I take her on my knee at once and keep her there. . . . Well, she flushes like a sunset and I kiss her every minute. Her mamma of course impresses on her that this is her husband and that this must be so. It's simply delicious! The present betrothed condition is perhaps better than marriage. Here you have what is called /la nature et la verite/, ha-ha! I've talked to her twice, she is far from a fool. Sometimes she steals a look at me that positively scorches me. Her face is like Raphael's Madonna. You know, the Sistine Madonna's face has something fantastic in it, the face of mournful religious ecstasy. Haven't you noticed it? Well, she's something in that line. The day after we'd been betrothed, I bought her presents to the value of fifteen hundred roubles--a set of diamonds and another of pearls and a silver dressing-case as large as this, with all sorts of things in it, so that even my Madonna's face glowed. I sat her on my knee, yesterday, and I suppose rather too unceremoniously--she flushed crimson and the tears started, but she didn't want to show it. We were left alone, she suddenly flung herself on my neck (for the first time of her own accord), put her little arms round me, kissed me, and vowed that she would be an obedient, faithful, and good wife, would make me happy, would devote all her life, every minute of her life, would sacrifice everything, everything, and that all she asks in return is my /respect/, and that she wants 'nothing, nothing more from me, no presents.' You'll admit that to hear such a confession, alone, from an angel of sixteen in a muslin frock, with little curls, with a flush of maiden shyness in her cheeks and tears of enthusiasm in her eyes is rather fascinating! Isn't it fascinating? It's worth paying for, isn't it? Well . . . listen, we'll go to see my betrothed, only not just now!"
"The fact is this monstrous difference in age and development excites your sensuality! Will you really make such a marriage?"
"Why, of course. Everyone thinks of himself, and he lives most gaily who knows best how to deceive himself. Ha-ha! But why are you so keen about virtue? Have mercy on me, my good friend. I am a sinful man. Ha- ha-ha!"
"But you have provided for the children of Katerina Ivanovna. Though . . . though you had your own reasons. . . . I understand it all now."
"I am always fond of children, very fond of them," laughed Svidrigailov. "I can tell you one curious instance of it. The first day I came here I visited various haunts, after seven years I simply rushed at them. You probably notice that I am not in a hurry to renew acquaintance with my old friends. I shall do without them as long as I can. Do you know, when I was with Marfa Petrovna in the country, I was haunted by the thought of these places where anyone who knows his way about can find a great deal. Yes, upon my soul! The peasants have vodka, the educated young people, shut out from activity, waste themselves in impossible dreams and visions and are crippled by theories; Jews have sprung up and are amassing money, and all the rest give themselves up to debauchery. From the first hour the town reeked of its familiar odours. I chanced to be in a frightful den--I like my dens dirty--it was a dance, so called, and there was a /cancan/ such as I never saw in my day. Yes, there you have progress. All of a sudden I saw a little girl of thirteen, nicely dressed, dancing with a specialist in that line, with another one /vis-a-vis/. Her mother was sitting on a chair by the wall. You can't fancy what a /cancan/ that was! The girl was ashamed, blushed, at last felt insulted, and began to cry. Her partner seized her and began whirling her round and performing before her; everyone laughed and--I like your public, even the /cancan/ public--they laughed and shouted, 'Serves her right-- serves her right! Shouldn't bring children!' Well, it's not my business whether that consoling reflection was logical or not. I at once fixed on my plan, sat down by the mother, and began by saying that I too was a stranger and that people here were ill-bred and that they couldn't distinguish decent folks and treat them with respect, gave her to understand that I had plenty of money, offered to take them home in my carriage. I took them home and got to know them. They were lodging in a miserable little hole and had only just arrived from the country. She told me that she and her daughter could only regard my acquaintance as an honour. I found out that they had nothing of their own and had come to town upon some legal business. I proffered my services and money. I learnt that they had gone to the dancing saloon by mistake, believing that it was a genuine dancing class. I offered to assist in the young girl's education in French and dancing. My offer was accepted with enthusiasm as an honour--and we are still friendly. . . . If you like, we'll go and see them, only not just now."
"Stop! Enough of your vile, nasty anecdotes, depraved vile, sensual man!"
"Schiller, you are a regular Schiller! /O la vertu va-t-elle se nicher?/ But you know I shall tell you these things on purpose, for the pleasure of hearing your outcries!"
"I dare say. I can see I am ridiculous myself," muttered Raskolnikov angrily.
Svidrigailov laughed heartily; finally he called Philip, paid his bill, and began getting up.
"I say, but I am drunk, /assez cause/," he said. "It's been a pleasure."
"I should rather think it must be a pleasure!" cried Raskolnikov, getting up. "No doubt it is a pleasure for a worn-out profligate to describe such adventures with a monstrous project of the same sort in his mind--especially under such circumstances and to such a man as me. . . . It's stimulating!"
"Well, if you come to that," Svidrigailov answered, scrutinising Raskolnikov with some surprise, "if you come to that, you are a thorough cynic yourself. You've plenty to make you so, anyway. You can understand a great deal . . . and you can do a great deal too. But enough. I sincerely regret not having had more talk with you, but I shan't lose sight of you. . . . Only wait a bit."
Svidrigailov walked out of the restaurant. Raskolnikov walked out after him. Svidrigailov was not however very drunk, the wine had affected him for a moment, but it was passing off every minute. He was preoccupied with something of importance and was frowning. He was apparently excited and uneasy in anticipation of something. His manner to Raskolnikov had changed during the last few minutes, and he was ruder and more sneering every moment. Raskolnikov noticed all this, and he too was uneasy. He became very suspicious of Svidrigailov and resolved to follow him.
They came out on to the pavement.
"You go to the right, and I to the left, or if you like, the other way. Only /adieu, mon plaisir/, may we meet again."
And he walked to the right towards the Hay Market.
斯维德里盖洛夫焦躁地用拳头捶了一下桌子。他的脸涨得血红。拉斯科利尼科夫清清楚楚看出,他不知不觉一口一口喝下去的那一杯或者是一杯半香槟对他产生了病态的影响,于是决定利用这个机会。斯维德里盖洛夫让他觉得很可疑。
“嗯,知道了这些情况以后,我完全相信,您到这里来,一定是对舍妹有什么打算,”他直截了当、毫不隐讳地对斯维德里盖洛夫说,想惹他更加发火。
“唉,别再提这个了,”斯维德里盖洛夫好像突然想起了什么,“我不是跟您说过了……再说,令妹也非常讨厌我。”
“她非常讨厌您,对这一点我也深信不疑,不过现在问题不在这里。”
“您深信她非常讨厌我吗?(斯维德里盖洛夫眯缝起眼来,嘲讽地微微一笑。)您是对的,她不喜欢我;可是对夫妻间或者情人之间的事,您永远也不能担保。这儿总是有这么一个角落,对全世界始终是个秘密,只有他们两个才知道。您能担保阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜一定会厌恶我吗?”
“根据您谈话时使用的某些词句,我发觉,现在您对杜尼娅仍然有什么企图,还有一些刻不容缓、十分迫切的打算,当然,是卑鄙的打算。”
“怎么!我随口说出过这样的话吗?”斯维德里盖洛夫突然非常天真地惊慌起来,丝毫没有注意那个显示出他的意图的形容词。
“这样的话现在也随口说出来了。您为什么,譬如说吧,这么害怕?现在您为什么突然大吃一惊?”
“我害怕和吃惊吗?我怕您?倒不如说您该怕我,cherami①可是,多么荒唐……不过,我喝醉了,这我明白;差点又说漏了嘴。酒,去它的!喂,拿水来!”
--------
①法文,“亲爱的朋友”之意。
他抓起酒瓶,毫不客气地把它扔出窗外。菲利普拿来了水。
“这全都是胡说八道,”斯维德里盖洛夫说,把毛巾浸湿,按在头上,“我只要说一句话就能让您不再胡扯,使您的一切疑虑烟消云散。譬如说,您知道我要结婚了吗?”
“这您以前就对我说过了。”
“说过了吗?我忘了。不过那时候我还不能肯定地说,因为那时候连未婚妻都还没见过呢,只是有这个意图。可现在未婚妻已经有了,事情已经办妥了,要不是有刻不容缓的事情,我一定这会儿就带您去见见他们,因为我想听听您的建议。唉,见鬼!只剩十分钟了。您看看表,看到了吧;不过我要讲给您听听,因为这是件很有趣的事,我指的是我的婚事,也就是说,从某一点来看,——您去哪儿?又要走吗?”
“不,现在我不走了。”
“根本不走了吗?咱们倒要瞧瞧!我要带您到那里去,这是真的,让您看看我的未婚妻,不过不是现在,现在您很快就要走了。您往右去,我往左走。您知道这个列斯莉赫吗?就是现在我住在她那儿的这个列斯莉赫,啊?您听说过吗?不,您是在想,就是人们议论的那个女人,说是她家有个小姑娘冬天投水自尽了,——嗯,您听说过吗?听说过吗?嗯,这件事就是她给我办的;她说,你这样怪寂寞的,暂时解解闷儿吧。我这个人抑郁寡欢,枯燥无味,不是吗。您以为我很快活吗?不,我很忧郁:我不伤害别人,常常独自坐在一个角落里;有时三天也不跟人说话。可这个列斯莉赫是个骗子,我要告诉您,她心里打的是什么主意:等我觉得厌倦了,就会抛弃妻子,出走,我的妻子就会落到她的手里,她就可以利用她;当然是在我们这个阶层里,而且还要更高一些。她说,有个作父亲的,身体十分衰弱,是个退休的官吏,整天坐在安乐椅里,两年多没走动过一步。她说,还有个母亲,是位通情达理的太太,也就是妈妈。他们的儿子在外省什么地方任职,不帮助他们。女儿出嫁了,也不来看他们,他们这里还有两个年幼的侄子(自己的儿女还嫌不够),自己最小的小女儿还没念完中学,他们就让她退学了,再过一个月她才满十六岁,也就是说,再过一个月就可以让她出嫁了。就是嫁给我。我们上他们家去了;这多么可笑;我作了自我介绍:地主,鳏夫,出身于名门,有这样一些熟人,还有财产,——我五十了,她还不满十六岁,可这又有什么关系呢?谁会注意这种事?嗯,很诱人,不是吗,哈,哈!您要是能看到我和爸爸、妈妈谈话的情形就好了!真该花钱买票,看看我这时候像什么样子。她出来了,行了个屈膝礼,嗯,您要知道,她还穿着件很短的连衫裙,是个含苞未放的花蕾,她脸红了,红得像一片朝霞(当然对她说过)。我不知道您对女人的容貌有什么看法,不过照我看,十六岁这个年龄,这双还是小姑娘的眼睛,这羞答答的胆怯和害羞的眼泪,——照我看,这胜过了美丽,何况她还像画上的美人儿那么漂亮呢。浅色的头发,鬈曲蓬松,梳成一小绺一小绺的,嘴唇丰满,鲜红,一双小脚——真美极了!嗯,我们认识了,我声明,家里有事急需处理,第二天,也就是前天,为我们祝福,给我们订了婚。从那以后,我一去,立刻就让她坐在我的膝上,不让她下来……嗯,她不时脸红,红得像朝霞,我不停地吻她;妈妈当然提醒她说,这是你丈夫,应该这样,总而言之,这实在是太好了!而现在这种情况,作未婚夫的情况,真的,也许比作丈夫的时候更好。这就是所谓lanatureetlavérité①了!我跟她谈过两次——这姑娘可一点儿也不傻;有时她那样偷偷地看我一眼,——甚至让我神魂颠倒。您要知道,她的小脸很像拉斐尔的圣母像。要知道,《西斯庭圣母像》上,圣母的神情是富于幻想的,像一个悲伤的狂热信徒的脸,这您注意了吗?嗯,这姑娘的脸就像这个样子。刚给我们订了婚,第二天我就送去价值一千五百卢布的礼物:一件钻石首饰,另一件是珍珠的,还有一个妇女用的银梳妆盒——有这么大,里面装着各式各样的东西,就连她那圣母似的小脸也变得绯红了。昨天我让她坐在我膝上,是啊,也许我太放肆了,——她满脸通红,突然流出泪来,可是不愿让人看出她心情激动,羞得无地自容。有一会儿大家都出去了,只剩下了我和她两个人,她突然搂住我的脖子(这是她第一次),用两只小手搂着我,吻我,发誓说,她要作我的百依百顺、忠诚、贤慧的妻子,一定会让我幸福,说她要献出自己的一生,献出自己一生中的每一分钟,牺牲自己的一切、一切,而作为回报,她只希望得到我的尊重,她说,此外我‘什么,什么也不需要,也不需要任何礼物!’您得同意,一个十六岁的小天使,由于少女的羞怯,脸上飞起两片红霞,眼里含着热情的泪花,你和她单独坐在一起,听着她这样坦白地说出自己心里的话,您得同意,这是相当诱人的。诱人,不是吗?不是值得吗,啊?嗯,值得,不是吗?喂……喂,请您听我说,……嗯,咱们一道去我的未婚妻那里……不过不是现在!……”
--------
①法文,“自然而且真挚”之意。
“总之,这种年龄和文化修养上的极大差异激起了您的情欲!难道您真的要这样结婚吗?”
“那又有什么呢?一定的。每个人都关心自己,谁最会欺骗自己,谁就能过得最快活。哈!哈!您干吗要装作一个道德高尚的人,请宽恕我吧,老弟,我是个有罪的人。嘿!嘿!
嘿!”
“可是您安置了卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜的孩子们……不过,您这样做是有原因的……现在我一切都明白了。”
“一般说,我喜欢孩子,很喜欢孩子,”斯维德里盖洛夫哈哈大笑起来。“我甚至可以给您讲一讲关于这方面的一件非常有趣的事,直到现在,这件事还没结束呢。我来到这里的头一天,就到这儿各种藏污纳垢的地方去了,嗯,阔别七年之后,我简直是急急忙忙地跑去的。您大概注意到了,我并不急于跟自己那伙人会面,并不急于去找从前的那些朋友和熟人。嗯,我尽可能拖延着不去找他们。您要知道,我在乡下,住在玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜那儿的时候,对这些神秘的地方和场所真是魂牵梦萦,思念得痛苦到了极点,而谁要是了解这些地方,就可以在那儿发现很多东西。见鬼!人们在酗酒,受过教育的青年人由于无所事事,沉湎于无法实现的幻想之中,而变得对一切都十分冷漠,曲解各种理论,自己也变得思想混乱,极不正常;不知从什么地方来了一批犹太人,他们都把钱积蓄起来,其余的人都在过着荒淫无耻的生活。从最初几个钟头,这座城市就让我闻到了熟悉的气息。我来到一个所谓跳舞晚会,——一个可怕的藏污纳垢的地方(而我喜欢的正是这种肮脏地方),嗯,当然啦,在跳康康舞①,在我年轻的时候还没有这种玩意儿。是啊,这就叫进步嘛。突然,我看到一个十二、三岁的小姑娘,穿得很漂亮,正在和一个舞艺超群的人跳舞;那个人站在她对面。墙边一把椅子上坐着她的母亲。嗯,您要知道,康康舞是种什么舞!小姑娘害羞了,脸涨得通红,终于感到自己受了侮辱,放声大哭起来。那个舞艺超群的人搂住她,旋转起来,在她面前表演种种舞姿,周围的人全都哈哈大笑,在这种时候,我喜欢你们这些观众,即使是康康舞的观众,大家都在哈哈大笑,高声叫喊:‘好哇,就应该这样!别带孩子来嘛!’哼,他们这样自己安慰自己是不是合理,我才不在乎呢,关我什么事!我立刻选中了一个座位,坐到那位母亲身旁,对她说,我也是从外地来的,说这儿这些人都多么粗野,说他们都分不清什么是真正的尊严,对别人也缺乏应有的尊重;我让她知道,我有很多钱;我请她们坐我的马车回家;送她们回家以后,我和她们认识了(她们住在向二房东租来的一间小屋里,刚来不久)。她们对我说,她和她女儿能跟我认识,感到非常荣幸;我还得知,她们一无所有,她们到这里来,是要在某机关里办一件什么事情;我表示愿意效劳,表示愿意给她们一些钱;我还得知,她们去参加那个晚会,是弄错了,还以为那里真的是教人跳舞呢;我表示愿意提供帮助,让这位年轻的姑娘学习法文和跳舞。她们十分高兴地接受了,认为这是很荣幸的,直到现在我还在跟她们来往……您要高兴的话,咱们一道去——不过不是现在。”
--------
①法国游艺场中的一种黄色舞蹈。
“别讲了,别讲您那些卑鄙、下流的笑话了,您这个道德败坏的、下流的色鬼!”
“席勒,我们的席勒,简直就是席勒:Oùva-t-ellelavertusenicher?①您知道吗,我要故意给您讲一些这样的事情,好听听您高声叫喊。真让人高兴!”
--------
①法文,“哪里没有善行”之意。据说这是法国著名喜剧作家莫里衷(一六二二——一六七三)的一句话。据说,有一次莫里哀给了一个乞丐一枚金币,乞丐以为他给错了,问他,他就是这样回答的。
“当然啦,难道这时候我自己不觉得自己好笑吗?”拉斯科利尼科夫气愤地低声说。
斯维德里盖洛夫放声哈哈大笑;最后叫来了菲利普,付了帐,站起身来。
“咽,是的,我喝醉了,assezcausé①!”他说,“真高兴啊!”
--------
①法文,“闲扯得够了”之意。
“那还用说,您还会不高兴,”拉斯科利尼科夫高声说,说着也站起来了,“对于一个老色鬼来说,讲这样的奇遇,——而且怀有这种荒谬绝伦的意图,——怎么会不高兴呢,而且还是在这样的情况下,讲给一个像我这样的人听……是够刺激的。”
“嗯,如果是这样,”斯维德里盖洛夫甚至有几分惊讶地回答,同时仔细打量着拉斯科利尼科夫,“如果是这样的话,那么您也是个相当厚颜无耻的人了。至少您是成为这种人的好材料。很多,很多东西您都能理解……嗯,很多事情也都能做呢。唉,不过,够了。由衷地感到遗憾,没能跟您多聊聊,可您是不会离开我的……不过请您稍等一会儿……”
斯维德里盖洛夫走出了小饭馆。拉斯科利尼科夫跟着他走了出去。然而斯维德里盖洛夫醉得并不十分厉害;酒劲儿只不过有一会儿工夫冲了上来,时间慢慢逝去,醉意也渐渐消失了。有一件什么事情,一件非常重要的事情让他十分挂心,他皱起了眉头。显然,他是因为等待着什么而焦急不安。最后这几分钟里,他对拉斯科利尼科夫的态度突然变了,而且越来越粗暴,越来超含讥带讽。这一切拉斯科利尼科夫都看出来了,他也感到不安了。他开始感到斯维德里盖洛夫十分可疑,决定跟着他。
他们走到了人行道上。
“您往右,我往左,或者,也可以相反,只不过——adieu,monplaisir①,愿我们愉快地再见!”
--------
①法文,“再见,我亲爱的”之意。
于是他往右,向干草广场走去。

峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 50楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第五章
Raskolnikov walked after him.
"What's this?" cried Svidrigailov turning round, "I thought I said . . ."
"It means that I am not going to lose sight of you now."
"What?"
Both stood still and gazed at one another, as though measuring their strength.
"From all your half tipsy stories," Raskolnikov observed harshly, "I am /positive/ that you have not given up your designs on my sister, but are pursuing them more actively than ever. I have learnt that my sister received a letter this morning. You have hardly been able to sit still all this time. . . . You may have unearthed a wife on the way, but that means nothing. I should like to make certain myself."
Raskolnikov could hardly have said himself what he wanted and of what he wished to make certain.
"Upon my word! I'll call the police!"
"Call away!"
Again they stood for a minute facing each other. At last Svidrigailov's face changed. Having satisfied himself that Raskolnikov was not frightened at his threat, he assumed a mirthful and friendly air.
"What a fellow! I purposely refrained from referring to your affair, though I am devoured by curiosity. It's a fantastic affair. I've put it off till another time, but you're enough to rouse the dead. . . . Well, let us go, only I warn you beforehand I am only going home for a moment, to get some money; then I shall lock up the flat, take a cab and go to spend the evening at the Islands. Now, now are you going to follow me?"
"I'm coming to your lodgings, not to see you but Sofya Semyonovna, to say I'm sorry not to have been at the funeral."
"That's as you like, but Sofya Semyonovna is not at home. She has taken the three children to an old lady of high rank, the patroness of some orphan asylums, whom I used to know years ago. I charmed the old lady by depositing a sum of money with her to provide for the three children of Katerina Ivanovna and subscribing to the institution as well. I told her too the story of Sofya Semyonovna in full detail, suppressing nothing. It produced an indescribable effect on her. That's why Sofya Semyonovna has been invited to call to-day at the X. Hotel where the lady is staying for the time."
"No matter, I'll come all the same."
"As you like, it's nothing to me, but I won't come with you; here we are at home. By the way, I am convinced that you regard me with suspicion just because I have shown such delicacy and have not so far troubled you with questions . . . you understand? It struck you as extraordinary; I don't mind betting it's that. Well, it teaches one to show delicacy!"
"And to listen at doors!"
"Ah, that's it, is it?" laughed Svidrigailov. "Yes, I should have been surprised if you had let that pass after all that has happened. Ha-ha! Though I did understand something of the pranks you had been up to and were telling Sofya Semyonovna about, what was the meaning of it? Perhaps I am quite behind the times and can't understand. For goodness' sake, explain it, my dear boy. Expound the latest theories!"
"You couldn't have heard anything. You're making it all up!"
"But I'm not talking about that (though I did hear something). No, I'm talking of the way you keep sighing and groaning now. The Schiller in you is in revolt every moment, and now you tell me not to listen at doors. If that's how you feel, go and inform the police that you had this mischance: you made a little mistake in your theory. But if you are convinced that one mustn't listen at doors, but one may murder old women at one's pleasure, you'd better be off to America and make haste. Run, young man! There may still be time. I'm speaking sincerely. Haven't you the money? I'll give you the fare."
"I'm not thinking of that at all," Raskolnikov interrupted with disgust.
"I understand (but don't put yourself out, don't discuss it if you don't want to). I understand the questions you are worrying over-- moral ones, aren't they? Duties of citizen and man? Lay them all aside. They are nothing to you now, ha-ha! You'll say you are still a man and a citizen. If so you ought not to have got into this coil. It's no use taking up a job you are not fit for. Well, you'd better shoot yourself, or don't you want to?"
"You seem trying to enrage me, to make me leave you."
"What a queer fellow! But here we are. Welcome to the staircase. You see, that's the way to Sofya Semyonovna. Look, there is no one at home. Don't you believe me? Ask Kapernaumov. She leaves the key with him. Here is Madame de Kapernaumov herself. Hey, what? She is rather deaf. Has she gone out? Where? Did you hear? She is not in and won't be till late in the evening probably. Well, come to my room; you wanted to come and see me, didn't you? Here we are. Madame Resslich's not at home. She is a woman who is always busy, an excellent woman I assure you. . . . She might have been of use to you if you had been a little more sensible. Now, see! I take this five-per-cent bond out of the bureau--see what a lot I've got of them still--this one will be turned into cash to-day. I mustn't waste any more time. The bureau is locked, the flat is locked, and here we are again on the stairs. Shall we take a cab? I'm going to the Islands. Would you like a lift? I'll take this carriage. Ah, you refuse? You are tired of it! Come for a drive! I believe it will come on to rain. Never mind, we'll put down the hood. . . ."
Svidrigailov was already in the carriage. Raskolnikov decided that his suspicions were at least for that moment unjust. Without answering a word he turned and walked back towards the Hay Market. If he had only turned round on his way he might have seen Svidrigailov get out not a hundred paces off, dismiss the cab and walk along the pavement. But he had turned the corner and could see nothing. Intense disgust drew him away from Svidrigailov.
"To think that I could for one instant have looked for help from that coarse brute, that depraved sensualist and blackguard!" he cried.
Raskolnikov's judgment was uttered too lightly and hastily: there was something about Svidrigailov which gave him a certain original, even a mysterious character. As concerned his sister, Raskolnikov was convinced that Svidrigailov would not leave her in peace. But it was too tiresome and unbearable to go on thinking and thinking about this.
When he was alone, he had not gone twenty paces before he sank, as usual, into deep thought. On the bridge he stood by the railing and began gazing at the water. And his sister was standing close by him.
He met her at the entrance to the bridge, but passed by without seeing her. Dounia had never met him like this in the street before and was struck with dismay. She stood still and did not know whether to call to him or not. Suddenly she saw Svidrigailov coming quickly from the direction of the Hay Market.
He seemed to be approaching cautiously. He did not go on to the bridge, but stood aside on the pavement, doing all he could to avoid Raskolnikov's seeing him. He had observed Dounia for some time and had been making signs to her. She fancied he was signalling to beg her not to speak to her brother, but to come to him.
That was what Dounia did. She stole by her brother and went up to Svidrigailov.
"Let us make haste away," Svidrigailov whispered to her, "I don't want Rodion Romanovitch to know of our meeting. I must tell you I've been sitting with him in the restaurant close by, where he looked me up and I had great difficulty in getting rid of him. He has somehow heard of my letter to you and suspects something. It wasn't you who told him, of course, but if not you, who then?"
"Well, we've turned the corner now," Dounia interrupted, "and my brother won't see us. I have to tell you that I am going no further with you. Speak to me here. You can tell it all in the street."
"In the first place, I can't say it in the street; secondly, you must hear Sofya Semyonovna too; and, thirdly, I will show you some papers. . . . Oh well, if you won't agree to come with me, I shall refuse to give any explanation and go away at once. But I beg you not to forget that a very curious secret of your beloved brother's is entirely in my keeping."
Dounia stood still, hesitating, and looked at Svidrigailov with searching eyes.
"What are you afraid of?" he observed quietly. "The town is not the country. And even in the country you did me more harm than I did you."
"Have you prepared Sofya Semyonovna?"
"No, I have not said a word to her and am not quite certain whether she is at home now. But most likely she is. She has buried her stepmother to-day: she is not likely to go visiting on such a day. For the time I don't want to speak to anyone about it and I half regret having spoken to you. The slightest indiscretion is as bad as betrayal in a thing like this. I live there in that house, we are coming to it. That's the porter of our house--he knows me very well; you see, he's bowing; he sees I'm coming with a lady and no doubt he has noticed your face already and you will be glad of that if you are afraid of me and suspicious. Excuse my putting things so coarsely. I haven't a flat to myself; Sofya Semyonovna's room is next to mine--she lodges in the next flat. The whole floor is let out in lodgings. Why are you frightened like a child? Am I really so terrible?"
Svidrigailov's lips were twisted in a condescending smile; but he was in no smiling mood. His heart was throbbing and he could scarcely breathe. He spoke rather loud to cover his growing excitement. But Dounia did not notice this peculiar excitement, she was so irritated by his remark that she was frightened of him like a child and that he was so terrible to her.
"Though I know that you are not a man . . . of honour, I am not in the least afraid of you. Lead the way," she said with apparent composure, but her face was very pale.
Svidrigailov stopped at Sonia's room.
"Allow me to inquire whether she is at home. . . . She is not. How unfortunate! But I know she may come quite soon. If she's gone out, it can only be to see a lady about the orphans. Their mother is dead. . . . I've been meddling and making arrangements for them. If Sofya Semyonovna does not come back in ten minutes, I will send her to you, to-day if you like. This is my flat. These are my two rooms. Madame Resslich, my landlady, has the next room. Now, look this way. I will show you my chief piece of evidence: this door from my bedroom leads into two perfectly empty rooms, which are to let. Here they are . . . You must look into them with some attention."
拉斯科利尼科夫跟在他的后面。
“这是怎么回事!”斯维德里盖洛夫回过头来,高声叫喊,“我好像说过了……”
“这就是说,现在我决不离开您。”
“什么——么?”
两人都站住了,两人彼此对看了约摸一分钟光景,仿佛在互相估量对方。
“从所有您那些半醉的醉话里,”拉斯科利尼科夫毫不客气、毫无顾忌地说,“我完全得出结论,您不仅没有放弃对我妹妹那些最卑鄙的打算,而且甚至比任何时候都更积极地策划着什么阴谋。我知道,今天早晨我妹妹收到了一封信。您一直坐立不安……即使您半路上找到一个妻子;但是这并不能说明您改了主意。我要亲自证实……”
拉斯科利尼科夫自己也未必能够确定,现在他到底要干什么,他想亲自证实的到底是什么事情。
“原来如此!您想叫我立刻喊警察吗?”
“喊吧!”
他们又面对面地站了约摸一分钟。最后斯维德里盖洛夫脸上的神情改变了。待他确信拉斯科利尼科夫不怕威胁以后,突然又装出一副最快活、最友好的样子。
“您真是!我故意不跟您谈您的事情,尽管我自然是好奇得要死。这件事是很离奇的。本想留到下次再说,可是,真的,就连死人,您也能把他给惹恼了……好,咱们一道走吧,不过我要事先声明:现在我只不过要回家去一下,拿点儿钱;然后锁上房门,叫辆出租马车,到群岛上去兜一晚上。您跟着我去干什么呢?”
“我暂时到你们那幢房子里去,不过不是去您那儿,而是去索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜那里,为我没去参加葬礼向她道声歉。”
“这随您的便,不过索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜不在家。她领着孩子们到一位太太那儿去了,是一位显贵的老太太,我很久以前的熟人,也是几座孤儿院的主管人。我把抚养卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜三个孩子的那笔钱都交给了她,此外还给孤儿院捐了些钱,这样一来,就使那位太太仿佛中了我的魔法,对我的请求她还能不答应吗;我还对她讲了索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜的故事,把所有详情细节都毫不隐瞒地告诉了她。给她留下了无法形容的深刻印象。所以索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜接到邀请,请她今天直接去×旅馆,我的这位太太从别墅回来,暂时就住在那里。”
“没关系,我还是要去。”
“悉听尊便,不过我可不跟您一道去;这和我毫不相干!您瞧,我们已经到家了。我相信,您所以用怀疑的目光来看我,是因为我竟这么有礼貌,直到现在没向您打听过什么……您说,是不是呢?您明白我的意思吗?您觉得这有些异常;我敢打赌,准是这样!嗯,所以请您对我也要懂点儿礼貌。”
“可是您躲在门后偷听!”
“啊,您指的是这个!”斯维德里盖洛夫笑了起来,“是啊,谈了半天,如果您不提这件事,那我倒要觉得奇怪了。哈!哈!
我虽然多少知道一点儿那时候您……在那里……干的那件事,还有您亲自对索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜说了些什么,不过这到底是怎么回事?我也许是个完全落后于时代的人了,什么也弄不懂。看在上帝份上,请您给解释一下,亲爱的!请您用最新的原理开导开导我吧。”
“您什么也听不到的,您一直是在说谎!”
“我指的不是那个,不是那个(不过,我至少也听到了一点儿),不,我指的是,现在您总是在唉声叹气!席勒在您心中一刻不停地骚动着。瞧,现在又不许人躲在门后偷听了。既然如此,那就请您去报告长官吧,就说,如此这般,我发生了这么一件意外的事:在理论上出了个小小的差错。如果您确信不能躲在门后偷听,却可以随心所欲,用随手抓到的什么东西去杀死一个老太婆,那么您就赶快逃到美国去吧!逃跑吧,年轻人!也许还有时间。我说这话是十分真诚的。没有钱,是吗?我给您路费。”
“我根本就没这么想,”拉斯科利尼科夫厌恶地打断了他的话。
“我明白(不过,您不要让自己为难:如果您愿意,那就用不着多说);我明白,您心里在考虑什么问题:道德问题,是吗?是作为一个公民的道德问题,作人的道德问题?您把这些都丢到一边去;现在您还考虑这些干什么?嘿!嘿!因为您毕竟还是一个公民和人吗?既然如此,那就不该乱闯;别去干不该由您来干的事。嗯,那您就拿支熗来,开熗自杀吧,怎么,还是不想自杀呢?”
“您好像是故意想惹我发火,只不过是为了让我马上离开您……”
“瞧,真是个怪人,不过我们已经到了,请上楼吧。您看到了吧,这就是索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜的房门,您看,一个人也没有!不相信吗?您去问问卡佩尔纳乌莫夫;她常把钥匙交给他们。喏,这就是她本人,madamede①卡佩尔纳乌莫夫,啊?什么?(她有点儿耳聋)出去了?去哪儿了?瞧,现在您听到了吧?她不在家,也许到晚上天很晚的时候还回不来。好吧,现在去我家吧。您不是也想去我家吗?好,已经到我家了。Madame列斯莉赫不在家。这个女人总是到处奔忙,不过是个好人,请您相信……说不定您也会用得到她,如果您稍微通情达理一点儿的话。瞧,我从写字台里拿了这张五厘债券(瞧,我还有多少这种债券啊!),这一张今天要拿到银钱兑换商人那里去兑现。嗯,看到了吧?现在我用不着再浪费时间了。写字台上了锁,房门也锁上了,我们又来到了楼梯上。您要乐意的话,咱们就叫一辆出租马车!要知道,我要上群岛去。您要不要坐马车兜兜风?我要雇辆马车去叶拉金,怎么样?您不去吗?您不坚持到底吗?去兜一兜嘛,没关系。好像要下雨,没关系,咱们把车篷放下来就是……”
--------
①法文,“……的太太”之意。
斯维德里盖洛夫已经坐到了马车上。拉斯科利尼科夫考虑,他的怀疑至少在目前是不正确的。他一句话也没回答,转身又往干草广场那个方向走去。如果他在路上哪怕只回头看一次,那么他就会看到,斯维德里盖洛夫坐着马车还没走出一百步,就付了车钱,下车走到了人行道上。但是他已经什么也看不到了,他已经在拐角上转弯了。深深的厌恶心情使他离开了斯维德里盖洛夫。
“这个粗野的恶棍,这个淫荡的色鬼和下流东西能做什么呢,至少是目前,我料想他也做不出什么来!”他不由自主地高声说。真的,拉斯科利尼科夫的判断作得太匆忙,也太轻率了。环绕着斯维德里盖洛夫的一切之中都好像有某种东西,使他显得即使不是神秘,至少也有些奇怪。至于说这一切和他妹妹有什么关系,拉斯科利尼科夫仍然坚信,斯维德里盖洛夫是决不会让她安宁的。但是反复考虑所有这些事情,他实在是感到太苦恼和无法忍受了!
只剩了他一个人以后,和往常一样,走了二十来步,他又陷入沉思。上了桥,他在栏杆旁站住了,开始眺望河水。这时阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜正站着注视着他。
他在桥头就遇到了她,可是他没看清,从她身边走过去了。杜涅奇卡还从来没在街上看到他像这个样子,不由得吃了一惊。她站住了,不知道该不该叫他。突然她看到了从干草广场那边匆匆走近的斯维德里盖洛夫。
不过斯维德里盖洛夫好像是神秘而且小心翼翼地走近前来。他没上桥,在旁边人行道上站住了,并且竭力不让拉斯科利尼科夫看到他。他已经早就看到了杜尼娅,开始向她作手势。她好像觉得,他作手势,是叫她不要喊哥哥,不要惊动他,叫她到他那里去。
杜尼娅这样做了。她悄悄地从哥哥身边绕过去,来到斯维德里盖洛夫跟前。
“咱们快走,”斯维德里盖洛夫悄悄地对她说。“我不想让罗季昂·罗曼内奇知道我们会面。我预先告诉您,刚才我和他坐在离这儿不远的一家小饭馆里,他在那儿找到了我,我好容易才摆脱了他。不知为什么他知道了我给您的那封信,起了疑心。当然,不是您告诉他的吧?不过,如果不是您,那会是谁呢?”
“我们已经转了弯,”杜尼娅打断了他的话,“现在哥哥看不到我们了。我要对您说,我不再跟您往前走了。请您在这儿把一切都告诉我;什么话都可以在街上说。”
“第一,这些话无论如何也不能在街上说;第二,您应该听听索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜会说些什么;第三,我要让您看一些证据……嗯,最后,如果您不同意去我那里,我就拒绝作任何解释,立刻就走。同时请您不要忘记,您那位亲爱的哥哥有一个绝非寻常的秘密完全掌握在我的手里。”
杜尼娅犹豫不决地站住了,用锐利的目光盯着斯维德里盖洛夫。
“您怕什么!”他平静地说,“城市不比农村。就是在农村里,也是您对我造成的伤害比我对您造成的伤害更大,而这里……”
“事先告诉过索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜吗?”
“不,我一个字也没向她透露过,而且现在她是不是在家,我也并不完全有把握。不过,大概在家。她今天才安葬了她的继母:在这样的日子,是不会出去作客的。暂时我不想把这件事告诉任何人,就连告诉了您,都还有点儿后悔呢。这件事,只要稍有不慎,就等于告密。我就住在这儿,就住在这幢房子里,我们这就到了。这是我们这儿管院子的;他跟我很熟;瞧,他在跟我打招呼了;他看到我跟一位女士在一道走,当然已经看到您的脸了,这对您是有利的,既然您很害怕,而且怀疑我。我说得这么粗鲁,请您原谅。我住的房子是向二房东租来的。索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜就住在我隔壁,也是跟二房东租的房子。这一层楼都住满了房客。您干吗像个小孩子似的那么害怕?还是我当真那么可怕呢?”
斯维德里盖洛夫宽容地微笑着,脸上的表情显得很不自然;可是他已经没有笑的心情了。他的心在怦怦地狂跳,喘不过气来。他故意说得声音响一些,以掩饰他那越来越激动的心情;然而杜尼娅没能发觉他这种特殊的激动;他说,她像小孩子那样怕他,对她来说,他是那么可怕,——这些话激怒了她,简直把她气坏了。
“虽然我知道您是个……没有人格的人,可是我一点儿也不怕您。您在前面走吧,”她说,看上去神情镇静,可是脸色白得厉害。
斯维德里盖洛夫在索尼娅房门前站住了。
“让我问一下,她在不在家。不在。不巧!不过我知道,她很快就会回来。如果她出去,准是为了那些孤儿到一位太太那里去了。他们的母亲死了。我也帮着料理过丧事。如果再过十分钟索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜还不回来,那么我叫她去找您,如果您乐意,今天就去;瞧,这就是我的房子。这是我住的两间房间。我的房东,列斯莉赫太太住在隔壁。现在请看这里,我让您看看我的主要证据:我卧室的这扇门通往正在招租的两间空房子。就是这两间……这您可要仔细看看……”
Svidrigailov occupied two fairly large furnished rooms. Dounia was looking about her mistrustfully, but saw nothing special in the furniture or position of the rooms. Yet there was something to observe, for instance, that Svidrigailov's flat was exactly between two sets of almost uninhabited apartments. His rooms were not entered directly from the passage, but through the landlady's two almost empty rooms. Unlocking a door leading out of his bedroom, Svidrigailov showed Dounia the two empty rooms that were to let. Dounia stopped in the doorway, not knowing what she was called to look upon, but Svidrigailov hastened to explain.
"Look here, at this second large room. Notice that door, it's locked. By the door stands a chair, the only one in the two rooms. I brought it from my rooms so as to listen more conveniently. Just the other side of the door is Sofya Semyonovna's table; she sat there talking to Rodion Romanovitch. And I sat here listening on two successive evenings, for two hours each time--and of course I was able to learn something, what do you think?"
"You listened?"
"Yes, I did. Now come back to my room; we can't sit down here."
He brought Avdotya Romanovna back into his sitting-room and offered her a chair. He sat down at the opposite side of the table, at least seven feet from her, but probably there was the same glow in his eyes which had once frightened Dounia so much. She shuddered and once more looked about her distrustfully. It was an involuntary gesture; she evidently did not wish to betray her uneasiness. But the secluded position of Svidrigailov's lodging had suddenly struck her. She wanted to ask whether his landlady at least were at home, but pride kept her from asking. Moreover, she had another trouble in her heart incomparably greater than fear for herself. She was in great distress.
"Here is your letter," she said, laying it on the table. "Can it be true what you write? You hint at a crime committed, you say, by my brother. You hint at it too clearly; you daren't deny it now. I must tell you that I'd heard of this stupid story before you wrote and don't believe a word of it. It's a disgusting and ridiculous suspicion. I know the story and why and how it was invented. You can have no proofs. You promised to prove it. Speak! But let me warn you that I don't believe you! I don't believe you!"
Dounia said this, speaking hurriedly, and for an instant the colour rushed to her face.
"If you didn't believe it, how could you risk coming alone to my rooms? Why have you come? Simply from curiosity?"
"Don't torment me. Speak, speak!"
"There's no denying that you are a brave girl. Upon my word, I thought you would have asked Mr. Razumihin to escort you here. But he was not with you nor anywhere near. I was on the look-out. It's spirited of you, it proves you wanted to spare Rodion Romanovitch. But everything is divine in you. . . . About your brother, what am I to say to you? You've just seen him yourself. What did you think of him?"
"Surely that's not the only thing you are building on?"
"No, not on that, but on his own words. He came here on two successive evenings to see Sofya Semyonovna. I've shown you where they sat. He made a full confession to her. He is a murderer. He killed an old woman, a pawnbroker, with whom he had pawned things himself. He killed her sister too, a pedlar woman called Lizaveta, who happened to come in while he was murdering her sister. He killed them with an axe he brought with him. He murdered them to rob them and he did rob them. He took money and various things. . . . He told all this, word for word, to Sofya Semyonovna, the only person who knows his secret. But she has had no share by word or deed in the murder; she was as horrified at it as you are now. Don't be anxious, she won't betray him."
"It cannot be," muttered Dounia, with white lips. She gasped for breath. "It cannot be. There was not the slightest cause, no sort of ground. . . . It's a lie, a lie!"
"He robbed her, that was the cause, he took money and things. It's true that by his own admission he made no use of the money or things, but hid them under a stone, where they are now. But that was because he dared not make use of them."
"But how could he steal, rob? How could he dream of it?" cried Dounia, and she jumped up from the chair. "Why, you know him, and you've seen him, can he be a thief?"
She seemed to be imploring Svidrigailov; she had entirely forgotten her fear.
"There are thousands and millions of combinations and possibilities, Avdotya Romanovna. A thief steals and knows he is a scoundrel, but I've heard of a gentleman who broke open the mail. Who knows, very likely he thought he was doing a gentlemanly thing! Of course I should not have believed it myself if I'd been told of it as you have, but I believe my own ears. He explained all the causes of it to Sofya Semyonovna too, but she did not believe her ears at first, yet she believed her own eyes at last."
"What . . . were the causes?"
"It's a long story, Avdotya Romanovna. Here's . . . how shall I tell you?--A theory of a sort, the same one by which I for instance consider that a single misdeed is permissible if the principal aim is right, a solitary wrongdoing and hundreds of good deeds! It's galling too, of course, for a young man of gifts and overweening pride to know that if he had, for instance, a paltry three thousand, his whole career, his whole future would be differently shaped and yet not to have that three thousand. Add to that, nervous irritability from hunger, from lodging in a hole, from rags, from a vivid sense of the charm of his social position and his sister's and mother's position too. Above all, vanity, pride and vanity, though goodness knows he may have good qualities too. . . . I am not blaming him, please don't think it; besides, it's not my business. A special little theory came in too--a theory of a sort--dividing mankind, you see, into material and superior persons, that is persons to whom the law does not apply owing to their superiority, who make laws for the rest of mankind, the material, that is. It's all right as a theory, /une theorie comme une autre/. Napoleon attracted him tremendously, that is, what affected him was that a great many men of genius have not hesitated at wrongdoing, but have overstepped the law without thinking about it. He seems to have fancied that he was a genius too--that is, he was convinced of it for a time. He has suffered a great deal and is still suffering from the idea that he could make a theory, but was incapable of boldly overstepping the law, and so he is not a man of genius. And that's humiliating for a young man of any pride, in our day especially. . . ."
"But remorse? You deny him any moral feeling then? Is he like that?"
"Ah, Avdotya Romanovna, everything is in a muddle now; not that it was ever in very good order. Russians in general are broad in their ideas, Avdotya Romanovna, broad like their land and exceedingly disposed to the fantastic, the chaotic. But it's a misfortune to be broad without a special genius. Do you remember what a lot of talk we had together on this subject, sitting in the evenings on the terrace after supper? Why, you used to reproach me with breadth! Who knows, perhaps we were talking at the very time when he was lying here thinking over his plan. There are no sacred traditions amongst us, especially in the educated class, Avdotya Romanovna. At the best someone will make them up somehow for himself out of books or from some old chronicle. But those are for the most part the learned and all old fogeys, so that it would be almost ill-bred in a man of society. You know my opinions in general, though. I never blame anyone. I do nothing at all, I persevere in that. But we've talked of this more than once before. I was so happy indeed as to interest you in my opinions. . . . You are very pale, Avdotya Romanovna."
"I know his theory. I read that article of his about men to whom all is permitted. Razumihin brought it to me."
"Mr. Razumihin? Your brother's article? In a magazine? Is there such an article? I didn't know. It must be interesting. But where are you going, Avdotya Romanovna?"
"I want to see Sofya Semyonovna," Dounia articulated faintly. "How do I go to her? She has come in, perhaps. I must see her at once. Perhaps she . . ."
Avdotya Romanovna could not finish. Her breath literally failed her.
"Sofya Semyonovna will not be back till night, at least I believe not. She was to have been back at once, but if not, then she will not be in till quite late."
"Ah, then you are lying! I see . . . you were lying . . . lying all the time. . . . I don't believe you! I don't believe you!" cried Dounia, completely losing her head.
Almost fainting, she sank on to a chair which Svidrigailov made haste to give her.
"Avdotya Romanovna, what is it? Control yourself! Here is some water. Drink a little. . . ."
He sprinkled some water over her. Dounia shuddered and came to herself.
"It has acted violently," Svidrigailov muttered to himself, frowning. "Avdotya Romanovna, calm yourself! Believe me, he has friends. We will save him. Would you like me to take him abroad? I have money, I can get a ticket in three days. And as for the murder, he will do all sorts of good deeds yet, to atone for it. Calm yourself. He may become a great man yet. Well, how are you? How do you feel?"
"Cruel man! To be able to jeer at it! Let me go . . ."
"Where are you going?"
"To him. Where is he? Do you know? Why is this door locked? We came in at that door and now it is locked. When did you manage to lock it?"
"We couldn't be shouting all over the flat on such a subject. I am far from jeering; it's simply that I'm sick of talking like this. But how can you go in such a state? Do you want to betray him? You will drive him to fury, and he will give himself up. Let me tell you, he is already being watched; they are already on his track. You will simply be giving him away. Wait a little: I saw him and was talking to him just now. He can still be saved. Wait a bit, sit down; let us think it over together. I asked you to come in order to discuss it alone with you and to consider it thoroughly. But do sit down!"
斯维德里盖洛夫住着两间带家具的、相当宽敞的房间。杜涅奇卡怀疑地朝四下里仔细看了看,可是,无论是屋里的陈设,还是房屋的布局,都没发现有什么特殊的地方,虽然也可以看出,譬如说,斯维德里盖洛夫的房子不知怎么正好夹在两套没住人的房子中间。不是从走廊直接进入他的房间,而是要穿过房东那两间几乎空荡荡的房子。斯维德里盖洛夫打开卧室里一扇锁着的门,让杜涅奇卡看一套也是空着的、正在招租的房子。杜涅奇卡在门口站住了,弄不懂为什么请她看这套房子,斯维德里盖洛夫赶紧解释说:
“请您往这里看,看看这第二间大房子。请看看这扇门,门是锁着的。门边有一把椅子,两间屋里只有这么一把椅子。这是我从自己屋里搬来的,为的是坐着听比较舒服些。索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜的桌子就摆在门后,紧挨着这扇门;她就是坐在那儿和罗季昂·罗曼内奇说话儿的。而我,就坐在椅子上,在这儿偷听,一连听了两个晚上,每次都听了两个钟头,——当然啦,我是能够听到点儿什么的,您认为呢?”
“您偷听过?”
“是的,我偷听过;现在到我屋里去吧;这儿连个坐的地方都没有。”
他领着阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜回到他作客厅的第一间房间里,请她坐到椅子上。他自己坐在桌子的另一头,离她至少有一沙绳①远,但是他的眼里已经闪射出当时曾使杜涅奇卡感到那么害怕的欲火了。她颤栗了一下,又怀疑地朝四下里看了看。她表面上镇定的样子是装出来的;看来她不想让他看出,她怀疑他。然而斯维德里盖洛夫的房子夹在两套空房之间,显得十分僻静,这终于使她感到害怕了。她想问问,至少他的房东是不是在家,可是由于自尊,她没有问……何况她心里还有另一种痛苦,比为自己担心而感到的恐惧还要严重得多。她痛苦极了,简直无法忍受。
--------
①一沙绳等于二·一三四米。
“这就是您的信,”她把那封信放到桌子上,说:“您信上写的事情难道是可能的吗?您暗示,似乎我哥哥犯了罪。您的暗示太明显了,现在您总不敢否认吧。您要知道,在您给我写信以前,我就听到过这种愚蠢的谎言,可我连一个字都不相信。这是卑鄙而又可笑的怀疑。我知道这件事,而且知道它是怎样和为什么捏造出来的。您不可能有任何证据。您答应要让我看:那么您说吧!不过您事先就要明白,我不相信您的话!我不相信!……”
杜涅奇卡说得很快,很急,她的脸霎时间变得绯红。
“如果您不相信,那您怎么会冒险只身到我这里来呢?您为什么来?只是由于好奇吗?”
“请别折磨我了,您说呀,您说吧!”
“您是一位勇敢的姑娘,这没说的。真的,我还以为您会请拉祖米欣先生陪您来呢。可是他既没跟您一道来,也不在您周围,我的确看过:这是勇敢的,这么说,您是想保护罗季昂·罗曼内奇了。不过,您的一切都是神圣的……至于说到令兄,我能对您说什么呢?您刚刚亲眼看到他了。他怎么样?”
“您不会只是根据这一点吧?”
“不,不是根据这一点,而是以他自己的话来作根据的。他曾一连两个晚上来索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜这里。我已经让您看过,他们是坐在哪里的。他向她完全坦白了。他是凶手。他杀了那个放高利贷的老太婆,杀了那个官太太,他自己也曾经在她那儿抵押过东西;他还杀了她的妹妹,一个叫莉扎薇塔的女小贩,她在姐姐被杀害的时候,意外地闯了进去。他是用随身带去的斧头把她们两人杀死的。他杀死她们,是为了抢劫,而且也抢了些钱财;他拿走了一些钱和一些东西……他把这一切全都原原本本地告诉了索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,只有她一个人知道这个秘密,不过她没参与谋杀,也没给他出过主意,恰恰相反,她也像您现在一样十分害怕。请您放心,她不会出卖他。”
“这不可能!”杜涅奇卡喃喃地说,嘴唇白得毫无血色,感到喘不过气来,“不可能,没有任何原因,没有丝毫原因,没有任何理由……这是谎言!谎言!”
“他抢劫了,这就是全部原因。他拿了钱和东西。诚然,据他自己说,他既没用过那些钱,也没用过那些东西,而是把它们拿到一个什么地方,藏到石头底下了,现在还放在那儿。但这是因为他不敢用。”
“难道他会去偷,去抢,这可能吗?难道他会产生这样的念头?”杜尼娅惊呼,从椅子上霍地站了起来。“您不是知道,见过他吗?难道他会是个小偷?”
她仿佛是央求斯维德里盖洛夫;她把自己的恐惧完全忘了。
“阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜,这儿情况极其错综复杂,千差万别。小偷偷东西,可是他心里明白,他是个坏蛋;可是我听说有一个高尚的人抢劫了邮车;不过谁知道他呢,也许他当真以为,他干的是一件正当的事!如果是旁人告诉我的,当然,我也会像您一样,根本不信。可是我相信自己的耳朵。就连原因,他都向索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜作了说明;可是起初她不相信自己的耳朵,但终于相信了眼睛,相信了自己的眼睛。因为是他亲自告诉她的。”
“那么是什么……原因呢?”
“说来话长,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜。怎么跟您说呢,这也好像是一种理论,根据这种理论,我认为,譬如说,这就和这种说法是一样的:如果主要目的是好的,那么个别暴行也是可以允许的。干唯一一件坏事,完成一百件好事!一个有许多优点和过于自负的青年人知道,譬如说吧,只要他能有三千卢布,那么在他的生活目的中,整个前程和未来就都会完全不同,然而他却没有这三千卢布,对他来说,这当然也是会感到委屈的。再加上挨饿,住房窄小,衣衫褴褛,明确意识到自己的社会地位以及妹妹和母亲的处境太好①,因而愤愤不平。最严重的是虚荣心,自尊心和虚荣心,不过,谁知道他呢,也许他有崇高的志向……我并不是责备他,请您别那么想;而且这也不关我的事。这儿也有他自己的一个理论,——一种平平常常的理论,——根据这种理论,您要知道,人被分作普通材料和特殊人物,也就是说,对于他们,由于他们地位高,法律不是为他们制订的,恰恰相反,他们自己可以为其余的人,也就是那些普通材料、垃圾制订法律。还不错,一种平平常常的理论;unethéoriecommeuneautre②。拿破仑使他心驰神往,也就是说,使他心驰神往的其实是:许多天才的人对那唯一一件坏事根本不屑一顾,而是毫不犹豫地跨越过去。好像他也自以为是个天才的人,——也就是说,在某一段时间里相信是这样的。他曾经很痛苦,现在还在感到痛苦,因为他意识到,他能创造理论,却不能毫不犹豫地跨越过去,可见他不是个天才的人。对于一个有自尊心的年轻人来说,这可是有伤尊严的,特别是在我们这个时代……”
--------
①这是一句带有讽刺意味的反话。
②法文,“和任何别的理论一样”之意。
“可是良心的谴责呢?这么说,您否认他有任何道德观念?
难道他是一个这样的人?”
“唉,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜,现在一切都混乱了,不过,也就是说,从来也没特别有条理过。一般说,俄罗斯人眼界都很开阔,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜,他们的眼界就像他们的国土一样开阔,非常爱幻想,喜欢杂乱无章;然而只是眼界开阔,没有特殊才能,却是一种灾难。您记得吗,每天晚上晚饭以后,我和您两个人坐在花园里的露台上,曾多次交换过意见,谈论这一类问题和这个话题。正是为了这种开阔的眼界,您还责备过我呢。谁知道呢,也许就在我们谈论这一切的时候,他也正躺在这儿考虑自己的计划吧。阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜,要知道,在我们知识界,没有什么特别神圣的传统:除非有人设法根据书本编造出来……或者从编年史里引伸出来。不过干这种事的多半是那些学者们,您要知道,就某一点来说,他们也都是些头脑简单的人,所以上流社会的人做这种事情甚至是有伤大雅的。不过,一般说,我的意见您都知道了;我绝不责备任何人。我是个不劳动的人,而且抱定这个宗旨,决不改变。关于这一点,我们已经谈过不止一次了。我甚至有幸以自己的意见引起您的兴趣……您的脸色很苍白,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜!”
“他这个理论我是知道的。我看过他在杂志上发表的一篇文章,谈到有一些人可以为所欲为……是拉祖米欣拿给我看的……”
“拉祖米欣先生吗?令兄的一篇文章?登在杂志上?有这样一篇文章吗?我可不知道。这想必很有意思!不过您要上哪儿去,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜?”
“我想见见索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,”杜涅奇卡用有气无力的声音说。“到她家去该怎么走?她也许已经回来了;我一定要立刻见到她。让她……”
阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜没能说完;她真的是气都喘不过来了。
“索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜要到夜里才会回来。我这样认为。
她应该很快就回来,如果回不来,那就要很迟才……”
“啊,那么你是说谎!我看得出来……你说过谎……你一直是说谎!……我不相信你的话!我不信!我不信!”杜涅奇卡当真是发狂地高声叫喊,完全惊慌失措了。
她几乎是晕倒在斯维德里盖洛夫急忙放到她身后的椅子上了。
“阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜,您怎么了,您醒醒啊!喏,这是水。请您喝口水……”
他往她脸上洒了些水。杜涅奇卡颤栗了一下,醒过来了。
“十分有效!”斯维德里盖洛夫皱起眉头,含糊不清地喃喃自语。“阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜,请您放心!您要知道,他有几个朋友。我们会救他,会把他救出来。您希望我把他送到国外去吗?我有钱;三天内我就能弄到船票。至于说他杀了人,可是他还会做许多好事呢,那么这就可以赎罪了;请您放心好了。他还可以成为一个伟大的人呢。嗯,您怎么了?
您觉得身体怎么样?”
“恶毒的人!他还在嘲笑呢。让我走……”
“您去哪里?您往哪里去啊?”
“到他那里去。他在哪里?您知道吗?这道门为什么锁起来了?我们是从这道门进来的,现在却锁上了。您是什么时候把它锁上的?”
“可不能高声大喊,让所有房间里的人都听到我们在这里说的话。我根本没有嘲笑;只不过用这种语言说话,我已经感到厌烦了。您这副样子要上哪儿去!还是您想出卖他呢?您会逼得他发疯的,那么他就会去自首了。您要知道,已经在监视他了,已经发现了线索。您只会出卖了他。您先等一等:我刚才见到过他,跟他谈过;还可以救他。您等一等,再坐一会儿,我们一起想想办法。我请您来,就是为了和您单独谈谈这件事,好好考虑考虑。您请坐啊!”
"How can you save him? Can he really be saved?"
Dounia sat down. Svidrigailov sat down beside her.
"It all depends on you, on you, on you alone," he begin with glowing eyes, almost in a whisper and hardly able to utter the words for emotion.
Dounia drew back from him in alarm. He too was trembling all over.
"You . . . one word from you, and he is saved. I . . . I'll save him. I have money and friends. I'll send him away at once. I'll get a passport, two passports, one for him and one for me. I have friends . . . capable people. . . . If you like, I'll take a passport for you . . . for your mother. . . . What do you want with Razumihin? I love you too. . . . I love you beyond everything. . . . Let me kiss the hem of your dress, let me, let me. . . . The very rustle of it is too much for me. Tell me, 'do that,' and I'll do it. I'll do everything. I will do the impossible. What you believe, I will believe. I'll do anything --anything! Don't, don't look at me like that. Do you know that you are killing me? . . ."
He was almost beginning to rave. . . . Something seemed suddenly to go to his head. Dounia jumped up and rushed to the door.
"Open it! Open it!" she called, shaking the door. "Open it! Is there no one there?"
Svidrigailov got up and came to himself. His still trembling lips slowly broke into an angry mocking smile.
"There is no one at home," he said quietly and emphatically. "The landlady has gone out, and it's waste of time to shout like that. You are only exciting yourself uselessly."
"Where is the key? Open the door at once, at once, base man!"
"I have lost the key and cannot find it."
"This is an outrage," cried Dounia, turning pale as death. She rushed to the furthest corner, where she made haste to barricade herself with a little table.
She did not scream, but she fixed her eyes on her tormentor and watched every movement he made.
Svidrigailov remained standing at the other end of the room facing her. He was positively composed, at least in appearance, but his face was pale as before. The mocking smile did not leave his face.
"You spoke of outrage just now, Avdotya Romanovna. In that case you may be sure I've taken measures. Sofya Semyonovna is not at home. The Kapernaumovs are far away--there are five locked rooms between. I am at least twice as strong as you are and I have nothing to fear, besides. For you could not complain afterwards. You surely would not be willing actually to betray your brother? Besides, no one would believe you. How should a girl have come alone to visit a solitary man in his lodgings? So that even if you do sacrifice your brother, you could prove nothing. It is very difficult to prove an assault, Avdotya Romanovna."
"Scoundrel!" whispered Dounia indignantly.
"As you like, but observe I was only speaking by way of a general proposition. It's my personal conviction that you are perfectly right --violence is hateful. I only spoke to show you that you need have no remorse even if . . . you were willing to save your brother of your own accord, as I suggest to you. You would be simply submitting to circumstances, to violence, in fact, if we must use that word. Think about it. Your brother's and your mother's fate are in your hands. I will be your slave . . . all my life . . . I will wait here."
Svidrigailov sat down on the sofa about eight steps from Dounia. She had not the slightest doubt now of his unbending determination. Besides, she knew him. Suddenly she pulled out of her pocket a revolver, cocked it and laid it in her hand on the table. Svidrigailov jumped up.
"Aha! So that's it, is it?" he cried, surprised but smiling maliciously. "Well, that completely alters the aspect of affairs. You've made things wonderfully easier for me, Avdotya Romanovna. But where did you get the revolver? Was it Mr. Razumihin? Why, it's my revolver, an old friend! And how I've hunted for it! The shooting lessons I've given you in the country have not been thrown away."
"It's not your revolver, it belonged to Marfa Petrovna, whom you killed, wretch! There was nothing of yours in her house. I took it when I began to suspect what you were capable of. If you dare to advance one step, I swear I'll kill you." She was frantic.
"But your brother? I ask from curiosity," said Svidrigailov, still standing where he was.
"Inform, if you want to! Don't stir! Don't come nearer! I'll shoot! You poisoned your wife, I know; you are a murderer yourself!" She held the revolver ready.
"Are you so positive I poisoned Marfa Petrovna?"
"You did! You hinted it yourself; you talked to me of poison. . . . I know you went to get it . . . you had it in readiness. . . . It was your doing. . . . It must have been your doing. . . . Scoundrel!"
"Even if that were true, it would have been for your sake . . . you would have been the cause."
"You are lying! I hated you always, always. . . ."
"Oho, Avdotya Romanovna! You seem to have forgotten how you softened to me in the heat of propaganda. I saw it in your eyes. Do you remember that moonlight night, when the nightingale was singing?"
"That's a lie," there was a flash of fury in Dounia's eyes, "that's a lie and a libel!"
"A lie? Well, if you like, it's a lie. I made it up. Women ought not to be reminded of such things," he smiled. "I know you will shoot, you pretty wild creature. Well, shoot away!"
Dounia raised the revolver, and deadly pale, gazed at him, measuring the distance and awaiting the first movement on his part. Her lower lip was white and quivering and her big black eyes flashed like fire. He had never seen her so handsome. The fire glowing in her eyes at the moment she raised the revolver seemed to kindle him and there was a pang of anguish in his heart. He took a step forward and a shot rang out. The bullet grazed his hair and flew into the wall behind. He stood still and laughed softly.
"The wasp has stung me. She aimed straight at my head. What's this? Blood?" he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the blood, which flowed in a thin stream down his right temple. The bullet seemed to have just grazed the skin.
Dounia lowered the revolver and looked at Svidrigailov not so much in terror as in a sort of wild amazement. She seemed not to understand what she was doing and what was going on.
"Well, you missed! Fire again, I'll wait," said Svidrigailov softly, still smiling, but gloomily. "If you go on like that, I shall have time to seize you before you cock again."
Dounia started, quickly cocked the pistol and again raised it.
"Let me be," she cried in despair. "I swear I'll shoot again. I . . . I'll kill you."
"Well . . . at three paces you can hardly help it. But if you don't . . . then." His eyes flashed and he took two steps forward. Dounia shot again: it missed fire.
"You haven't loaded it properly. Never mind, you have another charge there. Get it ready, I'll wait."
He stood facing her, two paces away, waiting and gazing at her with wild determination, with feverishly passionate, stubborn, set eyes. Dounia saw that he would sooner die than let her go. "And . . . now, of course she would kill him, at two paces!" Suddenly she flung away the revolver.
"She's dropped it!" said Svidrigailov with surprise, and he drew a deep breath. A weight seemed to have rolled from his heart--perhaps not only the fear of death; indeed he may scarcely have felt it at that moment. It was the deliverance from another feeling, darker and more bitter, which he could not himself have defined.
He went to Dounia and gently put his arm round her waist. She did not resist, but, trembling like a leaf, looked at him with suppliant eyes. He tried to say something, but his lips moved without being able to utter a sound.
"Let me go," Dounia implored. Svidrigailov shuddered. Her voice now was quite different.
"Then you don't love me?" he asked softly. Dounia shook her head.
"And . . . and you can't? Never?" he whispered in despair.
"Never!"
There followed a moment of terrible, dumb struggle in the heart of Svidrigailov. He looked at her with an indescribable gaze. Suddenly he withdrew his arm, turned quickly to the window and stood facing it. Another moment passed.
"Here's the key."
He took it out of the left pocket of his coat and laid it on the table behind him, without turning or looking at Dounia.
"Take it! Make haste!"
He looked stubbornly out of the window. Dounia went up to the table to take the key.
"Make haste! Make haste!" repeated Svidrigailov, still without turning or moving. But there seemed a terrible significance in the tone of that "make haste."
Dounia understood it, snatched up the key, flew to the door, unlocked it quickly and rushed out of the room. A minute later, beside herself, she ran out on to the canal bank in the direction of X. Bridge.
Svidrigailov remained three minutes standing at the window. At last he slowly turned, looked about him and passed his hand over his forehead. A strange smile contorted his face, a pitiful, sad, weak smile, a smile of despair. The blood, which was already getting dry, smeared his hand. He looked angrily at it, then wetted a towel and washed his temple. The revolver which Dounia had flung away lay near the door and suddenly caught his eye. He picked it up and examined it. It was a little pocket three-barrel revolver of old-fashioned construction. There were still two charges and one capsule left in it. It could be fired again. He thought a little, put the revolver in his pocket, took his hat and went out.
“您能用什么办法救他?难道能救他吗?”
杜尼娅坐下了。斯维德里盖洛夫坐到她的身边。
“这一切都取决于您,取决于您,取决于您一个人,”他两眼闪闪发光,几乎是悄悄地低声说,前言不搭后语,由于激动,有些话甚至说不出来。
杜尼娅惊恐地躲开,离开他稍远一点儿。他也在浑身发抖。
“您……只要您一句话,他就得救了!我……我来救他。我有钱,也有朋友。我立刻送他走,我去弄护照,两张护照。一张是他的,另一张是我的。我有朋友;我有一些很能干的人……您愿意吗?我还要给您也弄一张护照……还有令堂的……您要拉祖米欣干什么?我也爱您……我无限爱您。让我吻一吻您衣服的边吧,让我吻一下吧,让我吻一下吧!我不能听到您的衣服窸窸窣窣的响声。您只要对我说:去做那件事,我就会去做!我什么都会去做。就连不可能的事我也能办得到。您信仰什么,我也会信仰什么。我什么,什么事情都会去做!请别看,请别这样看着我!您要知道,您这是在杀死我……”
他甚至胡言乱语起来。突然间他不知是怎么了,似乎头脑突然发昏了。杜尼娅跳起来,往门口跑去。
“开门!开门!”她隔着门高声叫喊,双手摇着房门,叫人来给她开门。“把门开开呀!难道一个人也没有吗?”
斯维德里盖洛夫站起来,清醒过来了。他那还在抖动着的嘴唇上慢慢地勉强露出了凶狠和讥讽的微笑。
“那里一个人也不在家,”他轻轻地、一字一顿地说,“女房东出去了,这样叫喊是白费力气:只不过徒然使自己激动。”
“钥匙呢?立刻把门开开,立刻,下流的东西!”
“我把钥匙弄丢了,找不到。”
“啊?那么这是强奸!”杜尼娅大喊一声,脸色白得像死人一样,冲到一个角落里,随手抓到一张小桌子,拖过去用它来掩护自己。她没有高声叫喊;不过用眼睛紧紧盯着那个折磨她的人,机警地注意他的每一个动作。斯维德里盖洛夫也没动地方,站在房屋另一头,她的对面。他甚至镇静下来了,至少从表面上看是这样。可他的脸色仍然白得吓人。嘲讽的微笑并没有从他脸上消失。
“您刚刚说‘强奸’,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜。如果是强奸,那么您自己也可以考虑到,我已经采取了措施。索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜不在家;离卡佩尔纳乌莫夫家很远,隔着五间上了锁的房子。还有,我的力气至少比您大一倍,此外,我也不用害怕,因为以后您不能去控告我:您不会真的想出卖令兄吧?而且谁也不会相信您的话:嗯,一个姑娘家干吗要到一个单身男人的住房里去呢?所以,即使牺牲哥哥,还是什么都证明不了:强奸是很难证明的,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜。”
“卑鄙的家伙!”杜尼娅愤怒地低声说。
“不管您认为怎样,不过请您注意,我的话还只是作为一个建议。照我个人的看法,您是完全对的:强奸是卑鄙的事。我只不过想要说,您决不会受到良心的谴责,即使……即使您自愿照我建议的那样来搭救令兄。这就是说,您只不过是为环境所迫,嗯,还有,是屈服于暴力,如果非得用这个词儿不可的话。这一点请您考虑考虑吧;令兄和令堂的命运都掌握在您的手里。我愿作您的奴隶……作一辈子……我就在这儿等着……”
斯维德里盖洛夫坐到了沙发上,离杜尼娅大约八步远。他的决心是不可动摇的,对她来说,这一点已经是毫无疑问了。
何况她很了解他……
突然她从口袋里掏出一支手熗,扳起扳机,把拿着手熗的那只手放在小桌子上。斯维德里盖洛夫一下子跳了起来。
“啊哈!真没料到会是这样!”他惊讶地喊了一声,可是恶狠狠地冷笑着,“这样就使事情发生了根本变化!您自己使事情变得非常容易解决了,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜!这手熗您是打哪儿弄来的?不是拉祖米欣先生给您的吧?哎呀!这手熗是我的嘛!老相识了!当时我找它找得好苦哇!……在乡下我曾荣幸地教过您射击,看来并没白教啊!”
“不是你的手熗,是玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜的,是你杀害了她,凶手!她家里什么东西也不是你的。我一猜想到你这个人会干出什么事来,就把它拿过来了。你只要敢迈出一步,我发誓,我就要打死你!”
杜尼娅发狂了。她拿着手熗,作好了准备。
“嗯,那么哥哥呢?我这样问是出于好奇,”斯维德里盖洛夫问,仍然站在原地。
“你去告密吧,如果你想告密的话!不许动!别过来!我要开熗了!你毒死了妻子,这我知道,你就是凶手!……”
“您坚决相信,是我毒死了玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜?”
“是你!你自己向我暗示过;你对我说起过毒药……我知道,你坐车去买来的……你早准备好了……这一定是你……
坏蛋!”
“即使这是真的,那也是为了你……归根到底你是祸根。”
“你胡说!我一向,一向……恨你。”
“哎呀,阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜!看来您忘了,在您狂热地说教的时候,您已经对我有了好感,流露出了自己的感情,……我从您眼睛里看出来了;您记得吗,晚上,在月光下,还有一只夜莺在啼啭?”
“你说谎!(杜尼娅的眼睛里怒火闪烁),你说谎,造谣中伤的家伙!”
“我说谎?好吧,就算我说谎吧。我说了谎。对女人提起这些事情是不应该的。(他冷笑了一声。)我知道你会开熗,你这头美丽的小野兽。那你就开熗吧!”
杜尼娅举起了手熗,脸色白得像死人一样,下嘴唇颤抖着,也白得毫无血色,两只乌黑的大眼睛射出火一般的闪光,紧盯着他,下定了决心,估量着,只等他做出第一个动作。他还从来没看到过她像这样美丽。她举起手熗的时候,从她眼里射出的怒火似乎使他燃烧起来,他的心痛苦地揪紧了。他走出一步,熗声响了。子弹从他头发上擦过,打到了后面的墙上。他站住了,轻轻地笑了起来:
“让黄蜂给螫了一下!直接瞄准脑袋……这是什么?血!”他掏出手帕来擦血,从他右边的太阳穴上流下很细的一缕鲜血;大概子弹稍稍擦伤了头皮。杜尼娅放下手熗,望着斯维德里盖洛夫,与其说是感到恐惧,不如说是感到惊讶,大惑不解。她似乎自己也不明白,她做了什么,发生了什么事情!
“有什么呢,打偏了!再开一熗嘛,我等着,”斯维德里盖洛夫轻轻地说,一直还在冷笑,不过神情有点儿忧郁,“这样的话,在您扳熗机以前,我就会抓住您了!”
杜涅奇卡颤栗了一下,迅速扳了熗机,又举起手熗。
“别来纠缠我!”她绝望地说,“我发誓,我又要开熗了……
我……打死您!……”
“咽,有什么呢……只有三步远,不会打不死的。哼,要是您打不死我……那么……”他的眼睛闪闪发光,他又向前走了两步。
杜涅奇卡开了一熗,熗没有响!
“子弹没装好。没关系!您手熗里还有底火。您把它摆正,我等着。”
他站在她面前等着,离她有两步远,怀着异常坚定的决心,两眼发红,用充满情欲而又忧郁的目光直瞅着她。杜尼娅明白,他宁愿死,也不愿放走她。“真的……真的,只有两步远,现在她当然会把他打死的!……”
她突然扔掉了手熗。
“扔掉了!”斯维德里盖洛夫惊讶地说,深深地舒了口气。仿佛有个什么东西一下子从他心上掉下来了,也许这不仅仅是对死亡的恐惧;而且这时候他也未必会感觉到它已经消失。这是摆脱了另一种更悲哀、更忧郁的感觉的心情,他自己也不能完全确定,这究竟是一种什么感觉。
他走到杜尼娅跟前,用一只手轻轻地搂住了她的腰。她没有反抗,但全身像片树叶样簌簌发抖,用恳求的目光看着他。他本想说什么,可只是撇了撇嘴,什么也说不出来。
“你让我走吧!”杜尼娅恳求说。
斯维德里盖洛夫颤栗了一下:这个你字已经说得和刚才有点儿不一样了。
“那么你不爱我?”他轻轻地问。
杜尼娅摇摇头,表示拒绝。
“也……不会爱我?……永远不会?”他绝望地低声问。
“永远不会!”杜尼娅低声回答。
斯维德里盖洛夫心里发生了一场短暂的、无言的激烈斗争。他用一种无法形容的目光瞅着她。突然他放开手,转身很快走到窗边,在窗前站住了。
又过了一会儿。
“这是钥匙!(他从大衣左面的口袋里掏出钥匙,放到身后的桌子上,没有回过头来,也没看着杜尼娅。)您拿去;赶快走吧!……”
他执拗地望着窗外。
“快点儿!快点儿!”斯维德里盖洛夫反复说,一直还是一动不动,也没回过头来。但是,可以听出,在这声“快点儿”里带着某种可怕的语调。
杜尼娅明白这语调意味着什么,赶紧拿起钥匙,跑到门边,迅速打开房门,从屋里冲了出去。不一会儿,她像发疯似的,已经不能控制自己,跑到运河岸上,朝×桥那个方向飞奔而去。
斯维德里盖洛夫在窗前又站了大约三分钟光景;最后才慢慢转过身来,朝四下里看了看,用手掌在前额上轻轻地摸了一下。一个古怪的微笑使他的脸变得很不自然,这是可怜、悲哀、而又无可奈何的微笑,这是绝望的微笑。血染红了他的手掌,这血已经干了;他恶狠狠地看了看这血,然后把一条毛巾浸湿,擦净自己的鬓角。被杜尼娅扔掉、落到门边的那支手熗突然闯入他的眼帘。他把它拾起来,仔细看了看。这是一支可以装在衣袋里的老式三发小手熗;里面还有两发子弹和一个火帽。还可以发射一次。他想了想,把手熗塞进衣袋,拿起帽子,走了出去。

峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 51楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第六章
He spent that evening till ten o'clock going from one low haunt to another. Katia too turned up and sang another gutter song, how a certain "villain and tyrant"
"began kissing Katia."
Svidrigailov treated Katia and the organ-grinder and some singers and the waiters and two little clerks. He was particularly drawn to these clerks by the fact that they both had crooked noses, one bent to the left and the other to the right. They took him finally to a pleasure garden, where he paid for their entrance. There was one lanky three- year-old pine-tree and three bushes in the garden, besides a "Vauxhall," which was in reality a drinking-bar where tea too was served, and there were a few green tables and chairs standing round it. A chorus of wretched singers and a drunken but exceedingly depressed German clown from Munich with a red nose entertained the public. The clerks quarrelled with some other clerks and a fight seemed imminent. Svidrigailov was chosen to decide the dispute. He listened to them for a quarter of an hour, but they shouted so loud that there was no possibility of understanding them. The only fact that seemed certain was that one of them had stolen something and had even succeeded in selling it on the spot to a Jew, but would not share the spoil with his companion. Finally it appeared that the stolen object was a teaspoon belonging to the Vauxhall. It was missed and the affair began to seem troublesome. Svidrigailov paid for the spoon, got up, and walked out of the garden. It was about six o'clock. He had not drunk a drop of wine all this time and had ordered tea more for the sake of appearances than anything.
It was a dark and stifling evening. Threatening storm-clouds came over the sky about ten o'clock. There was a clap of thunder, and the rain came down like a waterfall. The water fell not in drops, but beat on the earth in streams. There were flashes of lightning every minute and each flash lasted while one could count five.
Drenched to the skin, he went home, locked himself in, opened the bureau, took out all his money and tore up two or three papers. Then, putting the money in his pocket, he was about to change his clothes, but, looking out of the window and listening to the thunder and the rain, he gave up the idea, took up his hat and went out of the room without locking the door. He went straight to Sonia. She was at home.
She was not alone: the four Kapernaumov children were with her. She was giving them tea. She received Svidrigailov in respectful silence, looking wonderingly at his soaking clothes. The children all ran away at once in indescribable terror.
Svidrigailov sat down at the table and asked Sonia to sit beside him. She timidly prepared to listen.
"I may be going to America, Sofya Semyonovna," said Svidrigailov, "and as I am probably seeing you for the last time, I have come to make some arrangements. Well, did you see the lady to-day? I know what she said to you, you need not tell me." (Sonia made a movement and blushed.) "Those people have their own way of doing things. As to your sisters and your brother, they are really provided for and the money assigned to them I've put into safe keeping and have received acknowledgments. You had better take charge of the receipts, in case anything happens. Here, take them! Well now, that's settled. Here are three 5-per-cent bonds to the value of three thousand roubles. Take those for yourself, entirely for yourself, and let that be strictly between ourselves, so that no one knows of it, whatever you hear. You will need the money, for to go on living in the old way, Sofya Semyonovna, is bad, and besides there is no need for it now."
"I am so much indebted to you, and so are the children and my stepmother," said Sonia hurriedly, "and if I've said so little . . . please don't consider . . ."
"That's enough! that's enough!"
"But as for the money, Arkady Ivanovitch, I am very grateful to you, but I don't need it now. I can always earn my own living. Don't think me ungrateful. If you are so charitable, that money. . . ."
"It's for you, for you, Sofya Semyonovna, and please don't waste words over it. I haven't time for it. You will want it. Rodion Romanovitch has two alternatives: a bullet in the brain or Siberia." (Sonia looked wildly at him, and started.) "Don't be uneasy, I know all about it from himself and I am not a gossip; I won't tell anyone. It was good advice when you told him to give himself up and confess. It would be much better for him. Well, if it turns out to be Siberia, he will go and you will follow him. That's so, isn't it? And if so, you'll need money. You'll need it for him, do you understand? Giving it to you is the same as my giving it to him. Besides, you promised Amalia Ivanovna to pay what's owing. I heard you. How can you undertake such obligations so heedlessly, Sofya Semyonovna? It was Katerina Ivanovna's debt and not yours, so you ought not to have taken any notice of the German woman. You can't get through the world like that. If you are ever questioned about me--to-morrow or the day after you will be asked--don't say anything about my coming to see you now and don't show the money to anyone or say a word about it. Well, now good- bye." (He got up.) "My greetings to Rodion Romanovitch. By the way, you'd better put the money for the present in Mr. Razumihin's keeping. You know Mr. Razumihin? Of course you do. He's not a bad fellow. Take it to him to-morrow or . . . when the time comes. And till then, hide it carefully."
Sonia too jumped up from her chair and looked in dismay at Svidrigailov. She longed to speak, to ask a question, but for the first moments she did not dare and did not know how to begin.
"How can you . . . how can you be going now, in such rain?"
"Why, be starting for America, and be stopped by rain! Ha, ha! Good- bye, Sofya Semyonovna, my dear! Live and live long, you will be of use to others. By the way . . . tell Mr. Razumihin I send my greetings to him. Tell him Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigailov sends his greetings. Be sure to."
He went out, leaving Sonia in a state of wondering anxiety and vague apprehension.
It appeared afterwards that on the same evening, at twenty past eleven, he made another very eccentric and unexpected visit. The rain still persisted. Drenched to the skin, he walked into the little flat where the parents of his betrothed lived, in Third Street in Vassilyevsky Island. He knocked some time before he was admitted, and his visit at first caused great perturbation; but Svidrigailov could be very fascinating when he liked, so that the first, and indeed very intelligent surmise of the sensible parents that Svidrigailov had probably had so much to drink that he did not know what he was doing vanished immediately. The decrepit father was wheeled in to see Svidrigailov by the tender and sensible mother, who as usual began the conversation with various irrelevant questions. She never asked a direct question, but began by smiling and rubbing her hands and then, if she were obliged to ascertain something--for instance, when Svidrigailov would like to have the wedding--she would begin by interested and almost eager questions about Paris and the court life there, and only by degrees brought the conversation round to Third Street. On other occasions this had of course been very impressive, but this time Arkady Ivanovitch seemed particularly impatient, and insisted on seeing his betrothed at once, though he had been informed, to begin with, that she had already gone to bed. The girl of course appeared.
Svidrigailov informed her at once that he was obliged by very important affairs to leave Petersburg for a time, and therefore brought her fifteen thousand roubles and begged her accept them as a present from him, as he had long been intending to make her this trifling present before their wedding. The logical connection of the present with his immediate departure and the absolute necessity of visiting them for that purpose in pouring rain at midnight was not made clear. But it all went off very well; even the inevitable ejaculations of wonder and regret, the inevitable questions were extraordinarily few and restrained. On the other hand, the gratitude expressed was most glowing and was reinforced by tears from the most sensible of mothers. Svidrigailov got up, laughed, kissed his betrothed, patted her cheek, declared he would soon come back, and noticing in her eyes, together with childish curiosity, a sort of earnest dumb inquiry, reflected and kissed her again, though he felt sincere anger inwardly at the thought that his present would be immediately locked up in the keeping of the most sensible of mothers. He went away, leaving them all in a state of extraordinary excitement, but the tender mamma, speaking quietly in a half whisper, settled some of the most important of their doubts, concluding that Svidrigailov was a great man, a man of great affairs and connections and of great wealth--there was no knowing what he had in his mind. He would start off on a journey and give away money just as the fancy took him, so that there was nothing surprising about it. Of course it was strange that he was wet through, but Englishmen, for instance, are even more eccentric, and all these people of high society didn't think of what was said of them and didn't stand on ceremony. Possibly, indeed, he came like that on purpose to show that he was not afraid of anyone. Above all, not a word should be said about it, for God knows what might come of it, and the money must be locked up, and it was most fortunate that Fedosya, the cook, had not left the kitchen. And above all not a word must be said to that old cat, Madame Resslich, and so on and so on. They sat up whispering till two o'clock, but the girl went to bed much earlier, amazed and rather sorrowful.
Svidrigailov meanwhile, exactly at midnight, crossed the bridge on the way back to the mainland. The rain had ceased and there was a roaring wind. He began shivering, and for one moment he gazed at the black waters of the Little Neva with a look of special interest, even inquiry. But he soon felt it very cold, standing by the water; he turned and went towards Y. Prospect. He walked along that endless street for a long time, almost half an hour, more than once stumbling in the dark on the wooden pavement, but continually looking for something on the right side of the street. He had noticed passing through this street lately that there was a hotel somewhere towards the end, built of wood, but fairly large, and its name he remembered was something like Adrianople. He was not mistaken: the hotel was so conspicuous in that God-forsaken place that he could not fail to see it even in the dark. It was a long, blackened wooden building, and in spite of the late hour there were lights in the windows and signs of life within. He went in and asked a ragged fellow who met him in the corridor for a room. The latter, scanning Svidrigailov, pulled himself together and led him at once to a close and tiny room in the distance, at the end of the corridor, under the stairs. There was no other, all were occupied. The ragged fellow looked inquiringly.
整整这一晚上,直到十点,他是在各个小饭馆和那些藏污纳垢的地方度过的,从这个地方出来,又到另一个地方去。在某处找到了卡佳,她又在唱另一首低级流行歌曲,歌中唱的是某个“下流坯和暴君”,
开始吻卡佳。
斯维德里盖洛夫请卡佳喝酒,也请一个背手摇风琴的流浪乐师、歌手们、跑堂的、还有两个司书喝酒。他所以要和这两个司书打交道,说实在的,是因为他们两个鼻子都是歪的:一个歪到右边,另一个歪到左边,这使斯维德里盖洛夫觉得十分惊奇。他们还带着他到一个游乐园去,他给他们买了门票。这个游乐园里有一棵树龄已有三年的、细小的枞树,还有三个灌木丛。此外,还建造了一家“饭店”,其实是个小酒馆,不过在那里也可以喝茶,而且还摆着几张绿色的小桌和几把椅子。有一些蹩脚歌手在合唱,还有一个喝得醉醺醺的、从慕尼黑来的德国人,好像是个小丑,虽然他鼻子是红的,可不知为什么神情却异常沮丧,他和那些歌手的表演都是为客人们助兴的。那两个司书和另一些司书发生争吵,就要打起来了。他们推选斯维德里盖洛夫作裁判,给他们评评理。斯维德里盖洛夫已经给他们评了差不多一刻钟了,可是他们大嚷大叫,简直无法弄清是怎么回事。最确切无疑的是,他们当中有一个偷了东西,甚至就在这儿卖给了一个偶然碰到的犹太人;可是卖掉以后,却不愿把赃款分给自己的同伴。原来那件给卖掉的东西是这家“饭店”的一把茶匙。“饭店”里发现茶匙不见了,寻找起来,于是事情变得麻烦了。斯维德里盖洛夫赔了茶匙,站起来,走出了游乐园。已经十点左右了。整个这段时间里他自己连一滴酒也没喝过,只是在“饭店”里要了一杯茶,而且就连这也多半是为了遵守人家的规矩。然而这天晚上又闷又热,天阴沉沉的。快到十点的时候,可怕的乌云从四面八方涌来;一声雷鸣,大雨倾盆,犹如瀑布。雨水不是一滴一滴地落下来,而是像一条条激流倾注到地面。在不停地打闪,每次闪光持续的时间正好可以从一数到五。他浑身湿透,回到家里,锁上房门,开开自己写字台上的抽屉,把所有的钱都取出来,还撕掉了两三张纸。然后他把钱装进衣袋,本想换件大衣,但是朝窗外望了望,留心听了听雷声和雨声,心想,算了,于是拿起帽子,没有锁门,就走了出去。他径直去找索尼娅。她在家。
她不是一个人;卡佩尔纳乌莫夫的四个小孩子团团地围着她。索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜正在喂他们喝茶。她默默地、恭恭敬敬地迎接斯维德里盖洛夫,惊讶地看了看他那件湿透的大衣,可是一句话也没说。孩子们立刻异常惊恐地跑掉了。
斯维德里盖洛夫坐到桌边,让索尼娅坐到他身旁。她羞怯地准备好听他说话。
“索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,我说不定要去美国了,”斯维德里盖洛夫说,“因为这大概是我最后一次跟您见面了,所以我要来作个安排。嗯,今天您见到这位太太了吗?我知道她对您说些什么,用不着重述了。(索尼娅动了动,而且脸红了。)这种人的性格是大家都知道的。至于您的妹妹和弟弟,他们的确都给安置好了,我送给他们每个人的钱也都交给了有关方面,交到可靠的人手里,拿到了收据。不过,这些收据还是您拿去保存吧,以防万一。给,请您收下!嗯,现在这件事算办完了。这是三张五厘债券,一共三千卢布。这笔钱请您收下,是给您的,这是我们两人之间的事情,不要让任何人知道,也不管以后您会听到些什么。这些钱您是需要的,因为,索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,照以前那样生活下去,很不好,而且也完全没有必要了。”
“我深受您的大恩大德,还有孤儿们和已经去世的继母都受了您的恩惠,”索尼娅急忙说,“如果说,到现在我很少向您表示感谢,那么……请您别以为……”
“嗳,够了,够了。”
“不过这些钱,阿尔卡季·伊万诺维奇,我非常感谢您,可是现在我不需要这些钱了。我一个人,总可以养活自己,说不要以为我忘恩负义:既然您这样乐善好施,那么这些钱……”
“给您,给您,索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,请您收下,别再多说了,因为我甚至没有时间了。可您需要钱。罗季昂·罗曼诺维奇有两条路:要么对准额头开熗自杀,要么走弗拉基米尔①那条路。(索尼娅古怪地看了看他,浑身发抖了。)您别担心,我什么都知道,听他自己说的,我可不是个说话不谨慎的人;我绝不会告诉任何人。那时候您劝他去自首,这是对的。这对他要有益得多。嗯,如果要走弗拉基米尔这条路,——他去,您也会跟他去,不是吗?是这样吧?是这样吧?好吧,如果是这样,那么就是说,钱是需要的。为了他,需要钱,您明白吗?我把钱送给您,也就等于送给他。何况您还答应过阿玛莉娅·伊万诺芙娜,要还清欠她的钱;我听说了。索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,您怎么这样轻率地承担了这样一笔债务?是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜,而不是您欠了这个德国女人的债,那么您就不该理睬她。在这个世界上,这样是没法活下去的。嗯,如果什么时候有人问您,——明天或者后天,——向您问起我或者有关我的事情(会有人来问您的),那么我现在到您这儿来的事,千万不要提起,决不要把钱拿给任何人,也决不要对任何人说,我曾经送给您钱。好,现在再见吧。(他从椅子上站了起来。)请问候罗季昂·罗曼内奇。顺带说一声:暂时您可以把钱托拉祖米欣先生代为保管。您认识拉祖米欣先生吗?当然是认识的。这是个还不错的小伙子。明天就把钱送到他那里去,或者……到时候再说。在那以前要好好保藏起来。”
--------
①流放到西伯利亚去服苦役的犯人都要走经过弗拉基米尔的那条道路。
索尼娅也从椅子上很快站起来,惊恐地瞅着他。她很想说点儿什么,问问他,可是在最初几分钟里她不敢说,也不知道该怎样说。
“您怎么……您怎么,现在下着那么大的雨,您就要走吗?”
“嗯,要去美国,还怕下雨,嘿!嘿!别了,亲爱的,索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜!您要活下去,长久活下去,您会有益于别人的。顺带说一声……请您对拉祖米欣先生说,我请您代我向他致意。您就这样对他说:阿尔卡季·伊万诺维奇·斯维德里盖洛夫向您致意。一定要对他说。”
他走了,只剩下了索尼娅一个人,她惊讶、恐惧,心情沉重而又感到疑惑,可又说不清究竟是疑惑什么。
原来随后,这天晚上十一点多钟的时候,他又进行了一次反常和出人意料的访问。雨一直还在下个不停。十一点二十分,他浑身湿透,走进了瓦西利耶夫斯基岛第三干线马雷大街上他未婚妻父母家那所狭小的住宅。他好容易才敲开了门,起初他的到来引起了极大的惊慌和不安;不过只要愿意,阿尔卡季·伊万诺维奇是一个举止态度很有魅力的人,所以未婚妻深明事理的父母最初的猜测(虽说他们的猜测是很敏锐的)立刻自然而然地消失了——他们本以为阿尔卡季·伊万诺维奇准是在这以前已经喝得酩酊大醉,因而失去了自制。未婚妻的那位富有同情心而且深明事理的母亲把虚弱无力、坐在安乐椅里的父亲推到阿尔卡季·伊万诺维奇跟前,像往常一样,立刻提出一些她其实并不关心的问题。(这个女人从来不直截了当地提问题,总是先面带微笑,搓着手,随后,如果一定需要知道什么,譬如说,阿尔卡季·伊万诺维奇愿意订在哪一天举行婚礼,那么她就会提出一些最有趣、而且几乎是渴望得到回答的问题,询问有关巴黎的种种事情和那里的宫廷生活,只是在这以后才照例谈到瓦西利耶夫斯基岛的第三干线上来。)在旁的时候,这种谈话方式当然会让人十分尊敬,然而这一次阿尔卡季·伊万诺维奇不知为什么却显得特别没有耐心,并坚决要求会见未婚妻,尽管一开始就已经告诉过他,未婚妻已经睡了。当然,未婚妻还是出来了,阿尔卡季·伊万诺维奇直截了当地对她说,由于一个很重要的情况,他必须暂时离开彼得堡,所以给她送来了一万五千银卢布票面不同的纸币,请她收下这笔钱,作为他送给她的礼物,因为他早就打算在结婚之前把这一点儿钱送给她了。当然,这样的解释丝毫也没能说明,这礼物与立刻动身运行,与一定要冒雨在深更半夜来送礼物有什么特殊的逻辑联系,然而事情却十分顺利地对付过去了。就连必不可免的“哎哟”和“啊呀”,刨根究底的询问和惊讶,不知为什么也突然异乎寻常地既有节制,又有分寸;然而对他的感谢却是最热烈的,那位最有理智的母亲甚至感激涕零,令人留下深刻的印象。阿尔卡季·伊万诺维奇站起来,笑了,吻了吻未婚妻,拍了拍她的小脸蛋儿,肯定地说,他不久就会回来,他注意到,她的眼睛里虽然流露出孩子的好奇神情,但同时也好像向他提出一个十分严肃的、无声的问题,他想了想,再次吻了吻她,心里立刻真诚地感到遗憾,因为他的礼物立刻就会给锁起来,由这位最懂道理的母亲来保管了。他走了,丢下了这些心情异常兴奋的人。然而富有同情心的母亲立刻低声匆匆地解答了几个最重要的疑问,确切地说,就是认为阿尔卡季·伊万诺维奇是个大人物,是个有作为的人,有很多关系,是个大富翁,——天知道他头脑里有些什么想法,忽然想要出门,立刻就走,忽然想要送钱,立刻就把钱送给别人,所以,用不着大惊小怪。当然,他浑身湿透,这很奇怪,不过,譬如说吧,英国人比这更怪,而且这些上流社会的人都不在乎人家怎么议论他们,也不拘礼节。也许他甚至是故意这样做,好让人看看,他谁也不怕。而主要的是,这件事无论对什么人一个字也不能说,因为天知道这会产生什么后果,钱嘛,得赶紧锁起来,而且当然啦,菲多西娅一直待在厨房里,这可是最好也不过了,主要的是,绝对,绝对,绝对不要把这件事告诉这个诡计多端的列斯莉赫,等等,等等。他们坐在那里悄悄地议论着,一直谈到两点钟。不过,未婚妻早就去睡觉了,她感到惊讶,又有点儿忧郁。
然而斯维德里盖洛夫正好在半夜过了×桥,往彼得堡那个方向走去。雨停了,风却在呼啸。他冷得发抖了,有一会儿工夫,他怀着一种特殊的好奇心,甚至是疑问地望了望小涅瓦河里黑魆魆的河水。但是他很快就觉得,站在河边冷得很;他转身往×大街走去。他已经在长得好像没有尽头的×大街上大踏步地走了很久,几乎走了半个钟头,黑暗中,不止一次在那条用木块铺成的路面上绊倒,可他还是怀着好奇心不停地在大街右侧寻找着什么。不久前有一次他从附近路过,在这儿某处,已经是大街的尽头,看到过一家木结构的旅馆,不过相当宽敞,旅馆的名称,就他所记得的,好像是叫阿德里安诺波利。他的推断是正确的,在这样荒凉的地方,这家旅馆是个相当显眼的目标,就是在黑夜里,也不可能找不到它。这是一座已经发黑的、很长的木头房子,尽管已经很晚了,房子里仍然灯火通明,看得出里面还相当热闹。他走了进去,在走廊上碰到一个穿得破破烂烂的人,他问那个人有没有房间。那人打量了一下斯维德里盖洛夫,精神振作起来,立刻把他领到很远的一间房间里,这间房子又闷又狭小,缩在走廊尽头一个角落里,就在楼梯底下。但是没有别的房间;全都客满了。那个穿得破破烂烂的人疑问地望着他。
"Is there tea?" asked Svidrigailov.
"Yes, sir."
"What else is there?"
"Veal, vodka, savouries."
"Bring me tea and veal."
"And you want nothing else?" he asked with apparent surprise.
"Nothing, nothing."
The ragged man went away, completely disillusioned.
"It must be a nice place," thought Svidrigailov. "How was it I didn't know it? I expect I look as if I came from a cafe chantant and have had some adventure on the way. It would be interesting to know who stay here?"
He lighted the candle and looked at the room more carefully. It was a room so low-pitched that Svidrigailov could only just stand up in it; it had one window; the bed, which was very dirty, and the plain- stained chair and table almost filled it up. The walls looked as though they were made of planks, covered with shabby paper, so torn and dusty that the pattern was indistinguishable, though the general colour--yellow--could still be made out. One of the walls was cut short by the sloping ceiling, though the room was not an attic but just under the stairs.
Svidrigailov set down the candle, sat down on the bed and sank into thought. But a strange persistent murmur which sometimes rose to a shout in the next room attracted his attention. The murmur had not ceased from the moment he entered the room. He listened: someone was upbraiding and almost tearfully scolding, but he heard only one voice.
Svidrigailov got up, shaded the light with his hand and at once he saw light through a crack in the wall; he went up and peeped through. The room, which was somewhat larger than his, had two occupants. One of them, a very curly-headed man with a red inflamed face, was standing in the pose of an orator, without his coat, with his legs wide apart to preserve his balance, and smiting himself on the breast. He reproached the other with being a beggar, with having no standing whatever. He declared that he had taken the other out of the gutter and he could turn him out when he liked, and that only the finger of Providence sees it all. The object of his reproaches was sitting in a chair, and had the air of a man who wants dreadfully to sneeze, but can't. He sometimes turned sheepish and befogged eyes on the speaker, but obviously had not the slightest idea what he was talking about and scarcely heard it. A candle was burning down on the table; there were wine-glasses, a nearly empty bottle of vodka, bread and cucumber, and glasses with the dregs of stale tea. After gazing attentively at this, Svidrigailov turned away indifferently and sat down on the bed.
The ragged attendant, returning with the tea, could not resist asking him again whether he didn't want anything more, and again receiving a negative reply, finally withdrew. Svidrigailov made haste to drink a glass of tea to warm himself, but could not eat anything. He began to feel feverish. He took off his coat and, wrapping himself in the blanket, lay down on the bed. He was annoyed. "It would have been better to be well for the occasion," he thought with a smile. The room was close, the candle burnt dimly, the wind was roaring outside, he heard a mouse scratching in the corner and the room smelt of mice and of leather. He lay in a sort of reverie: one thought followed another. He felt a longing to fix his imagination on something. "It must be a garden under the window," he thought. "There's a sound of trees. How I dislike the sound of trees on a stormy night, in the dark! They give one a horrid feeling." He remembered how he had disliked it when he passed Petrovsky Park just now. This reminded him of the bridge over the Little Neva and he felt cold again as he had when standing there. "I never have liked water," he thought, "even in a landscape," and he suddenly smiled again at a strange idea: "Surely now all these questions of taste and comfort ought not to matter, but I've become more particular, like an animal that picks out a special place . . . for such an occasion. I ought to have gone into the Petrovsky Park! I suppose it seemed dark, cold, ha-ha! As though I were seeking pleasant sensations! . . . By the way, why haven't I put out the candle?" he blew it out. "They've gone to bed next door," he thought, not seeing the light at the crack. "Well, now, Marfa Petrovna, now is the time for you to turn up; it's dark, and the very time and place for you. But now you won't come!"
He suddenly recalled how, an hour before carrying out his design on Dounia, he had recommended Raskolnikov to trust her to Razumihin's keeping. "I suppose I really did say it, as Raskolnikov guessed, to tease myself. But what a rogue that Raskolnikov is! He's gone through a good deal. He may be a successful rogue in time when he's got over his nonsense. But now he's /too/ eager for life. These young men are contemptible on that point. But, hang the fellow! Let him please himself, it's nothing to do with me."
He could not get to sleep. By degrees Dounia's image rose before him, and a shudder ran over him. "No, I must give up all that now," he thought, rousing himself. "I must think of something else. It's queer and funny. I never had a great hatred for anyone, I never particularly desired to avenge myself even, and that's a bad sign, a bad sign, a bad sign. I never liked quarrelling either, and never lost my temper-- that's a bad sign too. And the promises I made her just now, too-- Damnation! But--who knows?--perhaps she would have made a new man of me somehow. . . ."
He ground his teeth and sank into silence again. Again Dounia's image rose before him, just as she was when, after shooting the first time, she had lowered the revolver in terror and gazed blankly at him, so that he might have seized her twice over and she would not have lifted a hand to defend herself if he had not reminded her. He recalled how at that instant he felt almost sorry for her, how he had felt a pang at his heart . . .
"Aie! Damnation, these thoughts again! I must put it away!"
He was dozing off; the feverish shiver had ceased, when suddenly something seemed to run over his arm and leg under the bedclothes. He started. "Ugh! hang it! I believe it's a mouse," he thought, "that's the veal I left on the table." He felt fearfully disinclined to pull off the blanket, get up, get cold, but all at once something unpleasant ran over his leg again. He pulled off the blanket and lighted the candle. Shaking with feverish chill he bent down to examine the bed: there was nothing. He shook the blanket and suddenly a mouse jumped out on the sheet. He tried to catch it, but the mouse ran to and fro in zigzags without leaving the bed, slipped between his fingers, ran over his hand and suddenly darted under the pillow. He threw down the pillow, but in one instant felt something leap on his chest and dart over his body and down his back under his shirt. He trembled nervously and woke up.
The room was dark. He was lying on the bed and wrapped up in the blanket as before. The wind was howling under the window. "How disgusting," he thought with annoyance.
He got up and sat on the edge of the bedstead with his back to the window. "It's better not to sleep at all," he decided. There was a cold damp draught from the window, however; without getting up he drew the blanket over him and wrapped himself in it. He was not thinking of anything and did not want to think. But one image rose after another, incoherent scraps of thought without beginning or end passed through his mind. He sank into drowsiness. Perhaps the cold, or the dampness, or the dark, or the wind that howled under the window and tossed the trees roused a sort of persistent craving for the fantastic. He kept dwelling on images of flowers, he fancied a charming flower garden, a bright, warm, almost hot day, a holiday--Trinity day. A fine, sumptuous country cottage in the English taste overgrown with fragrant flowers, with flower beds going round the house; the porch, wreathed in climbers, was surrounded with beds of roses. A light, cool staircase, carpeted with rich rugs, was decorated with rare plants in china pots. He noticed particularly in the windows nosegays of tender, white, heavily fragrant narcissus bending over their bright, green, thick long stalks. He was reluctant to move away from them, but he went up the stairs and came into a large, high drawing-room and again everywhere--at the windows, the doors on to the balcony, and on the balcony itself--were flowers. The floors were strewn with freshly-cut fragrant hay, the windows were open, a fresh, cool, light air came into the room. The birds were chirruping under the window, and in the middle of the room, on a table covered with a white satin shroud, stood a coffin. The coffin was covered with white silk and edged with a thick white frill; wreaths of flowers surrounded it on all sides. Among the flowers lay a girl in a white muslin dress, with her arms crossed and pressed on her bosom, as though carved out of marble. But her loose fair hair was wet; there was a wreath of roses on her head. The stern and already rigid profile of her face looked as though chiselled of marble too, and the smile on her pale lips was full of an immense unchildish misery and sorrowful appeal. Svidrigailov knew that girl; there was no holy image, no burning candle beside the coffin; no sound of prayers: the girl had drowned herself. She was only fourteen, but her heart was broken. And she had destroyed herself, crushed by an insult that had appalled and amazed that childish soul, had smirched that angel purity with unmerited disgrace and torn from her a last scream of despair, unheeded and brutally disregarded, on a dark night in the cold and wet while the wind howled. . . .
Svidrigailov came to himself, got up from the bed and went to the window. He felt for the latch and opened it. The wind lashed furiously into the little room and stung his face and his chest, only covered with his shirt, as though with frost. Under the window there must have been something like a garden, and apparently a pleasure garden. There, too, probably there were tea-tables and singing in the daytime. Now drops of rain flew in at the window from the trees and bushes; it was dark as in a cellar, so that he could only just make out some dark blurs of objects. Svidrigailov, bending down with elbows on the window-sill, gazed for five minutes into the darkness; the boom of a cannon, followed by a second one, resounded in the darkness of the night. "Ah, the signal! The river is overflowing," he thought. "By morning it will be swirling down the street in the lower parts, flooding the basements and cellars. The cellar rats will swim out, and men will curse in the rain and wind as they drag their rubbish to their upper storeys. What time is it now?" And he had hardly thought it when, somewhere near, a clock on the wall, ticking away hurriedly, struck three.
“有茶吗?”斯维德里盖洛夫问。
“这个可以。”
“还有什么吗?”
“小牛肉,伏特加,冷盘。”
“给拿小牛肉和茶来。”
“不再需要什么别的了吗?”那个穿得破破烂烂的人甚至有点儿困惑莫解地问。
“什么也不要了,什么也不要了!”
那个穿得破破烂烂的人大失所望地走了。
“想必是个好地方,”斯维德里盖洛夫想,“我怎么不知道呢。大概,我这副样子也像是从哪儿的夜酒店里出来的,路上已经出过什么事了。不过我真想知道,经常住在这里,在这里过夜的是些什么人?”
他点着了蜡烛,更仔细地看了看这间房间。这间小屋竟是那么矮小,斯维德里盖洛夫站在里面几乎直不起腰,屋里只有一扇小窗子;床很脏,一张油漆过的普通桌子和一把椅子差不多占据了全部空间。看样子墙壁好像是用木板钉成的,墙纸又旧又脏,上面已经积满灰尘,许多地方都撕破了,它们的颜色(黄的)还可以猜得出来,可是花纹已经完全无法辨认了。和通常顶楼里的情况一样,墙和天花板有一部分是倾斜的,不过这儿的斜面上边就是楼梯。斯维德里盖洛夫放下蜡烛,坐到床上,陷入沉思。然而隔壁一间小屋里说个不停的、奇怪的喃喃低语,有时竟会提高声调,几乎像在叫喊,这终于引起了他的注意。从他一进来,这低语声就没停止过。他侧耳倾听:有人在骂另一个人,几乎是哭着责备他,不过听到的只是一个人的声音。斯维德里盖洛夫站起来,用一只手遮住蜡烛,墙上一条裂缝里立刻透出灯光;他走近前去,开始张望。在比他这一间稍大一点儿的那间房间里住着两个人。其中一个没穿常礼服,有一头异常卷曲的鬈发,红通通的脸,神情十分激动,站在屋里,姿势活像个演说家,叉开两腿,以保持平衡,用一只手捶着自己的胸膛,激昂慷慨地责备另一个人,说他是个叫化子,说他连个一官半职都没捞到,说,是他把他从泥坑里拉出来的,什么时候想赶他走,就可以赶他走,还说,这一切只有上帝知道。那个受责备的朋友坐在椅子上,看样子像一个很想打喷嚏、可又怎么也打不出来的人。他偶尔用浑浊的羊眼睛看看那个演说家,但显然一点儿也不明白,他在说些什么,甚至也未必听到了什么。桌子上的蜡烛快要燃尽了,桌上还摆着一个几乎空了的、装伏特加的细颈玻璃瓶,几只酒杯,一些面包,几只玻璃杯,几根黄瓜和一只茶早已喝光了的茶杯。斯维德里盖洛夫留心看了看这个场景,就漠不关心地离开那条缝隙,又坐到了床上。
那个穿得破破烂烂的人拿着茶和小牛肉回来了,忍不住又问了一次:“还需要什么吗?”听到的又是否定的回答,于是就走了。斯维德里盖洛夫急忙喝茶,想暖一暖身子,喝了一玻璃杯,肉却一口也没吃,因为完全没有胃口。他大概发起烧来了。他脱下大衣,短外衣,裹着被子,躺到了床上。他感到遗憾:“这一次最好还是别生病”,他想,并且冷笑了一声。屋里很闷,烛光暗淡,外面风声呼啸,老鼠不知在哪个角落里啃什么,而且整个房间里好像有一股老鼠味和什么皮革的气味。他躺着,仿佛在做梦:思绪万千,此起彼伏。似乎他很想让思想停留在某一件事情上。“窗外大概是个什么花园吧,”他想,“树在簌簌地响;我多么不喜欢夜里风狂雨暴,黑暗中传来树木簌簌的响声,这是一种让人很不舒服的感觉!”他想起不久前经过彼特罗夫公园的时候,甚至一想到这种声音,就觉得讨厌。这时他也想起了×桥和小涅瓦河,于是又像不久前站在河边的时候那样,似乎觉得身上发冷了。
“我一生中从来就不喜欢水,即使是在风景如画的地方,”他想,突然又为一个奇怪的想法冷笑了一声:“似乎,这些美学和舒适之类的问题,现在应该都无所谓了,可正是在这时候,却变得特别爱挑剔了,就像一头在类似的情况下……一定要给自己挑个地方的野兽。刚才我真该回彼特罗夫公园去!大概是觉得那里太暗,也觉得冷吧,嘿!嘿!几乎是需要感到惬意呢!……可是,我为什么不把蜡烛熄掉?(他熄掉了蜡烛。)隔壁已经睡了,”他想,因为刚才看到的那条缝隙里已经看不到灯光了。“唉,玛尔法·彼特罗芙娜,要是现在您来该多好,天又黑,地方也挺合适,而且正是时候。可现在您偏偏不来……”
不知为什么他突然想起,不久前,就在他要实行诱骗杜涅奇卡的计划之前一小时,他曾向拉斯科利尼科夫建议,把她托付给拉祖米欣,请他来保护她。“真的,当时我说这话,正像拉斯科利尼科夫所猜想的那样,多半是为了满足我自己的愿望——故意挑衅。不过这个拉斯科利尼科夫真是个机灵鬼!他饱经忧患。随着时间的推移,等到他不再胡思乱想,变聪明了以后,准会成为一个很机灵的人,可是现在他却太想活下去了!就这一点来说,这种人是卑鄙的。哼,去他的吧,随他的便,与我什么相干。”
他一直睡不着。渐渐地,杜涅奇卡不久前的形象出现在他的面前,突然,他打了个寒颤。“不,现在应该丢掉这个念头了,”他清醒过来,这样想,“应该想想别的。奇怪而且可笑:我从来也没深深怀恨过什么人,甚至从来也没特别想要进行报复,不是吗,这可是个坏兆头,坏兆头!我也不喜欢与人争论,不发脾气——这也是坏兆头!刚才我向她许下了多少诺言啊,呸,见鬼!大概,她会设法让我明白过来的……”他又不作声了,而且咬紧了牙:杜涅奇卡的形象又在他面前出现了,和她第一次开熗的时候一模一样,那时她吓得要命,放下了手熗,面无人色,望着他,所以两次他都可以抓住她,她却不会举起手来自卫,如果不是他提醒她的话。他想起,在那一瞬间,他似乎可怜起她来,似乎他的心揪紧了……“唉,见鬼!又是这些念头,这一切都应该丢掉,丢掉!……”
他已经昏昏欲睡:寒热病的颤栗停止了;突然好像有个什么东西在被子下面,从他手臂上和腿上跑了过去。他打了个哆嗦:“呸,见鬼,这好像是只老鼠!”他想,“这盘小牛肉我还摆在桌子上……”他真不想掀开被子,起来,让自己冻僵,可是突然又有个什么让人很讨厌的东西从他腿上很快跑了过去;他撩开被子,点着了蜡烛。他打着寒颤,俯身仔细看了看床上,什么也没有;他抖了抖被子,突然有一只老鼠跳到了床单上。他急忙去抓它;可是老鼠并不跳下床去逃走,却在床上东窜西窜,从他指缝间溜跑,从他手上跑过去,突然一下子钻到了枕头底下;他扔掉了枕头,但是转瞬间感觉到有个什么东西跳进他的怀里,从他身上很快跑过去,已经跑到背上,钻到衬衫底下去了。他急剧地打了个寒颤,醒了。屋里很暗,他像刚才一样,裹在被子里,躺在床上,窗外风声哀号。“真讨厌!”他烦恼地想。
他起来,背对着窗户,坐到床边。“最好根本别睡,”他拿定了主意。可是窗边有一股冷气和潮气;他没站起来,拉过被子,裹到身上。他没有点上蜡烛。他什么也不想,而且也不愿想;然而幻想却一个接着一个出现,一个个思想的片断,没头,没尾,互不连贯,稍纵即逝,一闪而过。他似睡非睡。是寒冷,还是黑暗,是潮湿,还是在窗外呼啸和摇撼着树木的风,这一切都在他心中激起对幻想强烈的爱好和渴望,——可是浮现在眼前的却总是花。他想象出一片迷人的景色;是阳光明媚的一天,天很暖和,几乎是炎热的,是个节日——圣灵降临节①。一座英国式豪华精致的乡村住宅,四周花坛里鲜花盛开,花香袭人,住宅周围是一垅垅菜畦;蔓生植物爬满门廊,台阶上摆满一排排玫瑰;一道明亮、凉爽的楼梯,上面铺着豪华的地毯,两边摆满栽种着奇花异卉的中国花盆。他特别注意摆在窗口的那些盛着水的花瓶,一束束洁白、娇嫩的水仙插在花瓶里,碧绿、肥壮的长茎上垂下一朵朵白花,花香浓郁。他甚至不想离开它们,但是他上楼去了,走进一个宽敞高大的大厅,这儿也到处都是鲜花:窗旁,通往凉台的门敞着,门边到处是花。地板上撒满刚刚割下的芳草,窗子都敞着,凉爽的微风送进清新的空气,窗外鸟鸣嘤嘤,大厅中央,几张铺着洁白缎子台布的桌子上停放着一口棺材。这口棺材包着那不勒斯白绸,边上镶着厚厚的白色皱边。用鲜花编成的花带从四面环绕着棺材。一个小姑娘躺在棺材里的鲜花中间,她穿一件透花白纱连衫裙,一双好似用大理石雕成的手叠放在胸前。但她那披散开的头发,那淡黄色的头发,却是湿的;头上戴着一顶玫瑰花冠。她那神情严峻、已经僵化的脸的侧面也好像是用大理石雕成的,但是她那惨白的嘴唇上的微笑却充满失去了稚气的无限悲哀,而且带有沉痛的抱怨的神情。斯维德里盖洛夫认识这个小姑娘;这口棺材旁既没有圣像,也没点蜡烛,也听不到祈祷的声音。这个小姑娘是自杀——投水自尽的。她只有十四岁,但这已经是一颗破碎了的心,这颗心因受侮辱而毁了自己,这样的侮辱吓坏了这颗幼小、稚嫩的童心,使它感到震惊,不应遭受的耻辱玷污了她那天使般纯洁的心灵,迫使她从胸中冲出最后一声绝望的呼喊,但是长夜漫漫,黑暗无边,虽已开始解冻,却还潮湿寒冷,而且狂风怒吼,这一声遭受无耻凌辱的呼喊并没有被人听见……
--------
①在复活节后的第五十天。
斯维德里盖洛夫醒了,从床上起来,大步走到窗前。他摸索着找到了插销,打开窗子。风猛吹进他这间狭小的斗室,仿佛往他脸上和仅有一件衬衫遮盖着的胸脯上贴了一层冷冰冰的霜花。窗外大概真的像个花园,看来也是个游乐园;大概白天这里也有歌手唱歌,也给人往小桌子上送茶。现在水珠却从树上和灌木丛上飞进窗里,很暗,就像在地窖里似的,所以勉强才能分辨出某些标志着什么物体的黑点。斯维德里盖洛夫弯下腰,用胳膊肘撑在窗台上,已经目不转睛地对着这片黑暗望了五分钟了。黑暗的夜色中传来一声炮响,接着又是一声。
“啊,号炮响了,河水暴涨了①”,他想,“到早晨水就会涌进低洼的地方,涌到街上,淹没地下室和地窖,地下室里的老鼠都会浮出水面,人们也将在风雨中咒骂着,浑身湿透,把自己的一些破烂儿拖到上面几层去……现在几点了?”他刚一这样想,附近什么地方的挂钟仿佛竭力匆匆忙忙地滴答滴答地响着,打了三响。“哎哟,再过一个钟头就要天亮了!还等什么呢?立刻就走,一直去彼特罗夫公园:在那儿什么地方挑一个大灌木丛,叫雨淋透的灌木丛,只要用肩膀稍微碰一碰,就会有千百万水珠浇到头上……”他离开窗子,把它关上,点着了蜡烛,穿上短上衣、大衣,戴上帽子,手持蜡烛,走到走廊上,想找到那个不知睡在什么地方一间小屋里、一堆堆废物和蜡烛头之间的穿得破破烂烂的人,把房钱交给他,然后从旅馆里出去。“这是最好的时间,再也挑不到更好的时间了!”
"Aha! It will be light in an hour! Why wait? I'll go out at once straight to the park. I'll choose a great bush there drenched with rain, so that as soon as one's shoulder touches it, millions of drops drip on one's head."
He moved away from the window, shut it, lighted the candle, put on his waistcoat, his overcoat and his hat and went out, carrying the candle, into the passage to look for the ragged attendant who would be asleep somewhere in the midst of candle-ends and all sorts of rubbish, to pay him for the room and leave the hotel. "It's the best minute; I couldn't choose a better."
He walked for some time through a long narrow corridor without finding anyone and was just going to call out, when suddenly in a dark corner between an old cupboard and the door he caught sight of a strange object which seemed to be alive. He bent down with the candle and saw a little girl, not more than five years old, shivering and crying, with her clothes as wet as a soaking house-flannel. She did not seem afraid of Svidrigailov, but looked at him with blank amazement out of her big black eyes. Now and then she sobbed as children do when they have been crying a long time, but are beginning to be comforted. The child's face was pale and tired, she was numb with cold. "How can she have come here? She must have hidden here and not slept all night." He began questioning her. The child suddenly becoming animated, chattered away in her baby language, something about "mammy" and that "mammy would beat her," and about some cup that she had "bwoken." The child chattered on without stopping. He could only guess from what she said that she was a neglected child, whose mother, probably a drunken cook, in the service of the hotel, whipped and frightened her; that the child had broken a cup of her mother's and was so frightened that she had run away the evening before, had hidden for a long while somewhere outside in the rain, at last had made her way in here, hidden behind the cupboard and spent the night there, crying and trembling from the damp, the darkness and the fear that she would be badly beaten for it. He took her in his arms, went back to his room, sat her on the bed, and began undressing her. The torn shoes which she had on her stockingless feet were as wet as if they had been standing in a puddle all night. When he had undressed her, he put her on the bed, covered her up and wrapped her in the blanket from her head downwards. She fell asleep at once. Then he sank into dreary musing again.
"What folly to trouble myself," he decided suddenly with an oppressive feeling of annoyance. "What idiocy!" In vexation he took up the candle to go and look for the ragged attendant again and make haste to go away. "Damn the child!" he thought as he opened the door, but he turned again to see whether the child was asleep. He raised the blanket carefully. The child was sleeping soundly, she had got warm under the blanket, and her pale cheeks were flushed. But strange to say that flush seemed brighter and coarser than the rosy cheeks of childhood. "It's a flush of fever," thought Svidrigailov. It was like the flush from drinking, as though she had been given a full glass to drink. Her crimson lips were hot and glowing; but what was this? He suddenly fancied that her long black eyelashes were quivering, as though the lids were opening and a sly crafty eye peeped out with an unchildlike wink, as though the little girl were not asleep, but pretending. Yes, it was so. Her lips parted in a smile. The corners of her mouth quivered, as though she were trying to control them. But now she quite gave up all effort, now it was a grin, a broad grin; there was something shameless, provocative in that quite unchildish face; it was depravity, it was the face of a harlot, the shameless face of a French harlot. Now both eyes opened wide; they turned a glowing, shameless glance upon him; they laughed, invited him. . . . There was something infinitely hideous and shocking in that laugh, in those eyes, in such nastiness in the face of a child. "What, at five years old?" Svidrigailov muttered in genuine horror. "What does it mean?" And now she turned to him, her little face all aglow, holding out her arms. . . . "Accursed child!" Svidrigailov cried, raising his hand to strike her, but at that moment he woke up.
He was in the same bed, still wrapped in the blanket. The candle had not been lighted, and daylight was streaming in at the windows.
"I've had nightmare all night!" He got up angrily, feeling utterly shattered; his bones ached. There was a thick mist outside and he could see nothing. It was nearly five. He had overslept himself! He got up, put on his still damp jacket and overcoat. Feeling the revolver in his pocket, he took it out and then he sat down, took a notebook out of his pocket and in the most conspicuous place on the title page wrote a few lines in large letters. Reading them over, he sank into thought with his elbows on the table. The revolver and the notebook lay beside him. Some flies woke up and settled on the untouched veal, which was still on the table. He stared at them and at last with his free right hand began trying to catch one. He tried till he was tired, but could not catch it. At last, realising that he was engaged in this interesting pursuit, he started, got up and walked resolutely out of the room. A minute later he was in the street.
A thick milky mist hung over the town. Svidrigailov walked along the slippery dirty wooden pavement towards the Little Neva. He was picturing the waters of the Little Neva swollen in the night, Petrovsky Island, the wet paths, the wet grass, the wet trees and bushes and at last the bush. . . . He began ill-humouredly staring at the houses, trying to think of something else. There was not a cabman or a passer-by in the street. The bright yellow, wooden, little houses looked dirty and dejected with their closed shutters. The cold and damp penetrated his whole body and he began to shiver. From time to time he came across shop signs and read each carefully. At last he reached the end of the wooden pavement and came to a big stone house. A dirty, shivering dog crossed his path with its tail between its legs. A man in a greatcoat lay face downwards; dead drunk, across the pavement. He looked at him and went on. A high tower stood up on the left. "Bah!" he shouted, "here is a place. Why should it be Petrovsky? It will be in the presence of an official witness anyway. . . ."
He almost smiled at this new thought and turned into the street where there was the big house with the tower. At the great closed gates of the house, a little man stood with his shoulder leaning against them, wrapped in a grey soldier's coat, with a copper Achilles helmet on his head. He cast a drowsy and indifferent glance at Svidrigailov. His face wore that perpetual look of peevish dejection, which is so sourly printed on all faces of Jewish race without exception. They both, Svidrigailov and Achilles, stared at each other for a few minutes without speaking. At last it struck Achilles as irregular for a man not drunk to be standing three steps from him, staring and not saying a word.
"What do you want here?" he said, without moving or changing his position.
"Nothing, brother, good morning," answered Svidrigailov.
"This isn't the place."
"I am going to foreign parts, brother."
"To foreign parts?"
"To America."
"America."
Svidrigailov took out the revolver and cocked it. Achilles raised his eyebrows.
"I say, this is not the place for such jokes!"
"Why shouldn't it be the place?"
"Because it isn't."
"Well, brother, I don't mind that. It's a good place. When you are asked, you just say he was going, he said, to America."
He put the revolver to his right temple.
"You can't do it here, it's not the place," cried Achilles, rousing himself, his eyes growing bigger and bigger.
Svidrigailov pulled the trigger.
--------
①一八六五年六月二十九日到三十日的夜里,彼得堡下了暴雨,河水猛涨,曾鸣炮报警。海军部大厦的尖顶上白天挂了信号旗,夜里挂上了灯笼。
他在狭长的走廊上走了很久,一个人也找不到,已经想要高声呼喊了,突然在一个黑暗的角落里,一个旧橱和门之间看到一个奇怪的东西,好像还是活的。他手持蜡烛,弯下腰去,看到一个孩子——一个五岁左右的小姑娘,不会更大了,她身上的那件小连衫裙已经湿透了,像一块擦地板的抹布,她浑身发抖,还在哭泣。看到斯维德里盖洛夫,她似乎并不害怕,却用她那双乌黑的大眼睛看着他,目光中流露出迟钝的惊讶神情,间或抽泣几声,这就像所有孩子一样,他们哭了很久,可是已经住了声,甚至已经不再伤心了,却还会偶尔突然呜咽一声。小姑娘的脸苍白而憔悴;她冻僵了,不过“她是怎么来到这里的?这么说,她是躲在这里,一宿没睡了。”他开始询问她。小姑娘突然变得活跃了,用孩子的语言很快地含糊不清地说了起来。她说到“妈妈”,说是“妈妈打”她,还说有只什么碗叫她给“打泼(破)了”。小姑娘说个不停;从她说的这些话里勉强可以猜出,这是个没人疼爱的孩子,她的母亲大概就是这家旅馆里的厨娘,经常喝得烂醉,把她毒打了一顿,还吓唬她;小姑娘打破了妈妈的一只碗,吓坏了,还在晚上就逃了出来;她大概在院子里什么地方躲了好久,一直淋着雨,最后偷偷地溜到这里,藏在大橱后面,在这个角落里坐了整整一夜,一直在哭,由于潮湿、黑暗和害怕,浑身颤抖,为了这一切,现在她准又要挨一顿打。他把她抱起来,回到自己的房间里,让她坐在床上,给她脱去衣服。她赤脚穿着的那双破鞋子湿淋淋的,仿佛整夜都站在水洼里。给她脱掉衣服以后,他把她放到床上,给她盖上被子,连头都裹到被子里。她立刻睡着了。做完这一切以后,他又忧郁地沉思起来。
“瞧,又想多管闲事了!”最后他突然想,心里有一种痛苦和气愤的感觉。多么荒唐!”他烦恼地拿起蜡烛,无论如何也要找到那个穿得破破烂烂的人,赶快离开这儿。“哎呀,小姑娘!”他心中暗暗地咒骂着想,已经在开门了,可是又回来再看看那个小姑娘,看她是不是还在睡,睡得怎么样?他小心翼翼地把被子稍微掀开一点儿,小姑娘睡得很熟,很香。她盖着被子,暖和过来了,苍白的面颊上已经泛起红晕。可是奇怪:这红晕看上去仿佛比通常孩子们脸上的红晕更加鲜艳、浓郁。“这是发烧的红晕,”斯维德里盖洛夫想,这好像是酒后的红晕,就好像给她喝了满满的一杯酒。鲜红的嘴唇仿佛在燃烧,在冒热气,不过这是怎么回事?他突然觉得,她那长长的黑睫毛仿佛在抖动,在眨巴着,好像抬起来了,一只狡猾、锐利、不像小孩子的眼睛从睫毛底下向外偷偷张望,在递眼色,似乎小姑娘并没睡着,而是假装睡着了。是的,果真是这样:她的嘴唇张开,微微一笑;嘴角微微抖动,仿佛还在忍着。不过,瞧,她已经再也忍不住了;这已经是名副其实的笑,明显的笑了;这张完全不像小孩子的脸上露出某种无耻的、挑逗的神情;这是淫荡,这是风流女人的面孔,是法国妓女的无耻的脸。瞧,那双眼睛已经毫不掩饰地睁开了,用火热的、无耻的目光打量着他,呼唤他,而且在笑……在这笑容里,在这双眼睛里,在这孩子的脸上这些下流无耻的表情里,含有某种丑恶和带有侮辱性的东西。“怎么!一个五岁的孩子!”斯维德里盖洛夫喃喃地说,他真的吓坏了,“这……这是怎么回事?”可是她已经把红艳艳的小脸完全转过来,面对着他,伸出双手……“啊,该死的!”斯维德里盖洛夫惊恐地大喊一声,对着她举起手来……可是就在这时候他醒了。
他仍然睡在那张床上,还是那样裹在被子里;蜡烛没有点着,窗子上已经发白,天完全亮了。
“整夜都在做恶梦!”他气愤地欠起身来,觉得浑身无力;骨头酸痛。外面大雾弥漫,什么也无法看清。已经快六点了:他睡过了头!他起来,穿上还在湿的短外衣和大衣。他在衣袋里摸到了那支手熗,掏出来,摆正了底火;然后坐下,从口袋里掏出一本笔记本,在最惹人注意的卷头页上写了几行大字。写完又看了一遍,把胳膊肘支在桌子上,陷入沉思。手熗和笔记本就放在那儿,就在胳膊肘旁。几只醒来的苍蝇在桌子上那盘没有吃过的小牛肉上慢慢地爬。他盯着它们看了好久,最后用那只空着的手去捉一只苍蝇。他捉了很久,弄得疲惫不堪,可是怎么也捉不到。最后发觉自己在干这种可笑的事,清醒过来,颤栗了一下,站起身,毅然走出了房门。
一分钟后,他已经来到了街上。
乳白色的浓雾笼罩在城市上空。斯维德里盖洛夫在用木块铺成的又滑又脏的马路上往小涅瓦河那个方向走去。他仿佛看到了一夜之间涨高了的小涅瓦河里的河水,仿佛看到了彼特罗夫岛、湿漉漉的小路、湿淋淋的草、湿淋淋的树和灌木丛,最后仿佛看到了那丛灌木……他遗憾地去看一排房子,为的是想点儿什么别的。大街上既没碰到一个行人,也没遇到一辆马车。那些关着百叶窗、颜色鲜黄的小木屋看上去凄凉而且肮脏。寒气和潮气透入他的全身,他觉得身上发冷了。有时他碰到一些小铺和菜店的招牌,每块招牌他都仔细看了一遍。木块铺的路面已经到了尽头。他已经来到一幢很大的石头房子旁边。一条身上很脏、冷得发抖的小狗,夹着尾巴从他面前跑着横穿过马路。一个穿着军大衣、烂醉如泥的醉鬼脸朝下横卧在人行道上。他朝这个醉鬼看了一眼,又往前走去。在他左边隐约露出一个高高的了望台。“噢!”他想,“就是这个地方嘛,干吗要到彼特罗夫公园去?至少有个正式的证人……”这个新想法几乎使他冷笑了一声,于是他转弯到×大街上去了。那幢有了望台的大房子就在这里。房子的大门关着,门边站着一个个子不高的人,肩膀靠在门上,他身上裹着一件士兵穿的灰大衣,头戴一顶阿喀琉斯①式的铜盔。他用睡眼惺忪的目光朝正在走近的斯维德里盖洛夫冷冷地瞟了一眼。他脸上露出那种永远感到不满的悲哀神情,犹太民族所有人的脸上无一例外都阴郁地带着这副神情。有那么一会工夫,他们俩,斯维德里盖洛夫和“阿喀琉斯”,都在默默地打量着对方。最后,“阿喀琉斯”觉得不大对头:这个人并没喝醉,可是站在离他三步远的地方,凝神注视着他,什么话也不说。
--------
①阿喀琉斯是荷马的史诗《伊里亚特》中最伟大的英雄。此处“阿喀琉斯式的铜盔”指消防队员的铜盔。
“您为什么,您要在这儿干什么?”他说,仍然一直一动不动,没有改变自己的姿势。
“啊,不干什么,老弟,您好!”斯维德里盖洛夫回答。
“这儿不是你要找的地方。”
“老弟,我要到外国去了。”
“到外国去?”
“去美国。”
“去美国?”
斯维德里盖洛夫掏出手熗,扳起板机。“阿喀琉斯”扬起了眉毛。
“您要干什么,这玩意儿,这里可不是干这种事的地方!”
“为什么不是地方?”
“因为,你找错地方了。”
“唉,老弟,这反正一样。地方挺不错;要是有人问起,你就回答,他说,到美国去了。”
他把手熗抵住自己右边的太阳穴。
“您要干什么,这里不行,这儿不是地方!”“阿喀琉斯”
突然慌了神,瞳孔变得越来越大。
斯维德里盖洛夫扳动了熗机。


峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 52楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第七章
The same day, about seven o'clock in the evening, Raskolnikov was on his way to his mother's and sister's lodging--the lodging in Bakaleyev's house which Razumihin had found for them. The stairs went up from the street. Raskolnikov walked with lagging steps, as though still hesitating whether to go or not. But nothing would have turned him back: his decision was taken.
"Besides, it doesn't matter, they still know nothing," he thought, "and they are used to thinking of me as eccentric."
He was appallingly dressed: his clothes torn and dirty, soaked with a night's rain. His face was almost distorted from fatigue, exposure, the inward conflict that had lasted for twenty-four hours. He had spent all the previous night alone, God knows where. But anyway he had reached a decision.
He knocked at the door which was opened by his mother. Dounia was not at home. Even the servant happened to be out. At first Pulcheria Alexandrovna was speechless with joy and surprise; then she took him by the hand and drew him into the room.
"Here you are!" she began, faltering with joy. "Don't be angry with me, Rodya, for welcoming you so foolishly with tears: I am laughing not crying. Did you think I was crying? No, I am delighted, but I've got into such a stupid habit of shedding tears. I've been like that ever since your father's death. I cry for anything. Sit down, dear boy, you must be tired; I see you are. Ah, how muddy you are."
"I was in the rain yesterday, mother. . . ." Raskolnikov began.
"No, no," Pulcheria Alexandrovna hurriedly interrupted, "you thought I was going to cross-question you in the womanish way I used to; don't be anxious, I understand, I understand it all: now I've learned the ways here and truly I see for myself that they are better. I've made up my mind once for all: how could I understand your plans and expect you to give an account of them? God knows what concerns and plans you may have, or what ideas you are hatching; so it's not for me to keep nudging your elbow, asking you what you are thinking about? But, my goodness! why am I running to and fro as though I were crazy . . . ? I am reading your article in the magazine for the third time, Rodya. Dmitri Prokofitch brought it to me. Directly I saw it I cried out to myself: 'There, foolish one,' I thought, 'that's what he is busy about; that's the solution of the mystery! Learned people are always like that. He may have some new ideas in his head just now; he is thinking them over and I worry him and upset him.' I read it, my dear, and of course there was a great deal I did not understand; but that's only natural--how should I?"
"Show me, mother."
Raskolnikov took the magazine and glanced at his article. Incongruous as it was with his mood and his circumstances, he felt that strange and bitter sweet sensation that every author experiences the first time he sees himself in print; besides, he was only twenty-three. It lasted only a moment. After reading a few lines he frowned and his heart throbbed with anguish. He recalled all the inward conflict of the preceding months. He flung the article on the table with disgust and anger.
"But, however foolish I may be, Rodya, I can see for myself that you will very soon be one of the leading--if not the leading man--in the world of Russian thought. And they dared to think you were mad! You don't know, but they really thought that. Ah, the despicable creatures, how could they understand genius! And Dounia, Dounia was all but believing it--what do you say to that? Your father sent twice to magazines--the first time poems (I've got the manuscript and will show you) and the second time a whole novel (I begged him to let me copy it out) and how we prayed that they should be taken--they weren't! I was breaking my heart, Rodya, six or seven days ago over your food and your clothes and the way you are living. But now I see again how foolish I was, for you can attain any position you like by your intellect and talent. No doubt you don't care about that for the present and you are occupied with much more important matters. . . ."
"Dounia's not at home, mother?"
"No, Rodya. I often don't see her; she leaves me alone. Dmitri Prokofitch comes to see me, it's so good of him, and he always talks about you. He loves you and respects you, my dear. I don't say that Dounia is very wanting in consideration. I am not complaining. She has her ways and I have mine; she seems to have got some secrets of late and I never have any secrets from you two. Of course, I am sure that Dounia has far too much sense, and besides she loves you and me . . . but I don't know what it will all lead to. You've made me so happy by coming now, Rodya, but she has missed you by going out; when she comes in I'll tell her: 'Your brother came in while you were out. Where have you been all this time?' You mustn't spoil me, Rodya, you know; come when you can, but if you can't, it doesn't matter, I can wait. I shall know, anyway, that you are fond of me, that will be enough for me. I shall read what you write, I shall hear about you from everyone, and sometimes you'll come yourself to see me. What could be better? Here you've come now to comfort your mother, I see that."
Here Pulcheria Alexandrovna began to cry.
"Here I am again! Don't mind my foolishness. My goodness, why am I sitting here?" she cried, jumping up. "There is coffee and I don't offer you any. Ah, that's the selfishness of old age. I'll get it at once!"
"Mother, don't trouble, I am going at once. I haven't come for that. Please listen to me."
Pulcheria Alexandrovna went up to him timidly.
"Mother, whatever happens, whatever you hear about me, whatever you are told about me, will you always love me as you do now?" he asked suddenly from the fullness of his heart, as though not thinking of his words and not weighing them.
"Rodya, Rodya, what is the matter? How can you ask me such a question? Why, who will tell me anything about you? Besides, I shouldn't believe anyone, I should refuse to listen."
"I've come to assure you that I've always loved you and I am glad that we are alone, even glad Dounia is out," he went on with the same impulse. "I have come to tell you that though you will be unhappy, you must believe that your son loves you now more than himself, and that all you thought about me, that I was cruel and didn't care about you, was all a mistake. I shall never cease to love you. . . . Well, that's enough: I thought I must do this and begin with this. . . ."
Pulcheria Alexandrovna embraced him in silence, pressing him to her bosom and weeping gently.
"I don't know what is wrong with you, Rodya," she said at last. "I've been thinking all this time that we were simply boring you and now I see that there is a great sorrow in store for you, and that's why you are miserable. I've foreseen it a long time, Rodya. Forgive me for speaking about it. I keep thinking about it and lie awake at nights. Your sister lay talking in her sleep all last night, talking of nothing but you. I caught something, but I couldn't make it out. I felt all the morning as though I were going to be hanged, waiting for something, expecting something, and now it has come! Rodya, Rodya, where are you going? You are going away somewhere?"
"Yes."
"That's what I thought! I can come with you, you know, if you need me. And Dounia, too; she loves you, she loves you dearly--and Sofya Semyonovna may come with us if you like. You see, I am glad to look upon her as a daughter even . . . Dmitri Prokofitch will help us to go together. But . . . where . . . are you going?"
"Good-bye, mother."
"What, to-day?" she cried, as though losing him for ever.
"I can't stay, I must go now. . . ."
"And can't I come with you?"
"No, but kneel down and pray to God for me. Your prayer perhaps will reach Him."
"Let me bless you and sign you with the cross. That's right, that's right. Oh, God, what are we doing?"
Yes, he was glad, he was very glad that there was no one there, that he was alone with his mother. For the first time after all those awful months his heart was softened. He fell down before her, he kissed her feet and both wept, embracing. And she was not surprised and did not question him this time. For some days she had realised that something awful was happening to her son and that now some terrible minute had come for him.
"Rodya, my darling, my first born," she said sobbing, "now you are just as when you were little. You would run like this to me and hug me and kiss me. When your father was living and we were poor, you comforted us simply by being with us and when I buried your father, how often we wept together at his grave and embraced, as now. And if I've been crying lately, it's that my mother's heart had a foreboding of trouble. The first time I saw you, that evening, you remember, as soon as we arrived here, I guessed simply from your eyes. My heart sank at once, and to-day when I opened the door and looked at you, I thought the fatal hour had come. Rodya, Rodya, you are not going away to-day?"
"No!"
"You'll come again?"
"Yes . . . I'll come."
"Rodya, don't be angry, I don't dare to question you. I know I mustn't. Only say two words to me--is it far where you are going?"
"Very far."
"What is awaiting you there? Some post or career for you?"
"What God sends . . . only pray for me." Raskolnikov went to the door, but she clutched him and gazed despairingly into his eyes. Her face worked with terror.
"Enough, mother," said Raskolnikov, deeply regretting that he had come.
"Not for ever, it's not yet for ever? You'll come, you'll come to-morrow?"
"I will, I will, good-bye." He tore himself away at last.
It was a warm, fresh, bright evening; it had cleared up in the morning. Raskolnikov went to his lodgings; he made haste. He wanted to finish all before sunset. He did not want to meet anyone till then. Going up the stairs he noticed that Nastasya rushed from the samovar to watch him intently. "Can anyone have come to see me?" he wondered. He had a disgusted vision of Porfiry. But opening his door he saw Dounia. She was sitting alone, plunged in deep thought, and looked as though she had been waiting a long time. He stopped short in the doorway. She rose from the sofa in dismay and stood up facing him. Her eyes, fixed upon him, betrayed horror and infinite grief. And from those eyes alone he saw at once that she knew.
就在那一天,不过已经是晚上六点多钟的时候,拉斯科利尼科夫来到了母亲和妹妹的住处,——就是拉祖米欣给她们找的、巴卡列耶夫房子里的那套房间。楼梯直接通到街上。拉斯科利尼科夫来到门口,一直还在逡巡不前,仿佛犹豫不决:是进去呢,还是不进去?不过他无论如何也不能回去;他的决心已经下定了。“何况她们反正还什么也不知道,”他想,“已经习惯把我看作一个怪人了……”他的衣服十分可怕:淋了一夜雨,衣服全都脏了,破了,很不像样了。由于疲倦,下雨,体力消耗殆尽,再加上差不多一昼夜的内心斗争,他的脸几乎变得十分难看。整整这一夜天知道他是独自在哪儿度过的。不过至少他已经拿定了主意。
他敲了敲门;给他开门的是母亲。杜涅奇卡不在家。就连女仆,那时也不在家里。起初普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜又惊又喜,一句话也说不出来,随后抓住他的一只手,把他拉进屋里。
“啊,你到底来了!”她高兴得讷讷地说。“你别生我的气,罗佳,你看我竟这么傻,流着泪来迎接你:我这是笑,不是哭。你以为我哭了吗?我这是高兴,可我就是有这么个傻习惯:动不动就流泪。从你父亲死后,不论遇到什么事,我就总是哭。你坐啊,亲爱的,你准是累了,我看得出来。哎哟,你弄得多么脏啊。”
“昨天我淋了雨,妈妈……”拉斯科利尼科夫开始说。
“啊,不,不!”普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜打断了他的话,高声惊呼,“你以为,我这就要照女人的老习惯问长问短吗,你放心好了。我明白了,什么都明白了,现在我已经学会照这儿的人那样行事了,真的,我自己也看出,这儿的人聪明些。我已经一下子彻底得出结论:我哪能懂得你的想法,怎么能要求你给我解释呢?也许,天知道你头脑里在考虑什么事情,有些什么计划,或者是产生了什么想法;我却老是催促你,问你:你在想什么!我真是……唉,上帝啊!我干吗老是毫无意义地问这问那呢……你瞧,罗佳,你在杂志上发表的那篇文章,我已经看过三遍了,德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇给我拿来的。我一看到,就啊了一声;我心想,我真是个傻瓜,瞧他在干什么啊,这就是谜底!说不定那时候他脑子里有了新的想法;他正在思考这些想法,我却折磨他,打搅他。我在看,我的孩子,当然我有很多地方看不懂;不过应该如此:我哪能懂呢?”
“让我看看,妈妈。”
拉斯科利尼科夫拿起报纸①,浏览了一下自己的那篇文章,不管这和他的处境与心情是多么矛盾,但他还是和所有作者第一次看到自己的作品发表时一样,心里有一种奇怪的、苦中有甜的感觉,更何况他才只有二十三岁呢。这种感觉只持续了极短暂的一会儿工夫。才看了几行,他就皱起眉头,可怕的忧愁揪紧了他的心。最近几个月来的内心斗争,一下子全都想起来了。他厌恶而懊恼地把那篇文章扔到了桌子上。
“不过,罗佳,不管我多么傻,可我还是能够作出判断,你很快就会成为第一流的人物,即使还不是我们学术界的头号人物。他们竟敢以为你疯了!哈——哈——哈!你不知道——他们都这么认为!唉,这些卑微的、微不足道的人啊,他们哪会懂得,聪明人像什么样子!就连杜涅奇卡也几乎相信了——你看!你的亡父给杂志投过两次稿——起初寄了一首诗去(笔记本我还保存着呢,什么时候拿给你看看),后来又寄去一篇中篇小说(我自己要求他让我来抄写),我们俩都祈祷上帝,希望能够采用,——可是没有采用!罗佳,六、七天前,我看到你的衣服,看到你是怎么生活的,吃的是什么,穿的是什么,我心里难过极了。可现在明白,这我又是傻了,因为只要你愿意,现在就能靠自己的智慧和天才立刻获得一切。这就是说,暂时你还不想这么做,现在你正在从事一些重要得多的工作……”
--------
①前面说是“杂志”。
“杜尼娅不在家吗,妈妈?”
“不在,罗佳。家里经常见不到她,老是把我一个人丢在家里。德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇,我要谢谢他,他常来看我,陪我坐一会儿,总是谈你的情况。他爱你,尊敬你,我的孩子。至于你妹妹,我倒不是说她很不尊敬我。我可没有抱怨。她有她的性格,我有我的性格;她已经有了她自己的秘密;唉,可对于你们,我什么秘密也没有。当然啦,我坚决相信,杜尼娅聪明过人,此外,她爱我,也爱你……不过我不知道,这一切会带来什么结果。罗佳,现在你来了,让我感到非常幸福,她却出去散步了;等她回来,我告诉她:你不在家的时候,你哥哥来过了,你刚刚去哪儿了?罗佳,你可不要太顺着我:你能来就来,不能来,也没办法,我可以等着。因为我还是会知道,你是爱我的,对我来说,这也就够了。我会看你的文章,从大家那里听到你的消息,有时你自己也会来看看我,还要怎么样呢?现在你不是来安慰母亲了吗?这我明白……”
这时普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜突然哭了。
“我又哭了!别管我这个傻瓜!哎呀,上帝啊,我怎么光坐着啊,”她喊了一声,很快站起来,“有咖啡呀,我竟不给你喝咖啡!瞧,这就是老太婆的自私自利。我这就去拿,这就去拿来!”
“妈妈,你别去弄了,我这就要走了。我不是为喝咖啡来的。请您听我说。”
普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜走到他跟前。
“妈妈,不管会出什么事,不管您听到关于我的什么消息,也不管别人对您怎样谈论我,您会不会还像现在这样爱我?”他突然十分激动地问,仿佛没仔细考虑自己的话,也没斟酌过所用的词句。
“罗佳,罗佳,你怎么了?你怎么能问这样的话!谁会对我谈论你呢?而且我也不会相信任何人的话,不管谁来,我都要把他赶出去。”
“我来是要请您相信,我一向爱您,现在我很高兴,因为只有我们两个人,杜涅奇卡不在家,我甚至也为此感到高兴,”他还是那样激动地接着说下去,“我来坦率地告诉您,尽管您会遭到不幸,不过您还是应该知道,现在您的儿子爱您胜过爱他自己,您以前认为我冷酷无情,我不爱您,这全都不是事实。我永远也不会不爱您……好,够了;我觉得,应该这样做,就这样开始……”
普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜默默地拥抱了他,把他紧紧搂在胸前,轻轻地哭了。
“罗佳,我不知道你是怎么了,”最后她说,“这些时候我一直以为,你只不过是对我们感到厌烦了,现在,根据一切情况来看,我明白,你是准备经受一场极大的灾难,所以你在发愁。这一点我早就预见到了,罗佳。原谅我谈起这件事来;我一直在想着这件事,每天夜里都睡不着。昨天夜里你妹妹躺在床上,也一夜都在说胡话,一直在想着你。我用心听着,听到了一些话,可是什么也听不懂。整整一早上,我一直像是要赴刑场一样,坐立不安,等待着什么,预感到会出事,瞧,这不是等到了!罗佳,罗佳,你要去哪里?你是要上什么地方去吗?”
“是的。”
“我就这么想嘛!我也能跟你一道去,如果你需要的话。还有杜尼娅;她爱你,她非常爱你,还有索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,让她也跟我们一道去,如果需要的话;你要知道,我甚至乐意收她做我的女儿。德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇会帮助我们一道做好准备……不过……你到底……要上哪儿去?”
“别了,妈妈。”
“怎么!今天就走!”她高声惊呼,好像会永远失去他。
“我不能,我该走了,我非常需要……”
“连我也不能跟你一起去吗?”
“不,请您跪下,为我向上帝祈祷吧。也许您的祈祷上帝会听得到的。”
“让我给你画个十字,为你祝福!对了,就这样,就是这样。噢,天哪,我们这是在做什么啊!”
是的,他觉得高兴,非常高兴,因为家里没有别人,只有他和母亲两个人。在这些可怕的日子里,他好像头一次变得心软了。他俯身跪倒在她面前,吻她的脚,母子俩抱头痛哭。这一次她并不觉得惊讶,也不详细询问他了。她早已明白,儿子发生了某种可怕的事,现在,对他来说,可怕的时刻到了。
“罗佳,我亲爱的,你是我的头生子,”她哭着说,“现在你又像小时候那样来到我跟前,像那时候那样拥抱我,吻我了;还在我和你父亲一起过穷日子的时候,单是有你和我们在一起,就使我们感到宽慰了,等到我安葬了你父亲,我和你曾经有多少次像现在这样互相拥抱着,坐在坟前痛哭啊。我早就在哭了,这是因为母亲的心早就预感到了这场灾难。那天晚上我第一次看到你,你记得吗,我们刚一来到这里的那天,我一看到你的目光,就猜到了,当时我的心猛然颤动了一下,今天一给你开门,朝你看了一眼,唉,我就想,看来,决定命运的时刻到了。罗佳,罗佳,你不是马上就走,是吗?”
“不是。”
“你还会来吗?”
“是的……会来。”
“罗佳,你别生气,我也不敢问你。我知道,我不敢问,不过你只要对我说一声,你要去的地方远吗?”
“很远。”
“去那里做什么,有什么工作,关系你的前途,还是怎么呢?”
“听天由命吧……只不过请您为我祈祷……”
拉斯科利尼科夫向门口走去,但是她一把抓住了他,用绝望的目光瞅着他的眼睛。她的脸吓得变了样。
“够了,妈妈,”拉斯科利尼科夫说,他竟忽然想要到这里来,对此他深感后悔。
“不是永别吧?还不是永别,不是吗?你还会来的,明天你还要来,不是吗?”
“我来,我来,别了。”
他终于挣脱了。
晚上空气清新,温暖,明亮;还从早晨起,天就已经晴了。拉斯科利尼科夫往自己的住处走去;他走得很快。他希望在日落前把一切全都结束。在那时以前他不希望遇到任何人。上楼去自己住的房子的时候,他发觉,娜斯塔西娅丢下了茶炊,凝神注视着他,一直目送着他上楼去。“不是我屋里有人吧?”他想。他怀着厌恶的心情,仿佛看到了波尔菲里。但是走到自己的房间,推开房门,他却看到了杜涅奇卡。她独自坐在屋里,陷入沉思,看来,早已在等着他了。他在门口站住了。她惊恐地从沙发上站起来,笔直地站在他面前。她的目光一动不动地凝望着他,露出恐惧和无限悲哀的神情。单看这目光,他立刻明白,她已经什么都知道了。
“我该进去呢,还是走开?”他疑虑地问。
"Am I to come in or go away?" he asked uncertainly.
"I've been all day with Sofya Semyonovna. We were both waiting for you. We thought that you would be sure to come there."
Raskolnikov went into the room and sank exhausted on a chair.
"I feel weak, Dounia, I am very tired; and I should have liked at this moment to be able to control myself."
He glanced at her mistrustfully.
"Where were you all night?"
"I don't remember clearly. You see, sister, I wanted to make up my mind once for all, and several times I walked by the Neva, I remember that I wanted to end it all there, but . . . I couldn't make up my mind," he whispered, looking at her mistrustfully again.
"Thank God! That was just what we were afraid of, Sofya Semyonovna and I. Then you still have faith in life? Thank God, thank God!"
Raskolnikov smiled bitterly.
"I haven't faith, but I have just been weeping in mother's arms; I haven't faith, but I have just asked her to pray for me. I don't know how it is, Dounia, I don't understand it."
"Have you been at mother's? Have you told her?" cried Dounia, horror- stricken. "Surely you haven't done that?"
"No, I didn't tell her . . . in words; but she understood a great deal. She heard you talking in your sleep. I am sure she half understands it already. Perhaps I did wrong in going to see her. I don't know why I did go. I am a contemptible person, Dounia."
"A contemptible person, but ready to face suffering! You are, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am going. At once. Yes, to escape the disgrace I thought of drowning myself, Dounia, but as I looked into the water, I thought that if I had considered myself strong till now I'd better not be afraid of disgrace," he said, hurrying on. "It's pride, Dounia."
"Pride, Rodya."
There was a gleam of fire in his lustreless eyes; he seemed to be glad to think that he was still proud.
"You don't think, sister, that I was simply afraid of the water?" he asked, looking into her face with a sinister smile.
"Oh, Rodya, hush!" cried Dounia bitterly. Silence lasted for two minutes. He sat with his eyes fixed on the floor; Dounia stood at the other end of the table and looked at him with anguish. Suddenly he got up.
"It's late, it's time to go! I am going at once to give myself up. But I don't know why I am going to give myself up."
Big tears fell down her cheeks.
"You are crying, sister, but can you hold out your hand to me?"
"You doubted it?"
She threw her arms round him.
"Aren't you half expiating your crime by facing the suffering?" she cried, holding him close and kissing him.
"Crime? What crime?" he cried in sudden fury. "That I killed a vile noxious insect, an old pawnbroker woman, of use to no one! . . . Killing her was atonement for forty sins. She was sucking the life out of poor people. Was that a crime? I am not thinking of it and I am not thinking of expiating it, and why are you all rubbing it in on all sides? 'A crime! a crime!' Only now I see clearly the imbecility of my cowardice, now that I have decided to face this superfluous disgrace. It's simply because I am contemptible and have nothing in me that I have decided to, perhaps too for my advantage, as that . . . Porfiry . . . suggested!"
"Brother, brother, what are you saying? Why, you have shed blood?" cried Dounia in despair.
"Which all men shed," he put in almost frantically, "which flows and has always flowed in streams, which is spilt like champagne, and for which men are crowned in the Capitol and are called afterwards benefactors of mankind. Look into it more carefully and understand it! I too wanted to do good to men and would have done hundreds, thousands of good deeds to make up for that one piece of stupidity, not stupidity even, simply clumsiness, for the idea was by no means so stupid as it seems now that it has failed. . . . (Everything seems stupid when it fails.) By that stupidity I only wanted to put myself into an independent position, to take the first step, to obtain means, and then everything would have been smoothed over by benefits immeasurable in comparison. . . . But I . . . I couldn't carry out even the first step, because I am contemptible, that's what's the matter! And yet I won't look at it as you do. If I had succeeded I should have been crowned with glory, but now I'm trapped."
"But that's not so, not so! Brother, what are you saying?"
"Ah, it's not picturesque, not aesthetically attractive! I fail to understand why bombarding people by regular siege is more honourable. The fear of appearances is the first symptom of impotence. I've never, never recognised this more clearly than now, and I am further than ever from seeing that what I did was a crime. I've never, never been stronger and more convinced than now."
The colour had rushed into his pale exhausted face, but as he uttered his last explanation, he happened to meet Dounia's eyes and he saw such anguish in them that he could not help being checked. He felt that he had, anyway, made these two poor women miserable, that he was, anyway, the cause . . .
"Dounia darling, if I am guilty forgive me (though I cannot be forgiven if I am guilty). Good-bye! We won't dispute. It's time, high time to go. Don't follow me, I beseech you, I have somewhere else to go. . . . But you go at once and sit with mother. I entreat you to! It's my last request of you. Don't leave her at all; I left her in a state of anxiety, that she is not fit to bear; she will die or go out of her mind. Be with her! Razumihin will be with you. I've been talking to him. . . . Don't cry about me: I'll try to be honest and manly all my life, even if I am a murderer. Perhaps I shall some day make a name. I won't disgrace you, you will see; I'll still show. . . . Now good-bye for the present," he concluded hurriedly, noticing again a strange expression in Dounia's eyes at his last words and promises. "Why are you crying? Don't cry, don't cry: we are not parting for ever! Ah, yes! Wait a minute, I'd forgotten!"
He went to the table, took up a thick dusty book, opened it and took from between the pages a little water-colour portrait on ivory. It was the portrait of his landlady's daughter, who had died of fever, that strange girl who had wanted to be a nun. For a minute he gazed at the delicate expressive face of his betrothed, kissed the portrait and gave it to Dounia.
"I used to talk a great deal about it to her, only to her," he said thoughtfully. "To her heart I confided much of what has since been so hideously realised. Don't be uneasy," he returned to Dounia, "she was as much opposed to it as you, and I am glad that she is gone. The great point is that everything now is going to be different, is going to be broken in two," he cried, suddenly returning to his dejection. "Everything, everything, and am I prepared for it? Do I want it myself? They say it is necessary for me to suffer! What's the object of these senseless sufferings? shall I know any better what they are for, when I am crushed by hardships and idiocy, and weak as an old man after twenty years' penal servitude? And what shall I have to live for then? Why am I consenting to that life now? Oh, I knew I was contemptible when I stood looking at the Neva at daybreak to-day!"
At last they both went out. It was hard for Dounia, but she loved him. She walked away, but after going fifty paces she turned round to look at him again. He was still in sight. At the corner he too turned and for the last time their eyes met; but noticing that she was looking at him, he motioned her away with impatience and even vexation, and turned the corner abruptly.
"I am wicked, I see that," he thought to himself, feeling ashamed a moment later of his angry gesture to Dounia. "But why are they so fond of me if I don't deserve it? Oh, if only I were alone and no one loved me and I too had never loved anyone! /Nothing of all this would have happened./ But I wonder shall I in those fifteen or twenty years grow so meek that I shall humble myself before people and whimper at every word that I am a criminal? Yes, that's it, that's it, that's what they are sending me there for, that's what they want. Look at them running to and fro about the streets, every one of them a scoundrel and a criminal at heart and, worse still, an idiot. But try to get me off and they'd be wild with righteous indignation. Oh, how I hate them all!"
He fell to musing by what process it could come to pass, that he could be humbled before all of them, indiscriminately--humbled by conviction. And yet why not? It must be so. Would not twenty years of continual bondage crush him utterly? Water wears out a stone. And why, why should he live after that? Why should he go now when he knew that it would be so? It was the hundredth time perhaps that he had asked himself that question since the previous evening, but still he went.
“我在索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜家坐了整整一天,我们俩都在等着你。我们以为,你一定会到那里去。”
拉斯科利尼科夫走进屋里,疲惫不堪地坐到椅子上。
“我有点儿虚弱,杜尼娅;已经很累了;可我希望至少在这个时候能够完全控制住自己。”
他怀疑地瞅了她一眼。
“这一夜你是在哪里度过的?”
“记不清了;你要知道,妹妹,我想彻底解决,好多次从涅瓦河附近走过;这我记得。我想在那儿结束生命,可是……
我下不了决心……”他喃喃地说,又怀疑地看看杜尼娅。
“谢天谢地!我们担心的就正是这一点,我和索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜!这么说,你对生活还有信心:谢天谢地,谢天谢地!”
拉斯科利尼科夫痛苦地笑了笑。
“我没有信心了,可是刚刚和母亲抱头痛哭了一场,我没有信心,可是我请求她为我祈祷。天晓得这是怎么回事,杜涅奇卡,我什么也不明白。”
“你去过母亲那里?你也告诉她了?”杜尼娅惊恐地高声说。“难道你决心告诉她了?”
“不,我没说……没用语言说;不过有很多事情她都明白了。夜里她听到你在说胡话。我相信,有一半她已经明白了。我去那里,也许做得不对。就连为什么要去,我也不知道。我是个卑鄙的人,杜尼娅。”
“卑鄙的人,可是情愿去受苦!你会去的,不是吗?”
“我去。这就去。是的,为了逃避这种耻辱,我也曾想投河自尽,杜尼娅,可是已经站在河边的时候,我想,既然在此以前我自认为是坚强的,那么现在就也不要骇怕耻辱,”他抢先说。“这是自尊心吗,杜尼娅?”
“是自尊心,罗佳。”
他那双黯然无神的眼睛仿佛突然一亮;他还有自尊心,他似乎为此感到高兴了。
“妹妹,你不认为,我只不过是看到水觉得害怕了吗?”他问,看着她的脸,怪难看地笑了笑。
“噢,罗佳,够了!”杜尼娅痛苦地高声说。
有两分钟光景,谁都没有说话。他坐着,垂下头,眼睛看着地下;杜涅奇卡站在桌子的另一头,痛苦地看着他,突然他站了起来:
“晚了,该走了。我这就去自首。不过我不知道,我为什么要去自首。”
大滴大滴的泪珠顺着她的面颊流了下来。
“你哭了,妹妹,你能和我握握手吗?”
“连这你也怀疑吗?”
她紧紧拥抱了他。
“你去受苦,难道不是已经把你的一半罪行洗刷掉了吗?”
她高声呼喊,紧紧拥抱他,吻他。
“罪行?什么罪行?”他突然出乎意外地发疯似地高声叫喊,“我杀了一个可恶的、极端有害的虱子,杀了一个谁也不需要的、放高利贷的老太婆,杀了一个吸穷人血的老太婆,杀了她,四十桩罪行都可以得到宽恕,这也叫犯罪?我不认为这是罪行,也不想洗刷它。为什么四面八方,大家都跟我纠缠不休,提醒我说:‘罪行,罪行!’现在我才清清楚楚看出,我的意志薄弱是多么荒谬,正是现在,在我决心要去承受这一不必要的耻辱的时候,这才明白过来!只不过是由于卑鄙和无能,我才作出了这样的决定,也许还为了这个……波尔菲里表示愿意提供的好处!……”
“哥哥,哥哥,你这是说的什么话!要知道,你杀了人,让人流了血呀!”杜尼娅绝望地叫喊。
“大家都在杀人,让人流血,”他几乎发狂似地接着话茬说,“全世界都在流血,从前也一直在流血,血像瀑布样奔腾直泻,像香槟样汩汩地流淌,为此才在卡皮托利丘上给他加冕①,后来还把他叫作人类的恩人!你只要较为留心看一看,就会看得清清楚楚!我想为人们造福,我要做千万件好事来弥补这一件蠢事,这甚至不是蠢事,只不过是笨事,因为这个想法完全不像现在已经失败了的时候看起来那么蠢……(失败了的时候,什么事情看起来都是愚蠢的!)我做这件蠢事,只不过是想让自己获得独立自主的地位,迈出第一步,弄到钱,然后就可以用无比的好处来改正一切……可是我,我连第一步都不能坚持,因为我是个卑鄙的人!这就是问题所在!可我还是不会用你们的观点来看问题:如果我成功的话,就会给我戴上桂冠,现在我却落入了圈套!”
--------
①卡皮托利丘,在罗马,丘上建有宫殿,古罗马时,此丘起过堡垒的作用。这里指曾在卡皮托利丘上为获得军团指挥官称号的尤里·凯撒(纪元前一○○——纪元前四四)加冕。
“可是这不是那么回事,完全不是那么回事,你这是说的什么话!”
“啊!不是那种方式,从美学角度来看,方式不那么优美!哼,我根本不懂:为什么用炸弹杀人,正面围攻,是更值得尊敬的方式?对美学的畏惧就是无能为力的最初征兆!……我还从来,从来没有比现在更清楚地意识到这一点,而且比以往任何时候都更不理解我的罪行!我还从来,从来也没像现在这样坚强,深信不疑!……”
一阵红潮甚至涌上他那苍白和神情疲惫的脸。但是说完最后这几句情绪激昂的话,他的目光无意中碰到了杜尼娅的眼睛,从她的眼神里,他看出她为他感到多么痛苦,不由得清醒了过来。他感到,他毕竟使这两个可怜的女人变得那样不幸。她们的痛苦毕竟是他造成的……
“杜尼娅,亲爱的!如果我有罪,请你原谅我(虽说我是不能原谅的,如果我有罪的话)。别了!我们不要争论了!时候到了,是该走了。你别跟着我,我求求你,我还得去……现在你去吧,立刻去坐到母亲身边。我恳求你这样做!这是我对你,最后的、也是最大的请求。永远也别离开她,我使她为我担忧,她未必能经受得住这样的忧愁:她会愁死,或者会发疯。你要和她在一起!拉祖米欣会陪伴着你们;我跟他说过……不要为我哭泣:我要努力做一个既勇敢而又正直的人,终生如此,尽管我是个杀人凶手。说不定有朝一日你会听到我的名字。我决不会给你们丢脸,你瞧着吧;我还要让人看到……现在暂时再见了,”他赶紧结束了自己的话,在他说最后几句话并许下诺言的时候,又看到杜尼娅眼里有一种奇怪的神情。“你这样痛哭做什么?别哭,别哭了;我们并不是永别,不是吗!……啊,对了!等等,我忘了!……”
他走到桌边,拿起一本尘封的厚书,把它打开,取出夹在书中的一幅小小的肖像,肖像是用水彩颜料画在象牙上的。这是房东女儿的肖像,她就是那个想进修道院的古怪的姑娘,也就是死于热病的、他以前的未婚妻。他对着这张富于表情的病态的脸细细端详了一会儿,把它交给了杜涅奇卡。
“关于这件事,我和她商量过很多次了,只跟她一个人商量过,”他沉思地说,“后来如此荒谬地成为现实的这一切,有很多我都告诉过她。你别担心,”他对杜尼娅说,“她也和你一样,不同意我的看法,我很高兴她已不在人世了。主要的,主要的是,现在一切都将走上新的轨道,一切都将突然改变,仿佛折作两半,”他突然高声说,重又陷入烦恼之中,“一切的一切都会发生变化,可我对此是不是已经作好了准备?我自己是不是希望这样?据说,我需要经受这样的锻炼!干吗,干吗需要这些毫无意义的锻炼?这些锻炼有什么用处,服完二十年苦役以后,苦难和愚蠢的劳役会把我压垮,身体会衰弱得像一个老人,到那时我会比现在更有觉悟吗,到那时候我还活着干什么?现在我为什么同意这样活着?噢,今天早晨,黎明时分,我站在涅瓦河边的时候,就已经知道,我是个卑鄙的人了!”
他们两人终于出来了。杜尼娅心情沉重,可是她爱他!她走了,可是走了五十来步,回过头来,再一次望了望他。还可以看得到他。不过,走到拐角上,他也回过头来;他们的目光最后一次碰到了一起;可是他发觉她在望着他,于是不耐烦地、甚至是恼怒地挥了挥手,叫她走,自己也急遽地拐了个弯走了。
“我太狠心了,这我明白,”他暗自想,过了一会儿,他为自己恼怒地向杜尼娅挥手感到羞愧了。“不过她们为什么这样爱我呢,既然我不配让她们爱!啊,如果我孑然一身,谁也不爱我,我永远也不爱任何人,那该多好!那就不会有这一切了!真想知道,难道在这未来的十五年到二十年里,我的心会变得那么温顺,我会恭恭敬敬地向人诉苦,开口闭口自称强盗吗?是的,正是这样,正是这样!正是为此,他们现在才要流放我,他们需要的就是这个……瞧,他们一个个在街上匆匆来来往往,而就其天性来说,他们个个都是卑鄙的家伙,都是强盗;甚至更糟——都是白痴!如果不流放我,他们准会义愤填膺,气得发狂!噢,我是多么恨他们啊,恨他们所有的人!”
他陷入沉思,在想:“要经过一个什么样的过程,才能终于使他在他们大家面前俯首贴耳,不再考虑什么,深信理应如此!那又怎样呢,为什么不呢?当然应该这样。难道二十年不断的压迫不会完全达到这样的目的吗?水滴石穿。而在这以后,为什么,为什么还要活着,既然我知道,一切都一定是这样,完全像书本上写的那样,而不会是另一个样子,那我现在为什么要去自首呢!”
从昨晚起,他也许已经成百次向自己提出这一问题了,可他还是去了。

峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 53楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

第八章
When he went into Sonia's room, it was already getting dark. All day Sonia had been waiting for him in terrible anxiety. Dounia had been waiting with her. She had come to her that morning, remembering Svidrigailov's words that Sonia knew. We will not describe the conversation and tears of the two girls, and how friendly they became. Dounia gained one comfort at least from that interview, that her brother would not be alone. He had gone to her, Sonia, first with his confession; he had gone to her for human fellowship when he needed it; she would go with him wherever fate might send him. Dounia did not ask, but she knew it was so. She looked at Sonia almost with reverence and at first almost embarrassed her by it. Sonia was almost on the point of tears. She felt herself, on the contrary, hardly worthy to look at Dounia. Dounia's gracious image when she had bowed to her so attentively and respectfully at their first meeting in Raskolnikov's room had remained in her mind as one of the fairest visions of her life.
Dounia at last became impatient and, leaving Sonia, went to her brother's room to await him there; she kept thinking that he would come there first. When she had gone, Sonia began to be tortured by the dread of his committing suicide, and Dounia too feared it. But they had spent the day trying to persuade each other that that could not be, and both were less anxious while they were together. As soon as they parted, each thought of nothing else. Sonia remembered how Svidrigailov had said to her the day before that Raskolnikov had two alternatives--Siberia or . . . Besides she knew his vanity, his pride and his lack of faith.
"Is it possible that he has nothing but cowardice and fear of death to make him live?" she thought at last in despair.
Meanwhile the sun was setting. Sonia was standing in dejection, looking intently out of the window, but from it she could see nothing but the unwhitewashed blank wall of the next house. At last when she began to feel sure of his death--he walked into the room.
She gave a cry of joy, but looking carefully into his face she turned pale.
"Yes," said Raskolnikov, smiling. "I have come for your cross, Sonia. It was you told me to go to the cross-roads; why is it you are frightened now it's come to that?"
Sonia gazed at him astonished. His tone seemed strange to her; a cold shiver ran over her, but in a moment she guessed that the tone and the words were a mask. He spoke to her looking away, as though to avoid meeting her eyes.
"You see, Sonia, I've decided that it will be better so. There is one fact. . . . But it's a long story and there's no need to discuss it. But do you know what angers me? It annoys me that all those stupid brutish faces will be gaping at me directly, pestering me with their stupid questions, which I shall have to answer--they'll point their fingers at me. . . . Tfoo! You know I am not going to Porfiry, I am sick of him. I'd rather go to my friend, the Explosive Lieutenant; how I shall surprise him, what a sensation I shall make! But I must be cooler; I've become too irritable of late. You know I was nearly shaking my fist at my sister just now, because she turned to take a last look at me. It's a brutal state to be in! Ah! what am I coming to! Well, where are the crosses?"
He seemed hardly to know what he was doing. He could not stay still or concentrate his attention on anything; his ideas seemed to gallop after one another, he talked incoherently, his hands trembled slightly.
Without a word Sonia took out of the drawer two crosses, one of cypress wood and one of copper. She made the sign of the cross over herself and over him, and put the wooden cross on his neck.
"It's the symbol of my taking up the cross," he laughed. "As though I had not suffered much till now! The wooden cross, that is the peasant one; the copper one, that is Lizaveta's--you will wear yourself, show me! So she had it on . . . at that moment? I remember two things like these too, a silver one and a little ikon. I threw them back on the old woman's neck. Those would be appropriate now, really, those are what I ought to put on now. . . . But I am talking nonsense and forgetting what matters; I'm somehow forgetful. . . . You see I have come to warn you, Sonia, so that you might know . . . that's all-- that's all I came for. But I thought I had more to say. You wanted me to go yourself. Well, now I am going to prison and you'll have your wish. Well, what are you crying for? You too? Don't. Leave off! Oh, how I hate it all!"
But his feeling was stirred; his heart ached, as he looked at her. "Why is she grieving too?" he thought to himself. "What am I to her? Why does she weep? Why is she looking after me, like my mother or Dounia? She'll be my nurse."
"Cross yourself, say at least one prayer," Sonia begged in a timid broken voice.
"Oh certainly, as much as you like! And sincerely, Sonia, sincerely. . . ."
But he wanted to say something quite different.
He crossed himself several times. Sonia took up her shawl and put it over her head. It was the green /drap de dames/ shawl of which Marmeladov had spoken, "the family shawl." Raskolnikov thought of that looking at it, but he did not ask. He began to feel himself that he was certainly forgetting things and was disgustingly agitated. He was frightened at this. He was suddenly struck too by the thought that Sonia meant to go with him.
"What are you doing? Where are you going? Stay here, stay! I'll go alone," he cried in cowardly vexation, and almost resentful, he moved towards the door. "What's the use of going in procession?" he muttered going out.
Sonia remained standing in the middle of the room. He had not even said good-bye to her; he had forgotten her. A poignant and rebellious doubt surged in his heart.
"Was it right, was it right, all this?" he thought again as he went down the stairs. "Couldn't he stop and retract it all . . . and not go?"
But still he went. He felt suddenly once for all that he mustn't ask himself questions. As he turned into the street he remembered that he had not said good-bye to Sonia, that he had left her in the middle of the room in her green shawl, not daring to stir after he had shouted at her, and he stopped short for a moment. At the same instant, another thought dawned upon him, as though it had been lying in wait to strike him then.
"Why, with what object did I go to her just now? I told her--on business; on what business? I had no sort of business! To tell her I was /going/; but where was the need? Do I love her? No, no, I drove her away just now like a dog. Did I want her crosses? Oh, how low I've sunk! No, I wanted her tears, I wanted to see her terror, to see how her heart ached! I had to have something to cling to, something to delay me, some friendly face to see! And I dared to believe in myself, to dream of what I would do! I am a beggarly contemptible wretch, contemptible!"
He walked along the canal bank, and he had not much further to go. But on reaching the bridge he stopped and turning out of his way along it went to the Hay Market.
He looked eagerly to right and left, gazed intently at every object and could not fix his attention on anything; everything slipped away. "In another week, another month I shall be driven in a prison van over this bridge, how shall I look at the canal then? I should like to remember this!" slipped into his mind. "Look at this sign! How shall I read those letters then? It's written here 'Campany,' that's a thing to remember, that letter /a/, and to look at it again in a month--how shall I look at it then? What shall I be feeling and thinking then? . . . How trivial it all must be, what I am fretting about now! Of course it must all be interesting . . . in its way . . . (Ha-ha-ha! What am I thinking about?) I am becoming a baby, I am showing off to myself; why am I ashamed? Foo! how people shove! that fat man--a German he must be--who pushed against me, does he know whom he pushed? There's a peasant woman with a baby, begging. It's curious that she thinks me happier than she is. I might give her something, for the incongruity of it. Here's a five copeck piece left in my pocket, where did I get it? Here, here . . . take it, my good woman!"
"God bless you," the beggar chanted in a lachrymose voice.
He went into the Hay Market. It was distasteful, very distasteful to be in a crowd, but he walked just where he saw most people. He would have given anything in the world to be alone; but he knew himself that he would not have remained alone for a moment. There was a man drunk and disorderly in the crowd; he kept trying to dance and falling down. There was a ring round him. Raskolnikov squeezed his way through the crowd, stared for some minutes at the drunken man and suddenly gave a short jerky laugh. A minute later he had forgotten him and did not see him, though he still stared. He moved away at last, not remembering where he was; but when he got into the middle of the square an emotion suddenly came over him, overwhelming him body and mind.
He suddenly recalled Sonia's words, "Go to the cross-roads, bow down to the people, kiss the earth, for you have sinned against it too, and say aloud to the whole world, 'I am a murderer.'" He trembled, remembering that. And the hopeless misery and anxiety of all that time, especially of the last hours, had weighed so heavily upon him that he positively clutched at the chance of this new unmixed, complete sensation. It came over him like a fit; it was like a single spark kindled in his soul and spreading fire through him. Everything in him softened at once and the tears started into his eyes. He fell to the earth on the spot. . . .
He knelt down in the middle of the square, bowed down to the earth, and kissed that filthy earth with bliss and rapture. He got up and bowed down a second time.
"He's boozed," a youth near him observed.
他走进索尼娅的住处的时候,已经是暮色苍茫,天快黑了。整整一天,索尼娅一直在异常焦急不安地等着他。她和杜尼娅一起在等着他。杜尼娅想起斯维德里盖洛夫昨天说的话:索尼娅“知道这件事”,从一清早就到她这儿来了。两个女人谈了些什么,以及她们怎样流泪,怎样成了朋友,我们就不详谈了。杜尼娅从这次会晤中至少得到了一点儿安慰:哥哥不会是孤单单的独自一人,因为他来找过她,找过索尼娅,首先向她坦白了自己的事情;当他需要有一个人支持他的时候,他找到了她;不管命运让他去哪里,她都一定会跟着他。杜尼娅并没问过,不过知道,一定会是这样。她甚至怀着尊敬的心情看着索尼娅,起初,杜尼娅对她的这种尊敬心情几乎使索尼娅发窘了。索尼娅甚至差点儿没哭出来:恰恰相反,她认为自己连对杜尼娅看一眼都不配。自从她和杜尼娅在拉斯科利尼科夫那里第一次见面,杜尼娅那样恳切和尊敬地对她行礼,杜尼娅优美的形象就作为她一生中所见到的最完美和不可企及的幻影,永远深深留在了她的心中。
杜涅奇卡终于等得失去耐心,于是离开索尼娅,到她哥哥的住处去等他了,她总觉得,他会先回住处去。只剩下索尼娅独自一人之后,一想到他也许当真会自杀,她立刻感到害怕了,为此心里痛苦不堪。杜尼娅担心的也是这一点。但是一天来她们俩总是争先恐后地举出种种理由互相说服对方,让对方相信,这决不可能,而且当她们在一起的时候,两人都觉得比较放心些。现在,两人刚一分手,无论是这一个,还是另一个,心里都只是想着这一点。索尼娅想起,昨天斯维德里盖洛夫对她说,拉斯科利尼科夫有两条路——弗拉基米尔,或者是……何况她知道,他虚荣,傲慢自大,有很强的自尊心,而且不信上帝。“难道仅仅由于怯懦和怕死,就能使他活下去吗?”最后她绝望地想。这时太阳已经西沉。她愁眉不展地站在窗前,凝望着窗外,但是从这面窗子望出去,只能看到邻家一堵没有粉刷过的墙壁。最后,当她完全相信,这个不幸的人准是已经死了的时候,他走进了她的房间。
一声惊喜的呼喊从她胸中冲了出来。但是凝神注视了一下他的脸,她突然脸色变得惨白。
“嗯,是的!”拉斯科利尼科夫冷笑着说,“我是来拿你的十字架的,索尼娅。是你让我到十字路口去;怎么,等到真的要去了,现在你却害怕了吗?”
索尼娅惊愕地瞅着他。她觉得这种语气很怪;不由得打了个寒颤,可是稍过了一会儿,她猜到,这种语气和这些话都是假的。他和她说话的时候,不知为什么眼睛望着角落里,仿佛避免正视她的脸。
“你要知道,索尼娅,我考虑过了,大概这样会好些。这儿有一个情况……唉,说来话长,而且也没什么好说的。你知道吗,是什么惹得我发火?使我感到恼怒的是,所有这些愚蠢、凶狠的嘴脸立刻就会围住我,瞪着眼睛直瞅着我,向我提出他们那些愚蠢的问题,对这些问题都得回答,他们还会伸出手指来指着我……呸!你要知道,我不去波尔菲里那里;他让我厌烦了。我最好还是去找我的朋友火药桶中尉,让他大吃一惊,就某一点来说,我也会给他留下深刻的印象。应该冷静一点儿;最近这段时间我肝火太旺了。你相信吗,刚才我几乎用拳头吓唬我妹妹,就只因为她回过头来看了我最后一眼。这种行为是可恶的!唉,我变成什么样了?好吧,十字架呢?”
他仿佛惘然若失。他甚至不能在一个地方站上一分钟,对什么东西都不能集中注意力;他思绪紊乱,百感交集,语无伦次;双手微微发抖。
索尼娅默默地从抽屉里拿出两个十字架,一个柏木的和一个铜的,自己画了个十字,也给他画了个十字,把那个柏木的十字架给他佩戴在胸前。
“就是说,这是我背十字架的象征,嘿!嘿!好像到目前为止我受的苦还太少似的!柏木的,也就是普通老百姓的;铜的——这是莉扎薇塔的,你自己佩戴着,——让我看看好吗?在那时候……这个十字架戴在她身上吗?我知道两个也像这样的十字架,一个银的和一个小圣像。那时候我把它们扔到老太婆的胸前了。那两个十字架现在刚好可以用得上,真的,我该戴那两个……不过,我一直在胡说八道,把正事都忘了;我有点儿心不在焉!……你要知道,索尼娅,我来,其实是为了预先通知你,让你知道……好,就是这些……我只不过是为这件事才来的。(嗯哼,不过,我想再多说几句。)你不是自己希望我去吗,瞧,现在我就要去坐牢,你的愿望就要实现了;你哭什么呢?你也哭吗?别哭了,够了;唉,这一切让我多么难过啊!”
然而,他还是动了感情;看着她,他的心揪紧了。“这一个,这一个为什么哭呢?”他暗自想,“我是她的什么人?她为什么哭,为什么也像母亲或杜尼娅那样为我准备一切?她将要作我的保姆啊!”
“你画个十字,哪怕祈祷一次也好,”索尼娅用发抖的、怯生生的声音请求他。
“啊,好吧,你要我画多少次都行!而且是真心诚意的,索尼娅,真心诚意的……”
不过他想说的却是旁的。
他画了好几次十字。索尼娅拿起自己的头巾,披在头上。这是一块德拉德达姆呢的绿色头巾,大概就是马尔梅拉多夫当时提起过的那块“全家公用的”头巾。这个想法在拉斯科利尼科夫的头脑里忽然一闪,不过他没问。真的,他自己已经开始感觉到,他非常心不在焉,不知为什么毫无道理地心烦意乱。这使他感到害怕。索尼娅想和他一道去,这使他突然吃了一惊。
“你怎么了!你去哪里?你留下来,你留下来!我一个人去,”他胆怯而恼怒地喊了一声,几乎是气愤地往门口走去。
“干吗要有人跟着!”他临出去的时候又含糊不清地说。
索尼娅站在了房屋中间。他甚至没有和她告别,他已经把她给忘了;他心中突然出现了一个起来反抗的、尖刻的疑问。
“是这样吗,这一切真的是这样吗?”下楼的时候,他又想,“难道不能再等一等,设法挽救一切……不要去吗?”
可他还是去了。他突然完全意识到,用不着再向自己提出问题了。来到街上以后,他想起,没跟索尼娅告别,她站在房屋中间,披着那块绿色的头巾,由于他那一声叫喊,吓得她连动都不敢动了,于是他停下来,稍站了一下。可是就在这一瞬间,突然有一个想法使他恍然明白过来,——仿佛这个想法一直在等待时机,要让他大吃一惊似的。
“喂,刚才我是为什么,为了什么来找她?我对她说:有事;到底有什么事?根本没有什么事!向她宣布,我要去;那又怎样呢?好重要的事情!我是不是爱她呢?不爱,不是吗,不爱?刚才我不是像赶走一条狗一样,把她赶开了吗。我真的是需要她的十字架吗?噢,我堕落到了多么卑鄙的程度!不,我需要的是她的眼泪,我需要看到她那惊恐的神情,需要看看她是多么伤心,多么痛苦!需要至少抓住个什么机会,需要拖延时间,需要看看她!而我竟敢对自己抱着这么大的希望,对自己存有这么多幻想,我是个叫化子,我是个微不足道的人,我是个卑鄙的人,卑鄙的人!”
他顺着运河的沿岸街走着,离他要去的地方已经不远了。但是走到桥边,他站住了,突然转弯上了桥,往干草广场那边走去。
他贪婪地向左右观看,神情紧张地细细端详每样东西,可是无论看什么都不能集中注意力;一切都从他眼前悄悄地溜走了。“再过一个星期,再过一个月,就要把我关在囚车里,从这座桥上经过,押解到什么地方去,到那时候我会怎样看这条运河呢,——要是能记住它就好了?”这个想法在他头脑里忽然一闪。“瞧这块招牌,到那时候我会怎样来看这些字母呢?这上面写的是‘股份公司’,嗯,我要记住这个a,记住a这个字母,过一个月以后再来看它,看这个a:到那时候我会怎样来看它呢?到那时候会有什么感觉,会想什么呢?……天哪,这一切想必是多么平凡,现在我……关心的这一切想必是多么微不足道!当然啦,从某一点来看……这一切想必是很有意思的……(哈——哈——哈!我在想什么啊!)我变成个小孩子了,我自己在跟自己吹牛;我为什么要让自己感到难为情呢?呸,多么拥挤啊!瞧这个胖子,大概是个德国人,——他推了我一下:哼,他知道,他推的是什么人吗?一个抱着小孩的女人在乞讨,她以为我比她幸福,这可真有意思。给她几个钱,解解闷,怎么样呢。哈,口袋儿里还有五个戈比,这是哪儿来的?给,给……拿着吧,老大娘!”
“上帝保佑你!”听到了那个女乞丐凄惨的声音。
他走进干草广场。他不高兴、很不乐意碰到人,可是却往人更多的地方走去。他情愿付出一切代价,只要能让他只剩下独自一人;可是他又觉得,连一分钟也不可能只有他独自一个人。有个醉鬼在人群中胡闹:他一直想要跳舞,可总是摔倒。人们围住了他。拉斯科利尼科夫挤进人群里,对着那个醉鬼看了好几分钟,突然短促地、断断续续地哈哈大笑起来。稍过了一会儿,他已经把那个醉鬼忘了,甚至看不见他了,尽管还在看着他。他终于走开了,甚至记不得自己是在什么地方;可是等他走到广场中心,突然一阵感情冲动,有一种心情一下子控制了他,控制了他的整个身心。
他突然想起了索尼娅的话:“你去到十字路口,给人们躬身施礼,吻吻大地,因为你对大地也犯了罪,然后对着全世界大声说:‘我是杀人凶手!’”想起这些话,他不由得浑身发抖了。在这一段时间里,特别是最后几个钟头里,他心中感觉到的那种走投无路的苦恼和担心已经压垮了他,使他的精神崩溃了,所以他情不自禁,急欲抓住这个机会,来体验一下这种纯洁、充实、前所未有的感受。这感情突然爆发,涌上他的心头:心中好似迸发出一颗火星,突然熊熊燃烧起来,烧遍了他的全身。他的心立刻软了,泪如泉涌。他站在那里,突然伏倒在地上……
他跪倒在广场中央,在地上磕头,怀着喜悦和幸福的心情吻了吻这肮脏的土地。他站起来,又跪下去磕头。
“瞧,他喝醉了!”他身旁有个小伙子说。
突然听到一阵笑声。
“他这是要去耶路撒冷啊,朋友们,在跟孩子们,跟祖国告别,向全世界磕头,在吻京城圣彼得堡和它的土地呢,”一个喝醉的小市民补充说。
“小伙子还年轻嘛!”第三个插了一句。
“还是个高贵的人呢!”有人声音庄重地说。
There was a roar of laughter.
"He's going to Jerusalem, brothers, and saying good-bye to his children and his country. He's bowing down to all the world and kissing the great city of St. Petersburg and its pavement," added a workman who was a little drunk.
"Quite a young man, too!" observed a third.
"And a gentleman," someone observed soberly.
"There's no knowing who's a gentleman and who isn't nowadays."
These exclamations and remarks checked Raskolnikov, and the words, "I am a murderer," which were perhaps on the point of dropping from his lips, died away. He bore these remarks quietly, however, and, without looking round, he turned down a street leading to the police office. He had a glimpse of something on the way which did not surprise him; he had felt that it must be so. The second time he bowed down in the Hay Market he saw, standing fifty paces from him on the left, Sonia. She was hiding from him behind one of the wooden shanties in the market-place. She had followed him then on his painful way! Raskolnikov at that moment felt and knew once for all that Sonia was with him for ever and would follow him to the ends of the earth, wherever fate might take him. It wrung his heart . . . but he was just reaching the fatal place.
He went into the yard fairly resolutely. He had to mount to the third storey. "I shall be some time going up," he thought. He felt as though the fateful moment was still far off, as though he had plenty of time left for consideration.
Again the same rubbish, the same eggshells lying about on the spiral stairs, again the open doors of the flats, again the same kitchens and the same fumes and stench coming from them. Raskolnikov had not been here since that day. His legs were numb and gave way under him, but still they moved forward. He stopped for a moment to take breath, to collect himself, so as to enter /like a man/. "But why? what for?" he wondered, reflecting. "If I must drink the cup what difference does it make? The more revolting the better." He imagined for an instant the figure of the "explosive lieutenant," Ilya Petrovitch. Was he actually going to him? Couldn't he go to someone else? To Nikodim Fomitch? Couldn't he turn back and go straight to Nikodim Fomitch's lodgings? At least then it would be done privately. . . . No, no! To the "explosive lieutenant"! If he must drink it, drink it off at once.
Turning cold and hardly conscious, he opened the door of the office. There were very few people in it this time--only a house porter and a peasant. The doorkeeper did not even peep out from behind his screen. Raskolnikov walked into the next room. "Perhaps I still need not speak," passed through his mind. Some sort of clerk not wearing a uniform was settling himself at a bureau to write. In a corner another clerk was seating himself. Zametov was not there, nor, of course, Nikodim Fomitch.
"No one in?" Raskolnikov asked, addressing the person at the bureau.
"Whom do you want?"
"A-ah! Not a sound was heard, not a sight was seen, but I scent the Russian . . . how does it go on in the fairy tale . . . I've forgotten! 'At your service!'" a familiar voice cried suddenly.
Raskolnikov shuddered. The Explosive Lieutenant stood before him. He had just come in from the third room. "It is the hand of fate," thought Raskolnikov. "Why is he here?"
"You've come to see us? What about?" cried Ilya Petrovitch. He was obviously in an exceedingly good humour and perhaps a trifle exhilarated. "If it's on business you are rather early.(*) It's only a chance that I am here . . . however I'll do what I can. I must admit, I . . . what is it, what is it? Excuse me. . . ."
(*) Dostoevsky appears to have forgotten that it is after sunset, and that the last time Raskolnikov visited the police office at two in the afternoon he was reproached for coming too late.--TRANSLATOR.
"Raskolnikov."
"Of course, Raskolnikov. You didn't imagine I'd forgotten? Don't think I am like that . . . Rodion Ro--Ro--Rodionovitch, that's it, isn't it?"
"Rodion Romanovitch."
"Yes, yes, of course, Rodion Romanovitch! I was just getting at it. I made many inquiries about you. I assure you I've been genuinely grieved since that . . . since I behaved like that . . . it was explained to me afterwards that you were a literary man . . . and a learned one too . . . and so to say the first steps . . . Mercy on us! What literary or scientific man does not begin by some originality of conduct! My wife and I have the greatest respect for literature, in my wife it's a genuine passion! Literature and art! If only a man is a gentleman, all the rest can be gained by talents, learning, good sense, genius. As for a hat--well, what does a hat matter? I can buy a hat as easily as I can a bun; but what's under the hat, what the hat covers, I can't buy that! I was even meaning to come and apologise to you, but thought maybe you'd . . . But I am forgetting to ask you, is there anything you want really? I hear your family have come?"
"Yes, my mother and sister."
"I've even had the honour and happiness of meeting your sister--a highly cultivated and charming person. I confess I was sorry I got so hot with you. There it is! But as for my looking suspiciously at your fainting fit--that affair has been cleared up splendidly! Bigotry and fanaticism! I understand your indignation. Perhaps you are changing your lodging on account of your family's arriving?"
"No, I only looked in . . . I came to ask . . . I thought that I should find Zametov here."
"Oh, yes! Of course, you've made friends, I heard. Well, no, Zametov is not here. Yes, we've lost Zametov. He's not been here since yesterday . . . he quarrelled with everyone on leaving . . . in the rudest way. He is a feather-headed youngster, that's all; one might have expected something from him, but there, you know what they are, our brilliant young men. He wanted to go in for some examination, but it's only to talk and boast about it, it will go no further than that. Of course it's a very different matter with you or Mr. Razumihin there, your friend. Your career is an intellectual one and you won't be deterred by failure. For you, one may say, all the attractions of life /nihil est/--you are an ascetic, a monk, a hermit! . . . A book, a pen behind your ear, a learned research--that's where your spirit soars! I am the same way myself. . . . Have you read Livingstone's Travels?"
"No."
"Oh, I have. There are a great many Nihilists about nowadays, you know, and indeed it is not to be wondered at. What sort of days are they? I ask you. But we thought . . . you are not a Nihilist of course? Answer me openly, openly!"
"N-no . . ."
"Believe me, you can speak openly to me as you would to yourself! Official duty is one thing but . . . you are thinking I meant to say /friendship/ is quite another? No, you're wrong! It's not friendship, but the feeling of a man and a citizen, the feeling of humanity and of love for the Almighty. I may be an official, but I am always bound to feel myself a man and a citizen. . . . You were asking about Zametov. Zametov will make a scandal in the French style in a house of bad reputation, over a glass of champagne . . . that's all your Zametov is good for! While I'm perhaps, so to speak, burning with devotion and lofty feelings, and besides I have rank, consequence, a post! I am married and have children, I fulfil the duties of a man and a citizen, but who is he, may I ask? I appeal to you as a man ennobled by education . . . Then these midwives, too, have become extraordinarily numerous."
Raskolnikov raised his eyebrows inquiringly. The words of Ilya Petrovitch, who had obviously been dining, were for the most part a stream of empty sounds for him. But some of them he understood. He looked at him inquiringly, not knowing how it would end.
"I mean those crop-headed wenches," the talkative Ilya Petrovitch continued. "Midwives is my name for them. I think it a very satisfactory one, ha-ha! They go to the Academy, study anatomy. If I fall ill, am I to send for a young lady to treat me? What do you say? Ha-ha!" Ilya Petrovitch laughed, quite pleased with his own wit. "It's an immoderate zeal for education, but once you're educated, that's enough. Why abuse it? Why insult honourable people, as that scoundrel Zametov does? Why did he insult me, I ask you? Look at these suicides, too, how common they are, you can't fancy! People spend their last halfpenny and kill themselves, boys and girls and old people. Only this morning we heard about a gentleman who had just come to town. Nil Pavlitch, I say, what was the name of that gentleman who shot himself?"
"Svidrigailov," someone answered from the other room with drowsy listlessness.
Raskolnikov started.
"Svidrigailov! Svidrigailov has shot himself!" he cried.
"What, do you know Svidrigailov?"
"Yes . . . I knew him. . . . He hadn't been here long."
"Yes, that's so. He had lost his wife, was a man of reckless habits and all of a sudden shot himself, and in such a shocking way. . . . He left in his notebook a few words: that he dies in full possession of his faculties and that no one is to blame for his death. He had money, they say. How did you come to know him?"
"I . . . was acquainted . . . my sister was governess in his family."
"Bah-bah-bah! Then no doubt you can tell us something about him. You had no suspicion?"
"I saw him yesterday . . . he . . . was drinking wine; I knew nothing."
Raskolnikov felt as though something had fallen on him and was stifling him.
"You've turned pale again. It's so stuffy here . . ."
"Yes, I must go," muttered Raskolnikov. "Excuse my troubling you. . . ."
"Oh, not at all, as often as you like. It's a pleasure to see you and I am glad to say so."
Ilya Petrovitch held out his hand.
"I only wanted . . . I came to see Zametov."
"I understand, I understand, and it's a pleasure to see you."
"I . . . am very glad . . . good-bye," Raskolnikov smiled.
He went out; he reeled, he was overtaken with giddiness and did not know what he was doing. He began going down the stairs, supporting himself with his right hand against the wall. He fancied that a porter pushed past him on his way upstairs to the police office, that a dog in the lower storey kept up a shrill barking and that a woman flung a rolling-pin at it and shouted. He went down and out into the yard. There, not far from the entrance, stood Sonia, pale and horror- stricken. She looked wildly at him. He stood still before her. There was a look of poignant agony, of despair, in her face. She clasped her hands. His lips worked in an ugly, meaningless smile. He stood still a minute, grinned and went back to the police office.
Ilya Petrovitch had sat down and was rummaging among some papers. Before him stood the same peasant who had pushed by on the stairs.
"Hulloa! Back again! have you left something behind? What's the matter?"
Raskolnikov, with white lips and staring eyes, came slowly nearer. He walked right to the table, leaned his hand on it, tried to say something, but could not; only incoherent sounds were audible.
"You are feeling ill, a chair! Here, sit down! Some water!"
Raskolnikov dropped on to a chair, but he kept his eyes fixed on the face of Ilya Petrovitch, which expressed unpleasant surprise. Both looked at one another for a minute and waited. Water was brought.
"It was I . . ." began Raskolnikov.
"Drink some water."
Raskolnikov refused the water with his hand, and softly and brokenly, but distinctly said:
"/It was I killed the old pawnbroker woman and her sister Lizaveta with an axe and robbed them./"
Ilya Petrovitch opened his mouth. People ran up on all sides.
Raskolnikov repeated his statement.
“如今可分不清谁高贵,谁不高贵。”
所有这些反应和谈话制止了拉斯科利尼科夫,本来“我杀了人”这句话也许就要脱口而出了,这时却突然咽了回去。然而他镇静地忍受住了这些叫喊,并没有左顾右盼,径直穿过一条胡同,往警察分局那个方向走去。路上好像有个幻影在他眼前忽然一闪,但是他并不觉得惊奇;他已经预感到,必然会是这样。他在干草广场上第二次跪下来的时候,扭过头去往左边一看,在离他五十步远的地方看到了索尼娅。她躲在广场上一座板棚后面,不让他看见,这么说,在他踏上这悲痛的行程时,一路上她一直伴随着他!这时拉斯科利尼科夫感觉到,而且彻底明白了,不管命运会让他到什么地方去,现在索尼娅将永远跟着他,哪怕去海角天涯。他的心碎了……
然而他已经来到了决定今后命运的地方……
他相当勇敢地走进了院子。得到三楼上去。“还得上楼,暂时还有时间,”他想。总之,他觉得,到决定命运的那个时刻还远着呢,还有很多时间,很多事情还可以重新考虑一下。
那道螺旋形的楼梯上还是那样丢满了垃圾和蛋壳,那些住房的门还是那样大敞着,又是那些厨房,从厨房里还是那样冒出一股股油烟和臭气。从那天以后,拉斯科利尼科夫没再来过这里。他的腿麻木了,发软了,可是还在往上走。他站下来,停了一会儿,好歇口气,整理一下衣服,这样,进去的时候才会像个人样儿。“可这是为什么?为了什么?”他意识到自己是在做什么以后,突然想。“既然得喝干这杯苦酒,那不反正一样吗?越脏越好。”就在这一瞬间,伊利亚·彼特罗维奇·火药桶中尉的形象在他的想象中突然一闪。“难道真的要去找他吗?不能去找别人?不能去找尼科季姆·福米奇吗?是不是立刻回去,到分局长家里去找他本人呢?至少可以私下里解决……不,不!去找火药桶,火药桶!要喝,那就一下子全都喝下去……”
他浑身发冷,几乎控制不住自己,打开了办公室的门。这一次办公室里的人寥寥无几,里面站着一个管院子的,还有一个平民。警卫都没从隔板后面往外看一眼。拉斯科利尼科夫走进后面一间屋里去了。“也许还可以不说,”这个想法在他头脑里闪了一下。这儿有个穿普通常礼服的司书,坐在一张写字台前,正在抄写什么。角落里还坐着一个司书。扎苗托夫不在。尼科季姆·福米奇当然也不在。
“谁也不在吗?”拉斯科利尼科夫问那个坐在写字台前的司书。
“您找谁?”
“啊——啊——啊!真是闻所未闻,见所未见,可是俄罗斯精神……童话里是怎么说来的……我忘了!您——好!”突然有个熟悉的声音喊道。
拉斯科利尼科夫打了个哆嗦。站在他面前的是火药桶中尉;他突然从第三个房间里走了出来。“这真是命运,”拉斯科利尼科夫想,“他为什么在这儿呢?”
“来找我们的?有什么事吗?”伊利亚·彼特罗维奇高声说,(看来他心情好极了,甚至有点儿兴奋。)“如果有事,那您来得早了些。我是偶然在这儿的……不过,我能帮忙。我跟您说实在的……您贵姓?贵姓?对不起……”
“拉斯科利尼科夫。”
“啊,对:拉斯科利尼科夫!难道您认为我会忘了!请您不要把我看作这样的人……罗季昂·罗……罗……罗季昂内奇,好像是这样吧?”
“罗季昂·罗曼内奇。”
“对,对——对,罗季昂·罗曼内奇,罗季昂·罗曼内奇!我正要找您谈谈呢。我甚至打听过好多次了。我,跟您说实在的,当时我们那样对待您,从那以后我真心诚意地感到难过……后来人家告诉我,我才知道,您是位年轻作家,甚至是一位学者……而且,可以这么说吧,已经迈出了最初几步……噢,上帝啊!有哪个作家和学者一开始不做出一些异想天开的事情来呢!我和内人——我们俩都尊重文学,内人更是热爱文学!……热爱文学和艺术!一个人只要是高尚的,那么其余的一切都可以靠才能、知识、理智和天才来获得!帽子——譬如说吧,帽子是什么呢?帽子就像薄饼,我可以在齐梅尔曼的帽店里买到它;可是帽子底下保藏着的东西和用帽子掩盖着的东西,我就买不到了!……我,说实在的,甚至想去找您解释解释,可是想,您也许……不过,我还没问:
您是不是真的有什么事?据说,您家里的人来了?”
“是的,母亲和妹妹。”
“我甚至有幸遇到过令妹,是一位很有教养、十分漂亮的姑娘。说实在的,当时我对您过于急躁,我很遗憾。意料不到的事嘛!因为您晕倒了,当时我就用某种眼光来看您,——可是后来这件事彻底弄清楚了!残暴和盲目的狂热!您的愤慨,我是理解的。也许,是因为家里人来了,您要搬家?”
“不,我只不过是……我是顺便来问问……我以为,我可以在这儿找到扎苗托夫。”
“啊,对了!你们成了朋友了;我听说了。嗯,扎苗托夫不在我们这儿,——您碰不到他了。是啊,亚历山大·格里戈里耶维奇离开我们这儿了!从昨天起就不在了,调走了……临调走的时候,甚至跟所有的人都大吵了一场……甚至那么不懂礼貌……他只不过是个轻浮的小孩子;本来他很有前途;是啊,您瞧,他们,我们这些卓越的青年人可真怪!他想要参加什么考试,可是只会在我们这儿说空话,吹牛,考试就这么吹了。这可不像,譬如说吧,您,或者拉祖米欣先生,您的朋友!您是搞学术的,失败不会使您迷失方向!在您看来,人生所有这些诱人的玩意儿,可以说——nihilest①,您是个禁欲主义者,僧侣,隐士!……对您来说,书本,夹在耳朵后边的笔,学术研究,——这才是您心灵翱翔的地方!我自己也多多少少……请问您看过利文斯通的笔记吗②?”
--------
①拉丁文,意为“什么也不是,等于零。”
②大卫·利文斯通(一八一三——一八七三),英国著名旅行家,非洲考察者。这里可能是指他的《赞比西河游记》(一八六五)。
“没有。”
“我看过了。不过现在到处都有很多虚无主义者;嗯,这是可以理解的;这是什么样的时代啊,我请问您?不过,我和您……我们,不是吗,当然,我们可不是虚无主义者!请您坦率地回答,开诚布公地!”
“不—不是……”
“不,您听我说,您跟我可要开诚布公,您别不好意思,就像自己跟自己一样嘛!公务是一回事,……是另一回事……您以为,我是想说友谊吗,不,您没猜对!不是友谊,而是公民和人的感情,人道的感情,对上帝的爱的那种感情。履行公务的时候,我可以是个官方人员,可是我应该永远感到自己是一个公民,是一个人,而且意识到……您刚刚谈到了扎苗托夫。扎苗托夫,他在一家妓院里喝了一杯香槟或者是顿河葡萄酒,于是就照法国人的方式,大闹了一场,出尽了丑,——瞧,这就是您的扎苗托夫!而我,也许可以说,我极端忠诚,有崇高的感情,此外,我还有地位,我有官衔,担任一定的职务!我有妻室儿女。我在履行公民和人的义务,可是,请问,他是个什么人?我是把您看作一位受过教育、品格高尚的人。还有这些接生婆,也到处都是,多得要命①。”
拉斯科利尼科夫疑问地扬起了眉毛。显然,伊利亚·彼特罗维奇是刚刚离开桌边,他的话滔滔不绝,可是空空洞洞,听起来大半好像是些没有任何意义的响声。不过其中有一部分,拉斯科利尼科夫还是勉强听懂了;他疑问地望着他,不知道这一切会怎样收场。
“我说的是这些剪短头发的少女②,”爱说话的伊利亚·彼特罗维奇接下去说,“我给她们取了个绰号,管她们叫接生婆,而且认为,这个绰号十分贴切。嘿!嘿!她们拼命钻进医学院,学习解剖学;嗯,请问,要是我病了,我会去请个少女来治病吗?嘿!嘿!”
--------
①火药桶中尉蔑视地把“助产士”叫作“接生婆”。保守派的报刊通常都这样攻击女权运动者。十九世纪六十年代,俄国妇女只能从事两种职业:助产士和教师。
②指医学院的女学生,她们都剪短发。这些女学生毕业后都只能作助产士。
伊利亚·彼特罗维奇哈哈大笑,对自己这些俏皮话感到非常满意。
“就算这是对于受教育的过分的渴望吧;可是受了教育,也就够了。为什么要滥用呢?为什么要像那个坏蛋扎苗托夫那样,侮辱高贵的人们呢?请问,他为什么要侮辱我?还有这些自杀,出了多少起这样的事啊,——您简直无法想象。都是这样,花完了最后一点儿钱,于是就自杀了。小姑娘,男孩子,老年人……这不是,今天早晨就接到报告,有一位不久前才来到这儿的先生自杀了。尼尔·帕夫雷奇,尼尔·帕夫雷奇!刚才报告的那位绅士,在彼得堡区开熗自杀的那位绅士,他叫什么?”
“斯维德里盖洛夫,”另一间屋里有人声音嘶哑、语气冷淡地回答。
拉斯科利尼科夫不由得颤栗了一下。
“斯维德里盖洛夫!斯维德里盖洛夫开熗自杀了!”他高声惊呼。
“怎么!您认识斯维德里盖洛夫?”
“是的……我认识……他是不久前才来的……”
“是啊,是不久前来的,妻子死了,是个放荡不羁的人,突然开熗自杀了,而且那么丢脸,简直无法想象……在他自己的笔记本里留下了几句话,说他是在神智清醒的情况下自杀的,请不要把他的死归罪于任何人。据说,这个人有钱。请问您是怎么认识他的?”
“我……认识他……舍妹在他家里作过家庭教师……”
“噢,噢,噢……这么说,您可以跟我们谈谈他的情况了。
您怕也没料到吧?”
“我昨天见过他……他……喝了酒……我什么也不知道。”
拉斯科利尼科夫觉得,好像有个什么东西落到了他的身上,压住了他。
“您脸色好像又发白了。我们这儿空气污浊……”
“是的,我该走了,”拉斯科利尼科夫含糊不清地说,“请原谅,我打搅了……”
“噢,您说哪里话,请常来!非常欢迎您来,我很高兴这样说……”
伊利亚·彼特罗维奇甚至伸过手来。
“我只不过想……我要去找扎苗托夫……”
“我明白,我明白,您让我非常高兴。”
“我……很高兴……再见……”拉斯科利尼科夫微笑着说。
他出去了,他摇摇晃晃。他头晕。他感觉不出,自己是不是还在站着。他用右手扶着墙,开始下楼。他好像觉得,迎面来了个管院子的人,手里拿着户口簿,撞了他一下,上楼往办公室去了;还好像觉得,下面一层楼上有条小狗在狂吠,有个女人把一根擀面杖朝它扔了过去,而且高声惊叫起来。他下了楼,来到了院子里。索尼娅就站在院子里离门口不远的地方,面无人色,脸色白得可怕,神情古怪地,非常古怪地看了看他。他在她面前站住了。她脸上露出某种痛苦的、极为悲痛和绝望的神情。她双手一拍。他的嘴角上勉强露出很难看的、茫然不知所措的微笑。他站了一会儿,冷笑一声,转身上楼,又走进了办公室。
伊利亚·彼特罗维奇已经坐下来,不知在一堆公文里翻寻着什么。刚才上楼来撞了拉斯科利尼科夫一下的那个管院子的人站在他的面前。
“啊——啊——啊?您又来了!忘了什么东西吗?……不过您怎么了?”
拉斯科利尼科夫嘴唇发白,目光呆滞,轻轻地向他走去,走到桌前,用一只手撑在桌子上,想要说什么,可是说不出来;只能听到一些毫不连贯的声音。
“您不舒服,拿椅子来!这里,请坐到椅子上,请坐!拿水来!”
拉斯科利尼科夫坐到了椅子上,但是目不转睛地盯着露出非常不愉快的惊讶神情的伊利亚·彼特罗维奇的脸。他们两人互相对看了约摸一分钟光景,两人都在等着。水端来了。
“这是我……”拉斯科利尼科夫开始说。
“您喝水。”
拉斯科利尼科夫用一只手把水推开,轻轻地,一字一顿,然而清清楚楚地说:
“这是我在那时候用斧头杀了那个老太婆——那个官太太,还杀了她的妹妹莉扎薇塔,抢了东西。”
伊利亚·彼特罗维奇惊讶得张大了嘴。人们从四面八方跑了过来。
拉斯科利尼科夫把自己的口供又说了一遍……
……

峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 54楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

I Page 1
Siberia. On the banks of a broad solitary river stands a town, one of the administrative centres of Russia; in the town there is a fortress, in the fortress there is a prison. In the prison the second-class convict Rodion Raskolnikov has been confined for nine months. Almost a year and a half has passed since his crime.
There had been little difficulty about his trial. The criminal adhered exactly, firmly, and clearly to his statement. He did not confuse nor misrepresent the facts, nor soften them in his own interest, nor omit the smallest detail. He explained every incident of the murder, the secret of /the pledge/ (the piece of wood with a strip of metal) which was found in the murdered woman's hand. He described minutely how he had taken her keys, what they were like, as well as the chest and its contents; he explained the mystery of Lizaveta's murder; described how Koch and, after him, the student knocked, and repeated all they had said to one another; how he afterwards had run downstairs and heard Nikolay and Dmitri shouting; how he had hidden in the empty flat and afterwards gone home. He ended by indicating the stone in the yard off the Voznesensky Prospect under which the purse and the trinkets were found. The whole thing, in fact, was perfectly clear. The lawyers and the judges were very much struck, among other things, by the fact that he had hidden the trinkets and the purse under a stone, without making use of them, and that, what was more, he did not now remember what the trinkets were like, or even how many there were. The fact that he had never opened the purse and did not even know how much was in it seemed incredible. There turned out to be in the purse three hundred and seventeen roubles and sixty copecks. From being so long under the stone, some of the most valuable notes lying uppermost had suffered from the damp. They were a long while trying to discover why the accused man should tell a lie about this, when about everything else he had made a truthful and straightforward confession. Finally some of the lawyers more versed in psychology admitted that it was possible he had really not looked into the purse, and so didn't know what was in it when he hid it under the stone. But they immediately drew the deduction that the crime could only have been committed through temporary mental derangement, through homicidal mania, without object or the pursuit of gain. This fell in with the most recent fashionable theory of temporary insanity, so often applied in our days in criminal cases. Moreover Raskolnikov's hypochondriacal condition was proved by many witnesses, by Dr. Zossimov, his former fellow students, his landlady and her servant. All this pointed strongly to the conclusion that Raskolnikov was not quite like an ordinary murderer and robber, but that there was another element in the case.
To the intense annoyance of those who maintained this opinion, the criminal scarcely attempted to defend himself. To the decisive question as to what motive impelled him to the murder and the robbery, he answered very clearly with the coarsest frankness that the cause was his miserable position, his poverty and helplessness, and his desire to provide for his first steps in life by the help of the three thousand roubles he had reckoned on finding. He had been led to the murder through his shallow and cowardly nature, exasperated moreover by privation and failure. To the question what led him to confess, he answered that it was his heartfelt repentance. All this was almost coarse. . . .
The sentence however was more merciful than could have been expected, perhaps partly because the criminal had not tried to justify himself, but had rather shown a desire to exaggerate his guilt. All the strange and peculiar circumstances of the crime were taken into consideration. There could be no doubt of the abnormal and poverty-stricken condition of the criminal at the time. The fact that he had made no use of what he had stolen was put down partly to the effect of remorse, partly to his abnormal mental condition at the time of the crime. Incidentally the murder of Lizaveta served indeed to confirm the last hypothesis: a man commits two murders and forgets that the door is open! Finally, the confession, at the very moment when the case was hopelessly muddled by the false evidence given by Nikolay through melancholy and fanaticism, and when, moreover, there were no proofs against the real criminal, no suspicions even (Porfiry Petrovitch fully kept his word) --all this did much to soften the sentence. Other circumstances, too, in the prisoner's favour came out quite unexpectedly. Razumihin somehow discovered and proved that while Raskolnikov was at the university he had helped a poor consumptive fellow student and had spent his last penny on supporting him for six months, and when this student died, leaving a decrepit old father whom he had maintained almost from his thirteenth year, Raskolnikov had got the old man into a hospital and paid for his funeral when he died. Raskolnikov's landlady bore witness, too, that when they had lived in another house at Five Corners, Raskolnikov had rescued two little children from a house on fire and was burnt in doing so. This was investigated and fairly well confirmed by many witnesses. These facts made an impression in his favour.
And in the end the criminal was, in consideration of extenuating circumstances, condemned to penal servitude in the second class for a term of eight years only.
At the very beginning of the trial Raskolnikov's mother fell ill. Dounia and Razumihin found it possible to get her out of Petersburg during the trial. Razumihin chose a town on the railway not far from Petersburg, so as to be able to follow every step of the trial and at the same time to see Avdotya Romanovna as often as possible. Pulcheria Alexandrovna's illness was a strange nervous one and was accompanied by a partial derangement of her intellect.
When Dounia returned from her last interview with her brother, she had found her mother already ill, in feverish delirium. That evening Razumihin and she agreed what answers they must make to her mother's questions about Raskolnikov and made up a complete story for her mother's benefit of his having to go away to a distant part of Russia on a business commission, which would bring him in the end money and reputation.
But they were struck by the fact that Pulcheria Alexandrovna never asked them anything on the subject, neither then nor thereafter. On the contrary, she had her own version of her son's sudden departure; she told them with tears how he had come to say good-bye to her, hinting that she alone knew many mysterious and important facts, and that Rodya had many very powerful enemies, so that it was necessary for him to be in hiding. As for his future career, she had no doubt that it would be brilliant when certain sinister influences could be removed. She assured Razumihin that her son would be one day a great statesman, that his article and brilliant literary talent proved it. This article she was continually reading, she even read it aloud, almost took it to bed with her, but scarcely asked where Rodya was, though the subject was obviously avoided by the others, which might have been enough to awaken her suspicions.
They began to be frightened at last at Pulcheria Alexandrovna's strange silence on certain subjects. She did not, for instance, complain of getting no letters from him, though in previous years she had only lived on the hope of letters from her beloved Rodya. This was the cause of great uneasiness to Dounia; the idea occurred to her that her mother suspected that there was something terrible in her son's fate and was afraid to ask, for fear of hearing something still more awful. In any case, Dounia saw clearly that her mother was not in full possession of her faculties.
It happened once or twice, however, that Pulcheria Alexandrovna gave such a turn to the conversation that it was impossible to answer her without mentioning where Rodya was, and on receiving unsatisfactory and suspicious answers she became at once gloomy and silent, and this mood lasted for a long time. Dounia saw at last that it was hard to deceive her and came to the conclusion that it was better to be absolutely silent on certain points; but it became more and more evident that the poor mother suspected something terrible. Dounia remembered her brother's telling her that her mother had overheard her talking in her sleep on the night after her interview with Svidrigailov and before the fatal day of the confession: had not she made out something from that? Sometimes days and even weeks of gloomy silence and tears would be succeeded by a period of hysterical animation, and the invalid would begin to talk almost incessantly of her son, of her hopes of his future. . . . Her fancies were sometimes very strange. They humoured her, pretended to agree with her (she saw perhaps that they were pretending), but she still went on talking.
Five months after Raskolnikov's confession, he was sentenced. Razumihin and Sonia saw him in prison as often as it was possible. At last the moment of separation came. Dounia swore to her brother that the separation should not be for ever, Razumihin did the same. Razumihin, in his youthful ardour, had firmly resolved to lay the foundations at least of a secure livelihood during the next three or four years, and saving up a certain sum, to emigrate to Siberia, a country rich in every natural resource and in need of workers, active men and capital. There they would settle in the town where Rodya was and all together would begin a new life. They all wept at parting.
Raskolnikov had been very dreamy for a few days before. He asked a great deal about his mother and was constantly anxious about her. He worried so much about her that it alarmed Dounia. When he heard about his mother's illness he became very gloomy. With Sonia he was particularly reserved all the time. With the help of the money left to her by Svidrigailov, Sonia had long ago made her preparations to follow the party of convicts in which he was despatched to Siberia. Not a word passed between Raskolnikov and her on the subject, but both knew it would be so. At the final leave-taking he smiled strangely at his sister's and Razumihin's fervent anticipations of their happy future together when he should come out of prison. He predicted that their mother's illness would soon have a fatal ending. Sonia and he at last set off.
西伯利亚。一条宽阔、荒凉的河,河岸上矗立着一座城市①,这是俄罗斯的行政中心之一;城市里有一座要塞,要塞里面有座监狱。第二类流刑犯②罗季昂·拉斯科利尼科夫已经在这座监狱里给关了九个月。从他犯罪的那天起,差不多已经过了一年半了。
--------
①指额尔齐斯河畔的鄂木斯克。
②根据一八四五年颁布的俄国刑法典,被流放到西伯利亚服苦役的犯人分为三类:第一类在矿场劳动;第二类修建要塞、堡垒;第三类在工厂劳动,主要是在军工厂和熬盐的工场里。陀思妥耶夫斯基曾作为第二类流刑犯人,给关在鄂木斯克监狱里。
他这件案子的审讯过程没遇到多大困难。犯人坚决、确切、明白无误地坚持自己的口供,没有把案情搞乱,没有避重就轻,没有歪曲事实,也没有忘记一个最小的细节。他毫无遗漏地供述了谋杀的整个过程:他解释了在被害的老太婆手里发现的那件抵押品的秘密(一块有金属薄片的小木板);详细供述了他是怎样从死者身上拿到了钥匙,描绘了那些钥匙的形状,描绘了那个小箱子,以及箱子里装着些什么;甚至列举了其中的几件东西;说明了杀害莉扎薇塔之谜;供述了科赫来敲门的情况,他来了以后,怎样又来了一个大学生,转述了他们两人谈话的全部内容;后来,他,犯人,是怎么跑下楼去,以及听到米科尔卡和米季卡尖叫的情况;他又是怎样藏进那套空房子里,怎样回家的,最后指出,那块石头是在沃兹涅先斯基大街上一个院子里,就在大门附近;在那块石头底下果然找到了东西和钱袋。总之,案情十分清楚。然而侦查员和法官们都对这一点感到惊讶:他把钱袋和东西都藏到了石头底下,而没有动用过;使他们更为惊讶的是:他不仅记不清他亲手偷来的东西究竟是些什么,就连究竟有几件,也搞不清楚。至于他连一次也没打开过钱袋,甚至不知道里面到底有多少钱,说实在的,这更好像是不可思议的了(钱袋里有三百十七个银卢布和三个二十戈比的钱币;因为长期藏在石头底下,最上面的几张票面最大的钞票已经破损得非常厉害了)。花了好长时间竭力想要弄清:既然被告对其他所有情况都老老实实自愿供认了,为什么独独在这一点上说谎?最后,某些人(特别是一些心理学家)甚至认为这是可能的,认为他的确没有看过钱袋,所以不知道里面有多少钱,还没弄清里面有什么,就这样把它拿去藏到石头底下了,但是由此立刻又得出结论,所以会犯这桩罪,一定是由于一时精神错乱,可以说是患了杀人狂和抢劫狂,而没有更进一步的目的和谋财的意图。正好赶上这时有一种关于一时精神错乱的、最新的时髦理论,在我们这个时代往往竭力用这个理论来解释某些罪犯的心理。加以许多证人都证明,拉斯科利尼科夫长期以来就有忧郁症的症状,并且作了详细说明,这些证人中有佐西莫夫医生,他以前的同学,女房东和一个女仆。这一切有充分根据促使得出这样的结论:拉斯科利尼科夫不完全像一般的杀人犯、强盗和抢劫犯,这儿准是有什么别的原因。使坚持这种意见的人感到极为遗憾的是,犯人本人几乎并不试图为自己辩护;对于最后几个问题:究竟是什么促使他杀人,是什么促使他抢劫,他的回答十分明确,话说得很粗鲁,然而符合实际,他说,这一切的原因是他境况恶劣,贫困,无依无靠,他期望在被害者那里至少能弄到三千卢布,指望靠这笔钱来保障他的生活,使他在初入社会的时候能够站稳脚跟。他决定杀人,是由于他轻率和缺乏毅力的性格,贫困和失意更促使他下了杀人的决心。对于这个问题:究竟是什么促使他来自首的,他直率地回答说,由于真诚地悔罪。这些话几乎都说得很粗鲁……
然而,就所犯的罪行来说,判决比所能期待的还要宽大,而且也许这正是因为犯人不仅不想为自己辩护,反而甚至似乎想夸大自己罪行的缘故。这一案件的所有奇怪和特殊的情况都被考虑到了。犯人犯罪时的病态心理和贫困境况都是丝毫不容置疑的。他没有动用抢劫来的财物,被认为,一部分是由于他萌发了悔悟之念,一部分是由于犯罪的时候,他的精神不完全正常。无意中杀死莉扎薇塔,这一情况甚至成为一个例证,使如下的假设更为可信:一个人杀了两个人,而同时却忘记了,房门还在开着!最后还有,正当一个精神沮丧的狂热信徒(尼古拉)自称有罪,以虚假的供词把案情弄得异常混乱的时候,此外,对真正的罪犯不仅没有掌握确凿的罪证,而且甚至几乎没有产生怀疑(波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇完全信守了自己的诺言),正是在这个时候,犯人前来自首了。这一切最终促使对被告从轻判刑。
此外,完全意料不到地又出现了另外一些对被告十分有利的情况。以前的大学生拉祖米欣不知从哪里找到了这样一些材料,而且提出证据:犯人拉斯科利尼科夫在大学里读书的时候,曾经用自己仅有的一点儿钱帮助一个害肺病的穷苦同学,维持他的生活几乎长达半年之久。那个同学死后,拉斯科利尼科夫又去照顾亡友(他几乎从十三岁起就靠自己的劳动赡养自己的父亲)仍然活着的、年迈体弱的父亲,最后还让这位老人住进了医院,老人死后,又为他安葬。所有这些材料对决定拉斯科利尼科夫的命运起了某些有利的作用。拉斯科利尼科夫以前的女房东,他已经病故的未婚妻的母亲,寡妇扎尔尼岑娜也作证说,他们还住在五角场附近另一幢房子里的时候,有一次夜里失火,拉斯科利尼科夫从一套已经着火的房子里救出了两个小孩子,因为救人,他自己被火烧伤了。对这一事实作了详细调查,许多证人都完全证实了这一情况。总之,结果是,考虑到犯人是投案自首以及某些可以减刑的情况,犯人被判服第二类苦役,刑期只有八年。
还在审讯一开始的时候,拉斯科利尼科夫的母亲就病了。杜尼娅和拉祖米欣认为,可以在开庭期间让她离开彼得堡。拉祖米欣挑了一个沿铁路线、离彼得堡也很近的城市。这样可以经常留心审讯的情况,同时又能尽可能经常与阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜见面。普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜的病是一种奇怪的精神病,同时还有类似精神错乱的某种迹象,即使不是完全精神错乱,至少是有一部分。杜尼娅最后一次见到哥哥,回来以后,发觉母亲已经完全病倒了,她在发烧,在说胡话。就在这天晚上,她和拉祖米欣商量好,母亲问起哥哥来,他们该怎样回答,甚至和他一起为母亲编造了一套谎话,说是拉斯科利尼科夫受私人委托,到一个很远的地方,到俄国边疆去办一件事情去了,这项任务最终将会使他获得金钱和声誉。但是使他们深感惊讶的是:无论是当时,还是以后,普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜都从未问起过这方面的事。恰恰相反,原来对于儿子突然远行,她自己早已有自己的解释;她流着泪述说,他是怎样来和她告别的;同时她还暗示,只有她一个人知道许多非常重要的秘密,暗示罗佳有许多很有势力的敌人,因此他甚至必须躲藏起来。至于说到他的前途,她也认为,只要敌视他的某些情况消失了,那么他的前途无疑将是光明的;她让拉祖米欣相信,随着时间的推移,她的儿子甚至会成为国家的栋梁,他的那篇文章和他杰出的文学天才就是明显的证据。她在不断地看那篇文章,有时甚至念出声来,几乎连睡觉的时候也拿着那篇文章,可是罗佳现在到底在什么地方,她却几乎从来也不问起,尽管看得出来,当着她的面,大家都避而不谈这个问题,——而单单是这一点,就足以引起她的怀疑了。普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜对某些问题始终保持缄默,这一奇怪的现象终于使他们感到担心了。譬如说吧,她甚至从不抱怨他不来信,而从前,住在故乡县城里的时候,她唯一的精神寄托,就是希望和盼望着快点儿接到心爱的罗佳的信。现在她不再等信,这实在是太无法解释了,因此使杜尼娅十分担忧;她心里产生了这样的想法:大概母亲是预感到儿子发生了什么可怕的事,所以她不敢问,以免知道更可怕的事情。无论如何,杜尼娅已经清清楚楚看出,普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜精神不大正常。
不过有两次她自己把话题转到了罗佳身上,以致回答她的时候,不可能不提到罗佳现在究竟在什么地方;他们迫不得已的回答当然不能使她满意,而且让她感到怀疑,这时她就突然变得非常伤心,忧愁,沉默寡言,这样一直持续很长时间。杜尼娅终于明白了,说谎和编造谎言是很难的,于是得出最后结论:对有些事情最好绝口不谈;不过可怜的母亲已经怀疑,准是发生了什么可怕的事情,这一点已经是越来越明显了。同时杜尼娅也想起了哥哥的话,在决定命运的头一天夜里,也就是在她和斯维德里盖洛夫发生了那一幕以后的那天夜里,母亲曾经听到过她在梦中呓语,那时母亲是不是听清了什么呢?往往,一连几天,甚至几个星期,母亲一直闷闷不乐,心情忧郁,一句话也不说,只是默默地流泪,可是在这之后,不知怎的,病人会歇斯底里地活跃起来,突然大声说话,几乎不住口地谈她的儿子,谈自己的希望和未来……她的幻想有时十分奇怪。他们安慰她,附和她(也许她自己看得很清楚,他们是在随声附和她,只不过是在安慰她),可她还是说个不停……
犯人自首以后过了五个月,判决下来了。只要一有可能,拉祖米欣就到狱中探望他。索尼娅也是一样。离别的时刻终于到了;杜尼娅对哥哥发誓说,这次离别不会是永诀;拉祖米欣也这么说。在拉祖米欣年轻、狂热的头脑里坚定不移地确定了这样一个计划:在三、四年内,尽可能至少为未来打下基础,至少攒一些钱,迁居到西伯利亚去,那里土地肥沃,资源丰富,缺少的是工人、创业的人和资本;他要到那里罗佳将要去的那个城市定居,……大家在一起开始新的生活。分别的时候大家都哭了。最后几天拉斯科利尼科夫陷入沉思,详细询问母亲的情况,经常为她感到担心。甚至为她感到十分痛苦,这使杜尼娅很不放心。得知母亲病态心情的详细情况以后,他的神情变得十分忧郁。不知为什么,这段时间里他特别不喜欢和索尼娅说话。索尼娅用斯维德里盖洛夫留给她的那笔钱,早已准备好了行装,打算跟随拉斯科利尼科夫也在其内的那批犯人一同上路。关于这一点,在她和拉斯科利尼科夫之间从来连一个字也没提起过;然而他们俩都知道,事情一定会是这样。临别时,妹妹和拉祖米欣都热烈地让他相信,等他服刑期满回来以后,他们的未来一定会十分幸福,对他们这些热情的话,他只是奇怪地笑了笑,并且预感到母亲的病情不久就会带来不幸的后果。他和索尼娅终于出发了。


峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 55楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

I Page 2
Two months later Dounia was married to Razumihin. It was a quiet and sorrowful wedding; Porfiry Petrovitch and Zossimov were invited however. During all this period Razumihin wore an air of resolute determination. Dounia put implicit faith in his carrying out his plans and indeed she could not but believe in him. He displayed a rare strength of will. Among other things he began attending university lectures again in order to take his degree. They were continually making plans for the future; both counted on settling in Siberia within five years at least. Till then they rested their hopes on Sonia.
Pulcheria Alexandrovna was delighted to give her blessing to Dounia's marriage with Razumihin; but after the marriage she became even more melancholy and anxious. To give her pleasure Razumihin told her how Raskolnikov had looked after the poor student and his decrepit father and how a year ago he had been burnt and injured in rescuing two little children from a fire. These two pieces of news excited Pulcheria Alexandrovna's disordered imagination almost to ecstasy. She was continually talking about them, even entering into conversation with strangers in the street, though Dounia always accompanied her. In public conveyances and shops, wherever she could capture a listener, she would begin the discourse about her son, his article, how he had helped the student, how he had been burnt at the fire, and so on! Dounia did not know how to restrain her. Apart from the danger of her morbid excitement, there was the risk of someone's recalling Raskolnikov's name and speaking of the recent trial. Pulcheria Alexandrovna found out the address of the mother of the two children her son had saved and insisted on going to see her.
At last her restlessness reached an extreme point. She would sometimes begin to cry suddenly and was often ill and feverishly delirious. One morning she declared that by her reckoning Rodya ought soon to be home, that she remembered when he said good-bye to her he said that they must expect him back in nine months. She began to prepare for his coming, began to do up her room for him, to clean the furniture, to wash and put up new hangings and so on. Dounia was anxious, but said nothing and helped her to arrange the room. After a fatiguing day spent in continual fancies, in joyful day-dreams and tears, Pulcheria Alexandrovna was taken ill in the night and by morning she was feverish and delirious. It was brain fever. She died within a fortnight. In her delirium she dropped words which showed that she knew a great deal more about her son's terrible fate than they had supposed.
For a long time Raskolnikov did not know of his mother's death, though a regular correspondence had been maintained from the time he reached Siberia. It was carried on by means of Sonia, who wrote every month to the Razumihins and received an answer with unfailing regularity. At first they found Sonia's letters dry and unsatisfactory, but later on they came to the conclusion that the letters could not be better, for from these letters they received a complete picture of their unfortunate brother's life. Sonia's letters were full of the most matter-of-fact detail, the simplest and clearest description of all Raskolnikov's surroundings as a convict. There was no word of her own hopes, no conjecture as to the future, no description of her feelings. Instead of any attempt to interpret his state of mind and inner life, she gave the simple facts--that is, his own words, an exact account of his health, what he asked for at their interviews, what commission he gave her and so on. All these facts she gave with extraordinary minuteness. The picture of their unhappy brother stood out at last with great clearness and precision. There could be no mistake, because nothing was given but facts.
But Dounia and her husband could get little comfort out of the news, especially at first. Sonia wrote that he was constantly sullen and not ready to talk, that he scarcely seemed interested in the news she gave him from their letters, that he sometimes asked after his mother and that when, seeing that he had guessed the truth, she told him at last of her death, she was surprised to find that he did not seem greatly affected by it, not externally at any rate. She told them that, although he seemed so wrapped up in himself and, as it were, shut himself off from everyone--he took a very direct and simple view of his new life; that he understood his position, expected nothing better for the time, had no ill-founded hopes (as is so common in his position) and scarcely seemed surprised at anything in his surroundings, so unlike anything he had known before. She wrote that his health was satisfactory; he did his work without shirking or seeking to do more; he was almost indifferent about food, but except on Sundays and holidays the food was so bad that at last he had been glad to accept some money from her, Sonia, to have his own tea every day. He begged her not to trouble about anything else, declaring that all this fuss about him only annoyed him. Sonia wrote further that in prison he shared the same room with the rest, that she had not seen the inside of their barracks, but concluded that they were crowded, miserable and unhealthy; that he slept on a plank bed with a rug under him and was unwilling to make any other arrangement. But that he lived so poorly and roughly, not from any plan or design, but simply from inattention and indifference.
Sonia wrote simply that he had at first shown no interest in her visits, had almost been vexed with her indeed for coming, unwilling to talk and rude to her. But that in the end these visits had become a habit and almost a necessity for him, so that he was positively distressed when she was ill for some days and could not visit him. She used to see him on holidays at the prison gates or in the guard-room, to which he was brought for a few minutes to see her. On working days she would go to see him at work either at the workshops or at the brick kilns, or at the sheds on the banks of the Irtish.
About herself, Sonia wrote that she had succeeded in making some acquaintances in the town, that she did sewing, and, as there was scarcely a dressmaker in the town, she was looked upon as an indispensable person in many houses. But she did not mention that the authorities were, through her, interested in Raskolnikov; that his task was lightened and so on.
At last the news came (Dounia had indeed noticed signs of alarm and uneasiness in the preceding letters) that he held aloof from everyone, that his fellow prisoners did not like him, that he kept silent for days at a time and was becoming very pale. In the last letter Sonia wrote that he had been taken very seriously ill and was in the convict ward of the hospital.
两个月以后,杜涅奇卡和拉祖米欣结婚了。婚礼没有欢乐的气氛,而且冷冷清清。不过应邀前来的客人中有波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇和佐西莫夫。最近一个时期,拉祖米欣的神情像一个下定了决心的人。杜尼娅盲目地相信,他一定会实现自己的打算,而且也不能不相信:看得出来,这个人有钢铁般的意志。顺便说说,他又到大学去上课了,以便能够读完大学。他们俩不断地制订未来的计划;两人都对五年后迁居到西伯利亚抱有坚定的希望。在那以前,他们把一切希望都寄托在索尼娅身上……
普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜很高兴地为女儿和拉祖米欣结婚祝福;可是举行过婚礼以后,她却似乎变得更加愁闷,更加忧虑了。为了让她高兴,拉祖米欣顺带讲给她听,罗佳曾经帮助过一个大学生和他年迈体弱的父亲,还讲了罗佳去年为了救两个小孩子的性命,自己给烧伤了,甚至还害了一场病。这两个消息使普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜本来就已经不正常的精神几乎达到了异常兴奋的状态。她不断地谈起这两件事,在街上也逢人就说(尽管杜尼娅经常伴随着她)。在公共马车上,在小铺里,只要能找到一个肯听她说话的人,她立刻就跟大家谈她的儿子,谈他的那篇文章,谈他怎样帮助那个大学生,怎样在失火的时候为了救人让火给烧伤,等等。杜涅奇卡甚至都不知道该怎样才能阻止她。这种异常兴奋的病态心情是危险的,此外,如果有人记起不久前审理的那件案子,因而想起拉斯科利尼科夫这个姓,谈论起来的话,那可就糟了。普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜甚至打听到了那两个在火灾中给救出来的小孩子的母亲的地址。一定要去拜访她。最后她的不安达到了极点。有时她会突然放声大哭起来,经常生病,发烧,说胡话。有一天一清早,她直截了当地说,她计算着,罗佳不久就该回来了,说是她记得,他和她分手的时候曾经说过,正是过九个月以后,就该等着他回来。她把家里的一切都收拾了一下,准备迎接他,动手装饰打算给他住的那间房子(她自己住的那一间),把家具擦得干干净净,洗掉旧窗帘,换上新窗帘,等等。杜尼娅非常担心,可是什么也不说,甚至帮着她布置房子,来迎接哥哥。在不断的幻想、欢乐的梦中流着眼泪度过了令人忧虑不安的一天以后,当天夜里她病了,第二天早晨已经发起烧来,神智不清了。热病发作了。两个星期以后她死了。在她昏迷的时候,突然说了几句话,根据这些话可以得出结论,她一直怀疑儿子遭到了可怕的命运,她的猜疑甚至比他们所认为的要严重得多。
拉斯科利尼科夫很长时间都不知道母亲去世的消息,尽管从他在西伯利亚一安顿下来,就与彼得堡有书信来往了。通信关系是通过索尼娅建立起来的,索尼娅每月按时往彼得堡寄信,信写给拉祖米欣,也每月按时收到从彼得堡来的回信。起初杜尼娅和拉祖米欣觉得,索尼娅的信有点儿枯燥,不能令人满意;但最后两人都认为,不可能比她写得更好了,因为从这些信里,对他们不幸的哥哥的命运毕竟得出了一个全面、正确的概念。索尼娅在信上写的都是日常生活的真实情况,最简单明了地描写出了拉斯科利尼科夫苦役生活的全部情况。信上既没有谈她自己的希望,也没有对未来的推测,更没有叙述她自己的感情。她没有试图说明他的心情,或一般地说明他的内心生活,她的信上只有一些事实,也就是他自己说过的话,详细说明他的健康状况,以及和他见面的时候他有什么愿望,要求她做什么,托她办什么事情,等等。所有这一切都写得非常详细。不幸的哥哥的形象终于跃然纸上,给描写得十分确切而又清晰;这儿不会有什么差错,因为一切都是可靠的事实。
但是杜尼娅和她丈夫从这些消息中看不出有多少可以高兴的事情,尤其是在一开始的时候。索尼娅不断地告诉他们,他经常神情阴郁,不爱说话,每次她把接到的信中的消息告诉他的时候,他甚至几乎一点儿也不感兴趣;说是他有时问起母亲;而当她看出,他已经预料到事情的真相,终于告诉他,母亲已经去世的时候,使她感到惊讶的是,就连母亲去世的消息也似乎没有对他产生强烈的影响,至少她觉得,从表面来看是这样的。她顺带告诉他们,尽管看上去他总是陷入沉思,独自想得出神,仿佛与世隔绝,不和人来往,可是他对自己新生活的态度却很坦率,实事求是;她说,他很清楚自己的处境,并不期待最近会有什么改善,也不存任何不切实际的希望(处在他的情况下,自然是这样了),虽然他所处的新环境与以前的环境很少有相似之处,但他对周围的一切几乎从不感到惊讶。她说,他的健康状况是可以令人满意的。他去干活,既不逃避,也不硬要多做。伙食好坏,他几乎不感兴趣,但是,除了星期天和节日,平日的伙食简直令人难以下咽,所以他终于乐意接受她,索尼娅,给他的钱,好每天能自己烧点儿茶喝;至于其余的一切,他请她不要操心,让她相信,对他的一切关心只会使他感到苦恼。随后索尼娅写道,在监狱中,他和大家住在一间牢房里,他们的牢房她没看到过,不过她断定,里面很挤,不像样,也不卫生;她说,他睡在铺板上,只铺一条毛毡,别的什么东西他也不想置备。但是他过着这样恶劣和贫困的生活,完全不是按照什么偏执的计划或者是有什么意图,而只不过是由于对自己的命运漠不关心以及表面上的冷漠态度。索尼娅坦率地写道,他,特别是最初,对她去探望他不仅不感兴趣,甚至几乎是怨恨她,不爱说话,甚至粗暴地对待她,但这些会面终于使他习惯了,甚至几乎变成了他的要求,有一次她生了好几天病,没能去探望他,他甚至非常想念她。每逢节日,她都和他在监狱大门口或警卫室里见面,有时他给叫到警卫室去和她会见几分钟;平日他要去干活,她就到他干活的地方去看他,或者在工场,或者在砖厂里,或者在额尔齐斯河畔的板棚里。关于她自己,索尼娅告诉他们,在城里她甚至已经有了几个熟人和保护人;她说,她在做裁缝,因为城市里几乎没有做时装的女裁缝,所以,在许多家庭里,她甚至成为一个必不可少的人了;不过她没有提到,由于她的关系,拉斯科利尼科夫也得到了长官的照顾,让他去干比较轻的活,等等。最后,传来这样一个消息(杜尼娅甚至发觉,在她最近的几封来信里,流露出某种特别焦虑和担心的情绪),说他躲避所有的人,说监狱里的苦役犯人都不喜欢他;说他一连几天一句话也不说,脸色变得十分苍白。突然,在最近一封来信里,索尼娅写道,他病了,病情十分严重,躺在医院的囚犯病房里……


峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 56楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

II Page 1
He was ill a long time. But it was not the horrors of prison life, not the hard labour, the bad food, the shaven head, or the patched clothes that crushed him. What did he care for all those trials and hardships! he was even glad of the hard work. Physically exhausted, he could at least reckon on a few hours of quiet sleep. And what was the food to him--the thin cabbage soup with beetles floating in it? In the past as a student he had often not had even that. His clothes were warm and suited to his manner of life. He did not even feel the fetters. Was he ashamed of his shaven head and parti-coloured coat? Before whom? Before Sonia? Sonia was afraid of him, how could he be ashamed before her? And yet he was ashamed even before Sonia, whom he tortured because of it with his contemptuous rough manner. But it was not his shaven head and his fetters he was ashamed of: his pride had been stung to the quick. It was wounded pride that made him ill. Oh, how happy he would have been if he could have blamed himself! He could have borne anything then, even shame and disgrace. But he judged himself severely, and his exasperated conscience found no particularly terrible fault in his past, except a simple /blunder/ which might happen to anyone. He was ashamed just because he, Raskolnikov, had so hopelessly, stupidly come to grief through some decree of blind fate, and must humble himself and submit to "the idiocy" of a sentence, if he were anyhow to be at peace.
Vague and objectless anxiety in the present, and in the future a continual sacrifice leading to nothing--that was all that lay before him. And what comfort was it to him that at the end of eight years he would only be thirty-two and able to begin a new life! What had he to live for? What had he to look forward to? Why should he strive? To live in order to exist? Why, he had been ready a thousand times before to give up existence for the sake of an idea, for a hope, even for a fancy. Mere existence had always been too little for him; he had always wanted more. Perhaps it was just because of the strength of his desires that he had thought himself a man to whom more was permissible than to others.
And if only fate would have sent him repentance--burning repentance that would have torn his heart and robbed him of sleep, that repentance, the awful agony of which brings visions of hanging or drowning! Oh, he would have been glad of it! Tears and agonies would at least have been life. But he did not repent of his crime.
At least he might have found relief in raging at his stupidity, as he had raged at the grotesque blunders that had brought him to prison. But now in prison, /in freedom/, he thought over and criticised all his actions again and by no means found them so blundering and so grotesque as they had seemed at the fatal time.
"In what way," he asked himself, "was my theory stupider than others that have swarmed and clashed from the beginning of the world? One has only to look at the thing quite independently, broadly, and uninfluenced by commonplace ideas, and my idea will by no means seem so . . . strange. Oh, sceptics and halfpenny philosophers, why do you halt half-way!"
"Why does my action strike them as so horrible?" he said to himself. "Is it because it was a crime? What is meant by crime? My conscience is at rest. Of course, it was a legal crime, of course, the letter of the law was broken and blood was shed. Well, punish me for the letter of the law . . . and that's enough. Of course, in that case many of the benefactors of mankind who snatched power for themselves instead of inheriting it ought to have been punished at their first steps. But those men succeeded and so /they were right/, and I didn't, and so I had no right to have taken that step."
It was only in that that he recognised his criminality, only in the fact that he had been unsuccessful and had confessed it.
He suffered too from the question: why had he not killed himself? Why had he stood looking at the river and preferred to confess? Was the desire to live so strong and was it so hard to overcome it? Had not Svidrigailov overcome it, although he was afraid of death?
In misery he asked himself this question, and could not understand that, at the very time he had been standing looking into the river, he had perhaps been dimly conscious of the fundamental falsity in himself and his convictions. He didn't understand that that consciousness might be the promise of a future crisis, of a new view of life and of his future resurrection.
He preferred to attribute it to the dead weight of instinct which he could not step over, again through weakness and meanness. He looked at his fellow prisoners and was amazed to see how they all loved life and prized it. It seemed to him that they loved and valued life more in prison than in freedom. What terrible agonies and privations some of them, the tramps for instance, had endured! Could they care so much for a ray of sunshine, for the primeval forest, the cold spring hidden away in some unseen spot, which the tramp had marked three years before, and longed to see again, as he might to see his sweetheart, dreaming of the green grass round it and the bird singing in the bush? As he went on he saw still more inexplicable examples.
In prison, of course, there was a great deal he did not see and did not want to see; he lived as it were with downcast eyes. It was loathsome and unbearable for him to look. But in the end there was much that surprised him and he began, as it were involuntarily, to notice much that he had not suspected before. What surprised him most of all was the terrible impossible gulf that lay between him and all the rest. They seemed to be a different species, and he looked at them and they at him with distrust and hostility. He felt and knew the reasons of his isolation, but he would never have admitted till then that those reasons were so deep and strong. There were some Polish exiles, political prisoners, among them. They simply looked down upon all the rest as ignorant churls; but Raskolnikov could not look upon them like that. He saw that these ignorant men were in many respects far wiser than the Poles. There were some Russians who were just as contemptuous, a former officer and two seminarists. Raskolnikov saw their mistake as clearly. He was disliked and avoided by everyone; they even began to hate him at last--why, he could not tell. Men who had been far more guilty despised and laughed at his crime.
"You're a gentleman," they used to say. "You shouldn't hack about with an axe; that's not a gentleman's work."
The second week in Lent, his turn came to take the sacrament with his gang. He went to church and prayed with the others. A quarrel broke out one day, he did not know how. All fell on him at once in a fury.
"You're an infidel! You don't believe in God," they shouted. "You ought to be killed."
He had never talked to them about God nor his belief, but they wanted to kill him as an infidel. He said nothing. One of the prisoners rushed at him in a perfect frenzy. Raskolnikov awaited him calmly and silently; his eyebrows did not quiver, his face did not flinch. The guard succeeded in intervening between him and his assailant, or there would have been bloodshed.
There was another question he could not decide: why were they all so fond of Sonia? She did not try to win their favour; she rarely met them, sometimes only she came to see him at work for a moment. And yet everybody knew her, they knew that she had come out to follow /him/, knew how and where she lived. She never gave them money, did them no particular services. Only once at Christmas she sent them all presents of pies and rolls. But by degrees closer relations sprang up between them and Sonia. She would write and post letters for them to their relations. Relations of the prisoners who visited the town, at their instructions, left with Sonia presents and money for them. Their wives and sweethearts knew her and used to visit her. And when she visited Raskolnikov at work, or met a party of the prisoners on the road, they all took off their hats to her. "Little mother Sofya Semyonovna, you are our dear, good little mother," coarse branded criminals said to that frail little creature. She would smile and bow to them and everyone was delighted when she smiled. They even admired her gait and turned round to watch her walking; they admired her too for being so little, and, in fact, did not know what to admire her most for. They even came to her for help in their illnesses.
He was in the hospital from the middle of Lent till after Easter. When he was better, he remembered the dreams he had had while he was feverish and delirious. He dreamt that the whole world was condemned to a terrible new strange plague that had come to Europe from the depths of Asia. All were to be destroyed except a very few chosen. Some new sorts of microbes were attacking the bodies of men, but these microbes were endowed with intelligence and will. Men attacked by them became at once mad and furious. But never had men considered themselves so intellectual and so completely in possession of the truth as these sufferers, never had they considered their decisions, their scientific conclusions, their moral convictions so infallible. Whole villages, whole towns and peoples went mad from the infection. All were excited and did not understand one another. Each thought that he alone had the truth and was wretched looking at the others, beat himself on the breast, wept, and wrung his hands. They did not know how to judge and could not agree what to consider evil and what good; they did not know whom to blame, whom to justify. Men killed each other in a sort of senseless spite. They gathered together in armies against one another, but even on the march the armies would begin attacking each other, the ranks would be broken and the soldiers would fall on each other, stabbing and cutting, biting and devouring each other. The alarm bell was ringing all day long in the towns; men rushed together, but why they were summoned and who was summoning them no one knew. The most ordinary trades were abandoned, because everyone proposed his own ideas, his own improvements, and they could not agree. The land too was abandoned. Men met in groups, agreed on something, swore to keep together, but at once began on something quite different from what they had proposed. They accused one another, fought and killed each other. There were conflagrations and famine. All men and all things were involved in destruction. The plague spread and moved further and further. Only a few men could be saved in the whole world. They were a pure chosen people, destined to found a new race and a new life, to renew and purify the earth, but no one had seen these men, no one had heard their words and their voices.
他早就已经生病了;但使他垮下来的不是苦役生活的恐怖,不是做苦工,不是这里的伙食,不是剃光头,也不是用布头缝制的囚衣:噢!所有这些苦难和折磨对他来说算得了什么!恰恰相反,对做苦工,他甚至感到高兴:干活使身体疲惫不堪,他至少可以安安静静地睡上几个钟头。至于伙食——这没有一点儿肉屑、却漂浮着蟑螂的菜汤,对他来说又算得了什么?他从前作大学生的时候,常常连这样的饭都吃不上。他的衣服是暖和的,对他现在的生活方式也挺合适。他甚至没有感觉到身上戴着镣铐。剃光头和穿着用两种不同料子做的短上衣①,使他感到可耻吗?可是在谁的面前觉得可耻呢?在索尼娅面前吗?索尼娅怕他,在她面前他会感到羞愧吗?
--------
①第二类苦役犯人穿灰、黑两色的短上衣,背上缝一块黄色的方布。
那么是为什么呢?就连在索尼娅面前,他也感到羞愧,因此他用轻蔑和粗暴的态度来对待她,使她感到痛苦不堪。但他感到羞愧,并不是因为剃了光头和戴着镣铐:他的自尊心受到了严重的伤害;使他病倒的是他那受到伤害的自尊心。噢,如果他能自认为有罪,他会感到多么幸福啊!那时他将会忍受一切,就连羞耻和屈辱也能忍受。但是他以求全责备的目光检查了自己的所作所为,他那顽强不屈的良心却没能在自己过去的行为中发现任何特别可怕的罪行,也许只除了人人都可能发生的极平常的失算。他所以感到可耻,正是因为他,拉斯科利尼科夫,由于偶然的命运的判决,竟这样偶然、这样毫无希望、这样冷漠、这样糊里糊涂地毁了,如果他想多少安慰自己,那就得听天由命,逆来顺受,对某种判决的“荒谬”表示屈服。
目前只有空洞和毫无意义的忧虑,将来只有一无所获的、不断的牺牲,——这就是他在这个世界上面临的命运。八年后他只不过三十二岁,还可以重新开始生活,这又有什么意义呢!他为什么要活着?有什么打算?竭力追求的是什么?为了生存而活着吗?可是以前他就甘愿为思想、为希望、甚至为幻想成千次献出自己的生命了。他一向认为,单单生存是不够的;他总是希望生命有更大的意义。也许只是由于他抱有希望,当时他才自认为是一个比别人享有更多权利的人吧。
如果命运赐给他悔过之心就好了——沉痛的悔恨会使他心碎,夺走他的睡眠。由于悔恨而感到的可怕的痛苦会使他神思恍惚,产生自缢和投河的念头!噢,如果能够这样,他将会感到多么高兴啊!痛苦和眼泪——这也是生活嘛。然而对自己的罪行,他并无悔过之意。
要是他能至少对自己的愚蠢感到愤慨也好,就像以前他曾对自己那些很不像话、愚蠢透顶的行为感到愤恨一样,正是那些愚蠢行为导致他锒铛入狱的。可是现在,他已在狱中,空闲的时候,他重新反复考虑、衡量以前自己的所作所为,却完全不认为这些行为像他以前,在决定命运的时刻所认为的那样愚蠢和不像话了。
“有哪一点,有哪一点,”他想,“我的思想比开天辟地以来这个世界上大量产生而又相互矛盾的思想和理论更愚蠢呢?只要以完全独立、全面、摆脱世俗观念的观点来看问题,那么我的思想当然就根本不是那么……奇怪了。唉,对一切持否定态度的人和那些一钱不值的哲人们,你们为什么半途而废啊!”
“从哪一点来看,他们觉得我的行为是那么不像话呢?”他自言自语。“是因为我的行为残暴吗?残暴这个词儿是什么意思?我问心无愧。当然,犯了刑事罪;当然,违反了法律条文的字面意义,而且流了血,好,那就为了法律条文的字面意义砍掉我的脑袋吧……这也就够了!当然啦,如果这样的话,那么就连许多人类的恩人,不是那些继承权力的人,而是自己攫取权力的人,在他们刚刚迈出最初几步的时候,也都应该处以极刑了。但是那些人经受住了最初的考验,所以他们是无罪的,我却没能经受住,可见我没有允许自己走这一步的权利。”
仅仅在这一点上,他承认自己是有罪的:他没能经受住考验,他去自首了。
这个想法也让他感到痛苦:当时他为什么没有自杀?为什么当时他曾站在河边,却宁愿去自首?难道活命的愿望是一种如此强大的力量,以致难以克服吗?怕死的斯维德里盖洛夫不是克服了吗?
他常常向自己提出这个问题,而且不能理解,当时,他站在河边的时候,也许已经预感到自己和自己的信念是十分虚伪的了。他不理解,这种预感可能就是他生活中未来转变的预兆,就是他将来获得新生、以新的观点来看待人生的预兆。
他宁愿认为这仅仅是本能的一种迟钝的沉重负担,他无法摆脱这副重担,而且仍然不能跨越过去(由于意志薄弱和渺小)。他看看和他一同服苦役的那些同伴,不由得感到惊讶:他们也是多么爱生活,多么珍惜生活啊!他好像觉得,他们正是在监狱里,比他们自由的时候更爱、更珍惜、也更重视生活。他们当中有一些人,譬如说,那些流浪汉,什么样的痛苦和残酷的折磨没有经受过啊!一道阳光,一座郁郁葱葱的森林,无人知道的密林深处一股冰凉的泉水,对于他们来说难道会有那么重大的意义?这泉水还是两年多以前发现的,难道一个流浪汉会像梦想会见情人那样,梦想着再看到这股泉水?他会梦见它,梦见它周围绿草如茵,一只小鸟儿在灌木丛中鸣啭吗?他继续细心观察,看到了一些更难解释的事例。
在监狱里,在他周围这些人们中间,当然有很多事情是他没注意到的,而且他也根本不想注意。不知为什么,他总是眼睛望着地下:周围的一切他看了就感到极端厌恶,难以忍受。但后来有很多事情开始使他感到惊奇了,于是他有点儿不由自主地注意到了以前想都没想到过的事情。一般说,使他最为惊讶的是,在他和所有这些人之间隔着一个无法逾越的可怕的深渊。似乎他和他们是不同民族的人。他和他们互不信任,互相怀有敌意。他知道而且了解这种隔阂的主要原因;但是以前他从不认为,这些原因真的是那么深刻和严重。监狱里也有一些波兰籍的流放犯,都是政治犯。那些波兰人简直把这儿所有人都看作没有知识的粗人和农民,高傲地瞧不起他们;拉斯科利尼科夫却不能这样看待他们:他清清楚楚看出,这些没有知识的粗人在许多方面都比这些波兰人聪明得多。这儿也有些俄罗斯人——一个军官和两个神学校的毕业生,——他们也很瞧不起这些人;拉斯科利尼科夫也明显地看出了他们的错误。
他本人也是大家都不喜欢的,大家都躲着他。最后甚至憎恨他了——为什么呢?他不知道原因何在。大家都瞧不起他,嘲笑他,就连那些罪行比他严重得多的人也嘲笑他所犯的罪。
“你是老爷!”他们对他说。“你能拿斧头吗;这根本不是老爷干的事。”
大斋期①的第二周,轮到他和同一牢房的犯人去斋戒②。
--------
①复活节前的斋期,一共持续六个星期。
②按教堂规定的时间素食。祈祷,准备去忏悔和领圣餐。
他和其他人一道去教堂祈祷。他自己也不知是为了什么,——有一次发生了争吵;大家一下子全都起来疯狂地攻击他。
“你是个不信神的人!你不信上帝!”他们对他吼叫。“真该宰了你。”
他从来也没跟他们谈过上帝和宗教,他们却要把他当作一个不信神的人,杀死他;他不作声,也不反驳他们。有一个苦役犯人狂怒地朝他扑了过来;拉斯科利尼科夫沉着地、默默地等着他:他的眉毛动都不动,脸上的肌肉也没抖动过一下。一个押送他们的卫兵及时把他们隔开了——不然准会发生流血事件。
对他来说,还有一个问题也没解决:为什么他们大家都那么喜欢索尼娅?她并不巴结他们;他们难得碰到她,有时只是在大家干活的时候,她到那里去,只待一会儿,是为了去看他。然而大家都已经认识她了,知道她是跟着他来的,知道她怎样生活,住在哪里。她没给过他们钱,也没为他们特别效过力。只有一次,在圣诞节,她给监狱里的犯人们送来了馅饼和白面包。但是渐渐地在他们和索尼娅之间建立起了某些更为密切的关系:她代他们给他们的亲属写信,替他们把信送到邮局去。他们的亲属到城里来的时候,都根据他们的介绍,把带给他们的东西,甚至金钱交给索尼娅。他们的妻子或情人都认识她,常到她那里去。每当她到他们干活的地方去看拉斯科利尼科夫,或者在路上遇到一批去干活的犯人的时候,犯人们都摘下帽子,向她问好:“妈妈,索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜,你是我们的母亲,温柔的、最可爱的母亲!”这些粗野的、脸上刺了字①的苦役犯人对这个瘦小的女人说。她总是微笑着鞠躬还礼,大家都喜欢她对他们微笑。他们甚至喜欢她走路的姿态,总是回过头来目送着她,看她走路的样子,并且赞美她;甚至为了她是那么瘦小而赞美她,甚至不知道该赞美她什么才好。他们生了病,甚至去找她给他们治病。
--------
①沙俄时期,被判处苦役的犯人要在额上和脸上刺上“KAT”(苦役犯的缩写)三个字母。贵族和妇女免于刺字。
斋期的最后几天和复活节的那一个星期,他都躺在医院里。病渐渐痊愈的时候,他记起了还在发烧和昏迷不醒的时候作的那些梦。病中他梦见,全世界注定要在一场闻所未闻、见所未见的、可怕的瘟疫中毁灭,这场瘟疫是从亚洲腹地蔓延到欧洲来的。所有人都必死无疑,只有很少几个才智超群的人得以幸免。发现了一种新的旋毛虫,一种能侵入人体的微生物。不过这些微生物是有智慧、有意志的精灵。身体里有了这种微生物的人立刻会变得像鬼魂附体一样,变成疯子。可是人们还从来,从来没有像这些病人那样自以为聪明过人,而且坚信真理。对于自己所作的决定、科学结论、自己的道德观念和信仰还从来没像现在这样坚信不疑。一批批村庄、一座座城市,全体人民都传染上了这种瘟疫,都发疯了。大家都惶惶不安,互不了解,每个人都认为,只有他一个人掌握了真理,看着别人都感到痛苦不堪,捶胸顿足,放声大哭,十分痛心。大家都不知道该审判谁,该如何审判,对于什么是恶,什么是善,都无法取得一致意见。都不知道该认为什么人有罪,该为什么人辩护。他们怀着失去理性的仇恨,互相残杀。他们各自调集了大批军队,向对方发动进攻,但是在行军途中,这些军队却自相残杀起来,队伍混乱了,战士们互相攻击,互相砍、杀,人在咬人,人在吃人。一座座城市里整天鸣钟报警:召集所有的人,可是谁也不知道,是谁,又是为什么召集他们,然而大家都感到惊慌不安。大家都丢下了日常工作。因为每个人都提出自己的观点,提出自己的改良计划,而不能取得一致意见,农业荒废了。有些地方,人们聚集到一起,同意去做什么事情,发誓决不分离,但是话音未落,却立刻干起与自己刚才的建议完全相反的事情来:大家互相指责,斗殴,残杀。开始发生火灾,饥荒。所有人和一切事物都毁了。瘟疫在发展,继续到处蔓延。全世界只有几个人能够得救,这是一些心灵纯洁、才智超群的人,他们负有繁衍新人种和创造新生活的使命,他们将使大地焕然一新,彻底净化,然而谁也没在任何地方看到过这些人,谁也没听到过他们说的话和他们的声音。

峈暄莳苡

ZxID:13764889


等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 妖紫魅
潜水随缘!周年:5.27结婚,10.23结拜,12.23注册
举报 只看该作者 57楼  发表于: 2013-10-24 0

II Page 2
Raskolnikov was worried that this senseless dream haunted his memory so miserably, the impression of this feverish delirium persisted so long. The second week after Easter had come. There were warm bright spring days; in the prison ward the grating windows under which the sentinel paced were opened. Sonia had only been able to visit him twice during his illness; each time she had to obtain permission, and it was difficult. But she often used to come to the hospital yard, especially in the evening, sometimes only to stand a minute and look up at the windows of the ward.
One evening, when he was almost well again, Raskolnikov fell asleep. On waking up he chanced to go to the window, and at once saw Sonia in the distance at the hospital gate. She seemed to be waiting for someone. Something stabbed him to the heart at that minute. He shuddered and moved away from the window. Next day Sonia did not come, nor the day after; he noticed that he was expecting her uneasily. At last he was discharged. On reaching the prison he learnt from the convicts that Sofya Semyonovna was lying ill at home and was unable to go out.
He was very uneasy and sent to inquire after her; he soon learnt that her illness was not dangerous. Hearing that he was anxious about her, Sonia sent him a pencilled note, telling him that she was much better, that she had a slight cold and that she would soon, very soon come and see him at his work. His heart throbbed painfully as he read it.
Again it was a warm bright day. Early in the morning, at six o'clock, he went off to work on the river bank, where they used to pound alabaster and where there was a kiln for baking it in a shed. There were only three of them sent. One of the convicts went with the guard to the fortress to fetch a tool; the other began getting the wood ready and laying it in the kiln. Raskolnikov came out of the shed on to the river bank, sat down on a heap of logs by the shed and began gazing at the wide deserted river. From the high bank a broad landscape opened before him, the sound of singing floated faintly audible from the other bank. In the vast steppe, bathed in sunshine, he could just see, like black specks, the nomads' tents. There there was freedom, there other men were living, utterly unlike those here; there time itself seemed to stand still, as though the age of Abraham and his flocks had not passed. Raskolnikov sat gazing, his thoughts passed into day-dreams, into contemplation; he thought of nothing, but a vague restlessness excited and troubled him. Suddenly he found Sonia beside him; she had come up noiselessly and sat down at his side. It was still quite early; the morning chill was still keen. She wore her poor old burnous and the green shawl; her face still showed signs of illness, it was thinner and paler. She gave him a joyful smile of welcome, but held out her hand with her usual timidity. She was always timid of holding out her hand to him and sometimes did not offer it at all, as though afraid he would repel it. He always took her hand as though with repugnance, always seemed vexed to meet her and was sometimes obstinately silent throughout her visit. Sometimes she trembled before him and went away deeply grieved. But now their hands did not part. He stole a rapid glance at her and dropped his eyes on the ground without speaking. They were alone, no one had seen them. The guard had turned away for the time.
How it happened he did not know. But all at once something seemed to seize him and fling him at her feet. He wept and threw his arms round her knees. For the first instant she was terribly frightened and she turned pale. She jumped up and looked at him trembling. But at the same moment she understood, and a light of infinite happiness came into her eyes. She knew and had no doubt that he loved her beyond everything and that at last the moment had come. . . .
They wanted to speak, but could not; tears stood in their eyes. They were both pale and thin; but those sick pale faces were bright with the dawn of a new future, of a full resurrection into a new life. They were renewed by love; the heart of each held infinite sources of life for the heart of the other.
They resolved to wait and be patient. They had another seven years to wait, and what terrible suffering and what infinite happiness before them! But he had risen again and he knew it and felt it in all his being, while she--she only lived in his life.
On the evening of the same day, when the barracks were locked, Raskolnikov lay on his plank bed and thought of her. He had even fancied that day that all the convicts who had been his enemies looked at him differently; he had even entered into talk with them and they answered him in a friendly way. He remembered that now, and thought it was bound to be so. Wasn't everything now bound to be changed?
He thought of her. He remembered how continually he had tormented her and wounded her heart. He remembered her pale and thin little face. But these recollections scarcely troubled him now; he knew with what infinite love he would now repay all her sufferings. And what were all, /all/ the agonies of the past! Everything, even his crime, his sentence and imprisonment, seemed to him now in the first rush of feeling an external, strange fact with which he had no concern. But he could not think for long together of anything that evening, and he could not have analysed anything consciously; he was simply feeling. Life had stepped into the place of theory and something quite different would work itself out in his mind.
Under his pillow lay the New Testament. He took it up mechanically. The book belonged to Sonia; it was the one from which she had read the raising of Lazarus to him. At first he was afraid that she would worry him about religion, would talk about the gospel and pester him with books. But to his great surprise she had not once approached the subject and had not even offered him the Testament. He had asked her for it himself not long before his illness and she brought him the book without a word. Till now he had not opened it.
He did not open it now, but one thought passed through his mind: "Can her convictions not be mine now? Her feelings, her aspirations at least. . . ."
She too had been greatly agitated that day, and at night she was taken ill again. But she was so happy--and so unexpectedly happy--that she was almost frightened of her happiness. Seven years, /only/ seven years! At the beginning of their happiness at some moments they were both ready to look on those seven years as though they were seven days. He did not know that the new life would not be given him for nothing, that he would have to pay dearly for it, that it would cost him great striving, great suffering.
But that is the beginning of a new story--the story of the gradual renewal of a man, the story of his gradual regeneration, of his passing from one world into another, of his initiation into a new unknown life. That might be the subject of a new story, but our present story is ended.
使拉斯科利尼科夫异常苦恼的是:这毫无意义的梦呓竟在他的记忆里唤起如此悲哀和痛苦的感情,热病发作时梦中的印象竟这样长久地萦回不去。已经是复活节后的第二周;天气暖和,天空晴朗,春天到了;囚犯病房里的窗户打开了(窗上装了铁栅,窗外有哨兵巡逻)。在他生病期间,索尼娅只能在病房里探望了他两次;每次都得请求批准,而这是很困难的。但是她经常到医院的院子里来,站到窗前,特别是在傍晚,有时只是为了在院子里稍站一会儿,至少可以从远处望望病房里的窗户。有一天傍晚,已经差不多完全恢复健康的拉斯科利尼科夫睡着了;醒来后,他无意中走到窗前,突然在远处,在医院大门附近看到了索尼娅。她站在那儿,好像在等待着什么。这时仿佛有个什么东西猛一下子刺穿了他的心;他颤栗了一下,赶快离开了窗边。第二天索尼娅没有来,第三天也没来;他发觉,自己在焦急不安地等着她。他终于出院了。回到监狱,他从囚犯们那里得知,索尼娅病了,睡在家里,哪里也不去。
他非常担心,托人去探望她。不久他得知,她的病并不危险。索尼娅也得知,他十分想念她,关心她,于是托人给他带去一张用铅笔写的条子,告诉他,她的病好多了,她只不过着了凉,有点儿感冒,她很快、很快就会到他干活的地方去和他见面。他看这张条子的时候,心在剧烈而痛苦地狂跳。
又是晴朗而暖和的一天。大清早六点钟的时候,他到河岸上去干活了,那儿的一座板棚里砌了一座烧建筑用石膏的焙烧炉,也是在那儿把石膏捣碎。去那儿干活的只有三个人。有一个囚犯和押送犯人的卫兵一道到要塞领工具去了;另一个犯人动手准备劈柴,把柴堆到焙烧炉里。拉斯科利尼科夫从板棚里出来,来到河边,坐到堆放在板棚旁的原木上,开始眺望那条宽阔、荒凉的河流。从高高的河岸上望去,四周一大片广袤的土地都呈现在眼前。从遥远的对岸隐隐约约传来了歌声。那里,洒满阳光、一望无际的草原上,游牧民族的帐篷宛如一个个黑点,依稀可辨。那里是自由的天地,那里住着与这里的人全然不同的另一些人,那里的时间似乎停止了,仿佛亚伯拉罕①的时代和他的畜群还没有成为过去。拉斯科利尼科夫坐在河边,目不转睛地凝神眺望着;他渐渐陷入幻想和想象中;他什么也没想,但是某种忧虑却使他心情激动不安,使他感到痛苦。
--------
①据《圣经》上说:古犹太人的族长亚伯拉罕大约生于纪元前二○○○年。
突然索尼娅在他身边出现了。她悄无声息地来到了他这里,坐到他的旁边。时间还很早,清晨的寒气还没有减弱。她穿一件寒伧的旧大衣,头上包着绿色的头巾。她脸上还带着病容,十分消瘦,面色苍白。她亲切而高兴地对他微微一笑,却像往常一样,怯生生地向他伸过手来。
她把自己的手伸给他的时候总是怯生生地,有时甚至根本不把手伸给他,似乎害怕他会把她的手推开。他好像总是怀着厌恶的心情和她握手,见到她时总是好像感到遗憾,有时,在她来看他的这段时间里,他执拗地默默不语。有时她很怕他,经常是怀着十分悲痛的心情回去。但是现在他们的手没有分开;他匆匆看了她一眼,什么也没说,垂下眼睛望着地下。只有他们两个人,谁也没看到他们。这时候押送犯人的卫兵把脸转过去了。
这是怎么发生的,他自己也不知道,但是好像不知有什么突然把他举起来,丢到了她的脚下。他哭了,抱住了她的双膝。最初一瞬间她大吃一惊,吓得面无人色。她跳了起来,浑身发抖,望着他。但立刻,就在这一刹那,她什么都明白了。她的眼睛闪闪发光,露出无限幸福的神情;她明白了,她已经毫不怀疑,他爱她,无限地热爱她,这个时刻终于到了……
他们想要说话,可是谁也说不出来。他们都热泪盈眶。他们俩都面色苍白,两人都很瘦;但是在这两张仍然带有病容的、苍白的脸上已经闪烁着获得新生的未来的曙光。爱情使他们获得了新生,这一个人的心包含有另一颗心的无穷无尽的生活源泉。
他们决定等待和忍耐。他们还得等待七年;而在那个时候到来之前,还有多少难以忍受的痛苦和无穷无尽的幸福啊!然而他获得了新生,他也知道这一点,已经获得新生的他以全身心充分感觉到了这一点,而她——她只是为了使他活下去而活着!
那天晚上,牢房的门已经锁上以后,拉斯科利尼科夫躺在床板上想着她。这天他甚至好像觉得,似乎所有苦役犯人,他以前的那些敌人,已经用另一种眼光来看他了。他甚至主动跟他们说起话来,他们也亲切地回答他。现在他回想起这一切,不过,不是应该如此吗;难道现在不是一切都应该改变了吗?
他在想着她。他回想起,以前他经常折磨她,让她伤心;回想起她那苍白、消瘦的脸,但是这些回忆现在几乎并不使他感到痛苦;他知道,现在他会用多么无限的爱来补偿她所受的一切痛苦。
而且这一切究竟是什么呢,一切痛苦都已经过去了!现在,在最初的感情冲动中,一切,就连他犯的罪,就连判决和流放,他都觉得好像是某种身外的、奇怪的、甚至仿佛不是他亲身经历的事情。不过这天晚上他不能长久和固定地去想某一件事,不能把思想集中到某一件事情上去;而且现在他也并未有意识地作出任何决定;他只是有这样的一些感觉。生活取代了雄辩,思想意识里应该形成完全不同的另一种东西。
他枕头底下有一本福音书。他无意识地把它拿了出来。这本书是她的,就是她给他读拉撒路复活的那一本。刚开始服苦役的时候,他以为她会用宗教来折磨他,会和他谈福音书上的故事,把书硬塞给他。然而使他极为惊讶的是,她连一次也没跟他谈起这件事,连一次也没提出要给他福音书。在他生病前不久,他自己向她要这本书,她默默地给他把书带来了。直到现在他还没有翻开过这本书。
现在他也没有把书翻开,不过有个想法在他脑子里突然一闪:“难道现在她的信仰不能成为我的信仰吗?至少她的感情,她的愿望……”
整整这一天,她心里也很激动,夜里甚至又生病了。但是她觉得那么幸福,几乎对自己的幸福感到害怕。七年,只不过七年!在他们的幸福刚一开始的时候,有时他们俩都愿意把这七年看作七天。他甚至不知道,他不可能不付出代价就获得新的生活,还必须为新生活付出昂贵的代价,必须在以后为它建立丰功伟绩……
不过一个新的故事已经开始,这是一个人逐渐获得新生的故事,是一个人逐渐洗心革面、从一个世界进入另一个世界的故事,是他逐渐熟悉迄今为止还不知道的、新的现实的故事。这可以构成一部新小说的题材,——不过我们现在的这部小说已经结束了。


w1207004533

ZxID:67053474

等级: 派派新人
举报 只看该作者 58楼  发表于: 2015-11-29 0
谁能告诉我这是谁译的
派克包

ZxID:212521

等级: 热心会员
我有,我可以
举报 只看该作者 59楼  发表于: 2018-11-07 0
发帖 回复