Crime and Punishment

“Then why did you need me so much? You've been wooing around me, haven't you?”

“Simply as a curious subject for observation. I liked you for your fantastic situation—that's why! Besides, you're the brother of a person in whom I was very much interested; and, finally, there was a time when I heard terribly much and terribly often about you from that person, from which I concluded that you have a great influence over her; isn't that enough? Heh, heh, heh! However, I confess that your question is too complicated for me, and I find it difficult to answer. Let's say, for example, that you've come to me now not just on business, but for a little something new—right? Am I right?” Svidrigailov insisted, with a mischievous smile. “Now, just imagine that I, while still on my way here, on the train, was also counting on you, that you would also tell me a little something new, that I'd manage to come by something from you! See what rich men we are!”

“What could you come by?”

“Who can say? How should I know what? You see the sort of wretched tavern I spend all my time sitting in; and I relish it—that is, not that I relish it, but just that one needs a place to sit down. Well, take even this poor Katya—did you see her?...If I were at least a glutton, for example, a club gourmand—but look what I'm able to eat!” (He jabbed his finger towards the corner, where the leftovers of a terrible beefsteak with potatoes stood on a little table, on a tin plate.) “Have you had di

“But who are you, and why did you come here?”

“Who am I? Oh, you know: a nobleman, served two years in the cavalry, then hung around here in Petersburg, then married Marfa Petrovna and lived on the estate. That's my biography!”

“You're a gambler, I believe?”

“No, hardly. A sharper is not a gambler.”

“And you were a sharper?”

“Yes, I was a sharper.”

“Did you ever get thrashed?”

“It happened. What of it?”

“Well, so you could also have been challenged to a duel... and that generally makes things lively.”

“I won't contradict you, and, besides, I'm no expert at philosophizing. I confess to you that I hurried here rather more in co

“As soon as you'd buried Marfa Petrovna?”

“Why, yes.” Svidrigailov smiled with wi

“You mean, do I find anything bad in depravity?”

“Depravity! Well, listen to that! However, for the sake of order, I'll answer you first about women in general; you know, I'm inclined to be talkative. Tell me, why should I restrain myself? Why should I give up women, if I'm so fond of them? At least it's an occupation.”

“So all you're hoping for here is depravity?”

“Well, call it depravity if you wish! You and your depravity! At least it's a direct question; I like that. In this depravity there's at least something permanent, even based on nature, and not subject to fantasy, something that abides in the blood like a perpetually burning coal, eternally inflaming, which for a long time, even with age, one may not be able to extinguish so easily. Wouldn't you agree that it's an occupation of sorts?”

“What is there to be so glad about? It's a disease, and a dangerous one.”

“Ah, listen to that! I admit it's a disease, like everything that goes beyond measure—and here one is bound to go beyond measure—but, first of all, that means one thing for one man and another for another, and, second, one must of course maintain a certain measure and calculation in everything, even if it's vile; but what can one do? Without that, really, one might perhaps have to shoot oneself. I agree that a decent man is obliged to be bored, but even so . . .”

“And could you shoot yourself?”

“Come, now!” Svidrigailov parried with loathing. “Do me a favor, don't speak of it,” he added hurriedly, and even without any of the fanfaronade that had showed in his previous words. Even his face seemed to change. “I'll confess it's an unfortunate weakness, but what can I do: I'm afraid of death and don't like hearing it talked about. You know, I'm something of a mystic.”

“Ah! Marfa Petrovna's ghosts! What, do they keep coming?”

“Away! Don't mention them! No, not in Petersburg yet; and anyway, devil take them!” he cried, with a sort of irritated look. “No, better let's talk about... although...Hm! Eh, there's no time, I can't stay with you long, more's the pity! I'd have found something to tell you.”

“What is it, a woman?”

“Yes, a woman, just some chance occasion...no, it's not that.”

“Well, and the vileness of the whole situation no longer affects you? You've already lost the power to stop?”

“So you're also appealing to power? Heh, heh, heh' You surprised me just now, Rodion Romanych, though I knew beforehand that it would be like this. And you talk to me of depravity and aesthetics! You—a Schiller! You—an idealist! Of course, it all had to be just like this, and it would be surprising if it were otherwise, but all the same it's strange when it really happens...Ah, what a pity there's no time, because you yourself are a most curious subject! By the way, are you fond of Schiller? I'm terribly fond of him.”

“What a fanfaron you are, really!” Raskolnikov said with some loathing.

“Not so, by God!” Svidrigailov replied, guffawing. “Though I won't argue, let it be fanfaron; and why not a bit of fanfaronade, since it's quite harmless? I lived for seven years on Marfa Petrovna's estate, and so now, having fallen upon an intelligent man like you—intelligent and curious in the highest degree—I'm simply glad of a little chat, and, besides, I've drunk this half glass of wine and it's already gone to my head a bit. And, above all, there is one circumstance that has braced me very much, but which I...shall pass over in silence. Where are you going?” Svidrigailov suddenly asked in alarm.

Raskolnikov was getting up. He felt both wretched and stifled, and somehow awkward that he had come there. He was convinced that Svidrigailov was the emptiest and most paltry villain in the world.

“Ehh! Sit down, stay,” Svidrigailov begged, “at least order some tea. Do stay, I won't talk nonsense—about myself, I mean. I'll tell you something. Shall I tell you how a woman, to put it in your style, was 'saving' me? This will even be an answer to your first question, because the person is your sister. May I tell you? It'll kill some time.”

“Tell me, then, but I hope you . . .”

“Oh, don't worry! Besides, even in such a bad and empty man as I am, Avdotya Romanovna can inspire nothing but the deepest respect.”

IV

“You perhaps know (and, incidentally, I told you myself),” Svidrigailov began, “that I was being held in debtors' prison here, for an enormous sum, and without the least prospect of paying it. There's no point in detailing how Marfa Petrovna bought me off then; do you know to what degree of stupefaction love can sometimes lead a woman? She was an honest woman, very far from stupid (though completely uneducated). Imagine, then, that this same jealous and honest woman made up her mind, after many terrible frenzies and reproaches, to stoop to a certain sort of contract with me, which she indeed fulfilled throughout our marriage. The thing was that she was considerably older than I and, besides, constantly kept some sort of clove in her mouth. I had enough swinishness in my soul, and honesty of a sort, to a

138

"Funeral oration" (French).