Crime And Punishment by Dostoevsky Fyodor

Author:Dostoevsky, Fyodor [Fyodor Dostoevsky]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2017-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

Part Four

I

“CAN THIS BE a continuation of my dream?” came once again to Raskolnikov’s mind. Cautiously and mistrustfully he stared at his unexpected visitor.

“Svidrigailov? What nonsense! It can’t be!” he finally said aloud, in perplexity.

The visitor seemed not in the least surprised at this exclamation.

“I have come here owing to two reasons: first, I wished to meet you personally, because I have long since heard much about you from a point that is curious and advantageous for you; and, second, I dream that you will perhaps not decline to help me in a certain undertaking directly concerned with the interests of your dear sister, Avdotya Romanovna. Owing to biased opinion, she will perhaps not allow me into the yard if I come on my own, without a recommendation; well, but with your help, on the other hand, I reckon . . .”

“Poor reckoning,” Raskolnikov interrupted.

“They arrived only yesterday, if I may ask?”

Raskolnikov did not reply.

“It was yesterday, I know. I myself arrived only two days ago. Well, here is what I shall tell you in that regard, Rodion Romanovich; I consider it unnecessary to justify myself, but even so, allow me to say: what is there in all this, in the thing itself, that is so especially criminal on my part—I mean, judging soberly, and without prejudice?”

Raskolnikov went on studying him silently.

“That I pursued a defenseless girl in my own house and ‘insulted her with my vile proposals’—is that it, sir? (I’m running ahead of myself!) But you need only suppose that I, too, am a man, et nibil bumanum1 . . . in short, that I, too, am capable of being tempted and of falling in love (which, of course, does not happen on command), and then everything is explained in the most natural way. The whole question here is: am I a monster, or a victim myself? Well, and what if I am a victim? For in offering to elope with my object to America or Switzerland, I may have been nurturing the most respectful feelings, and hoping, besides, to arrange for our mutual happiness! . . . For reason is the slave of passion; good heavens, perhaps I was ruining myself even more! . . .”

“But that is not the point at all,” Raskolnikov interrupted with loathing. “You are quite simply disgusting, whether you are right or not, and so people don’t want to have anything to do with you, they chase you away—so, go! . . .”

Svidrigailov suddenly burst out laughing.

“You, however . . . you simply will not be thrown off!” he said, laughing in the most genuine manner. “I tried to dodge round you, but no, you went straight to the most real point!”

“But you’re continuing to dodge even now.”

“What of it? What of it?” Svidrigailov repeated, laughing openheartedly. “It’s bonne guerre,2 as they call it, and the most admissible dodging! . . . Anyway, you interrupted me; one way or the other, I affirm again: there would have been no trouble, if it hadn’t been for that incident in the garden.

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