Dowd Siobhan - The London Eye Mystery 25 page

besides, the bell rang. I was sitting to-day, feeling very heavy after a

miserable dinner from a cookshop; I was sitting smoking, all of a sudden

Marfa Petrovna again. She came in very smart in a new green silk dress

with a long train. 'Good day, Arkady Ivanovitch! How do you like my

dress? Aniska can't make like this.' (Aniska was a dressmaker in the

country, one of our former serf girls who had been trained in Moscow, a

pretty wench.) She stood turning round before me. I looked at the dress,

and then I looked carefully, very carefully, at her face. 'I wonder

you trouble to come to me about such trifles, Marfa Petrovna.' 'Good

gracious, you won't let one disturb you about anything!' To tease her

I said, 'I want to get married, Marfa Petrovna.' 'That's just like you,

Arkady Ivanovitch; it does you very little credit to come looking for a

bride when you've hardly buried your wife. And if you could make a good

choice, at least, but I know it won't be for your happiness or hers, you

will only be a laughing-stock to all good people.' Then she went out and

her train seemed to rustle. Isn't it nonsense, eh?"

"But perhaps you are telling lies?" Raskolnikov put in.

"I rarely lie," answered Svidrigailov thoughtfully, apparently not

noticing the rudeness of the question.

"And in the past, have you ever seen ghosts before?"

"Y-yes, I have seen them, but only once in my life, six years ago. I had

a serf, Filka; just after his burial I called out forgetting 'Filka, my

pipe!' He came in and went to the cupboard where my pipes were. I sat

still and thought 'he is doing it out of revenge,' because we had a

violent quarrel just before his death. 'How dare you come in with a hole

in your elbow?' I said. 'Go away, you scamp!' He turned and went out,

and never came again. I didn't tell Marfa Petrovna at the time. I wanted

to have a service sung for him, but I was ashamed."

"You should go to a doctor."

"I know I am not well, without your telling me, though I don't know

what's wrong; I believe I am five times as strong as you are. I didn't

ask you whether you believe that ghosts are seen, but whether you

believe that they exist."

"No, I won't believe it!" Raskolnikov cried, with positive anger.

"What do people generally say?" muttered Svidrigailov, as though

speaking to himself, looking aside and bowing his head. "They say, 'You

are ill, so what appears to you is only unreal fantasy.' But that's not

strictly logical. I agree that ghosts only appear to the sick, but that

only proves that they are unable to appear except to the sick, not that

they don't exist."

"Nothing of the sort," Raskolnikov insisted irritably.

"No? You don't think so?" Svidrigailov went on, looking at him

deliberately. "But what do you say to this argument (help me with

it): ghosts are, as it were, shreds and fragments of other worlds, the

beginning of them. A man in health has, of course, no reason to see

them, because he is above all a man of this earth and is bound for the

sake of completeness and order to live only in this life. But as soon

as one is ill, as soon as the normal earthly order of the organism is

broken, one begins to realise the possibility of another world; and the

more seriously ill one is, the closer becomes one's contact with that

other world, so that as soon as the man dies he steps straight into that

world. I thought of that long ago. If you believe in a future life, you

could believe in that, too."

"I don't believe in a future life," said Raskolnikov.

Svidrigailov sat lost in thought.

"And what if there are only spiders there, or something of that sort,"

he said suddenly.

"He is a madman," thought Raskolnikov.

"We always imagine eternity as something beyond our conception,

something vast, vast! But why must it be vast? Instead of all that, what

if it's one little room, like a bath house in the country, black

and grimy and spiders in every corner, and that's all eternity is? I

sometimes fancy it like that."

"Can it be you can imagine nothing juster and more comforting than

that?" Raskolnikov cried, with a feeling of anguish.

"Juster? And how can we tell, perhaps that is just, and do you know

it's what I would certainly have made it," answered Svidrigailov, with a

vague smile.

This horrible answer sent a cold chill through Raskolnikov. Svidrigailov

raised his head, looked at him, and suddenly began laughing.

"Only think," he cried, "half an hour ago we had never seen each other,

we regarded each other as enemies; there is a matter unsettled between

us; we've thrown it aside, and away we've gone into the abstract! Wasn't

I right in saying that we were birds of a feather?"

"Kindly allow me," Raskolnikov went on irritably, "to ask you to explain

why you have honoured me with your visit... and... and I am in a hurry,

I have no time to waste. I want to go out."

"By all means, by all means. Your sister, Avdotya Romanovna, is going to

be married to Mr. Luzhin, Pyotr Petrovitch?"

"Can you refrain from any question about my sister and from mentioning

her name? I can't understand how you dare utter her name in my presence,

if you really are Svidrigailov."

"Why, but I've come here to speak about her; how can I avoid mentioning

her?"

"Very good, speak, but make haste."

"I am sure that you must have formed your own opinion of this Mr.

Luzhin, who is a connection of mine through my wife, if you have only

seen him for half an hour, or heard any facts about him. He is no

match for Avdotya Romanovna. I believe Avdotya Romanovna is sacrificing

herself generously and imprudently for the sake of... for the sake of

her family. I fancied from all I had heard of you that you would be very

glad if the match could be broken off without the sacrifice of worldly

advantages. Now I know you personally, I am convinced of it."

"All this is very naive... excuse me, I should have said impudent on

your part," said Raskolnikov.

"You mean to say that I am seeking my own ends. Don't be uneasy, Rodion

Romanovitch, if I were working for my own advantage, I would not have

spoken out so directly. I am not quite a fool. I will confess something

psychologically curious about that: just now, defending my love for

Avdotya Romanovna, I said I was myself the victim. Well, let me tell you

that I've no feeling of love now, not the slightest, so that I wonder

myself indeed, for I really did feel something..."

"Through idleness and depravity," Raskolnikov put in.

"I certainly am idle and depraved, but your sister has such qualities

that even I could not help being impressed by them. But that's all

nonsense, as I see myself now."

"Have you seen that long?"

"I began to be aware of it before, but was only perfectly sure of it the

day before yesterday, almost at the moment I arrived in Petersburg. I

still fancied in Moscow, though, that I was coming to try to get Avdotya

Romanovna's hand and to cut out Mr. Luzhin."

"Excuse me for interrupting you; kindly be brief, and come to the object

of your visit. I am in a hurry, I want to go out..."

"With the greatest pleasure. On arriving here and determining on a

certain... journey, I should like to make some necessary preliminary

arrangements. I left my children with an aunt; they are well provided

for; and they have no need of me personally. And a nice father I should

make, too! I have taken nothing but what Marfa Petrovna gave me a year

ago. That's enough for me. Excuse me, I am just coming to the point.

Before the journey which may come off, I want to settle Mr. Luzhin, too.

It's not that I detest him so much, but it was through him I quarrelled

with Marfa Petrovna when I learned that she had dished up this marriage.

I want now to see Avdotya Romanovna through your mediation, and if you

like in your presence, to explain to her that in the first place she

will never gain anything but harm from Mr. Luzhin. Then, begging

her pardon for all past unpleasantness, to make her a present of ten

thousand roubles and so assist the rupture with Mr. Luzhin, a rupture to

which I believe she is herself not disinclined, if she could see the way

to it."

"You are certainly mad," cried Raskolnikov not so much angered as

astonished. "How dare you talk like that!"

"I knew you would scream at me; but in the first place, though I am not

rich, this ten thousand roubles is perfectly free; I have absolutely no

need for it. If Avdotya Romanovna does not accept it, I shall waste

it in some more foolish way. That's the first thing. Secondly, my

conscience is perfectly easy; I make the offer with no ulterior motive.

You may not believe it, but in the end Avdotya Romanovna and you will

know. The point is, that I did actually cause your sister, whom I

greatly respect, some trouble and unpleasantness, and so, sincerely

regretting it, I want--not to compensate, not to repay her for the

unpleasantness, but simply to do something to her advantage, to show

that I am not, after all, privileged to do nothing but harm. If there

were a millionth fraction of self-interest in my offer, I should not

have made it so openly; and I should not have offered her ten thousand

only, when five weeks ago I offered her more, Besides, I may, perhaps,

very soon marry a young lady, and that alone ought to prevent suspicion

of any design on Avdotya Romanovna. In conclusion, let me say that

in marrying Mr. Luzhin, she is taking money just the same, only from

another man. Don't be angry, Rodion Romanovitch, think it over coolly

and quietly."

Svidrigailov himself was exceedingly cool and quiet as he was saying

this.

"I beg you to say no more," said Raskolnikov. "In any case this is

unpardonable impertinence."

"Not in the least. Then a man may do nothing but harm to his neighbour

in this world, and is prevented from doing the tiniest bit of good

by trivial conventional formalities. That's absurd. If I died, for

instance, and left that sum to your sister in my will, surely she

wouldn't refuse it?"

"Very likely she would."

"Oh, no, indeed. However, if you refuse it, so be it, though ten

thousand roubles is a capital thing to have on occasion. In any case I

beg you to repeat what I have said to Avdotya Romanovna."

"No, I won't."

"In that case, Rodion Romanovitch, I shall be obliged to try and see her

myself and worry her by doing so."

"And if I do tell her, will you not try to see her?"

"I don't know really what to say. I should like very much to see her

once more."

"Don't hope for it."

"I'm sorry. But you don't know me. Perhaps we may become better

friends."

"You think we may become friends?"

"And why not?" Svidrigailov said, smiling. He stood up and took his hat.

"I didn't quite intend to disturb you and I came here without reckoning

on it... though I was very much struck by your face this morning."

"Where did you see me this morning?" Raskolnikov asked uneasily.

"I saw you by chance.... I kept fancying there is something about you

like me.... But don't be uneasy. I am not intrusive; I used to get on

all right with card-sharpers, and I never bored Prince Svirbey, a great

personage who is a distant relation of mine, and I could write about

Raphael's _Madonna_ in Madam Prilukov's album, and I never left Marfa

Petrovna's side for seven years, and I used to stay the night at

Viazemsky's house in the Hay Market in the old days, and I may go up in

a balloon with Berg, perhaps."

"Oh, all right. Are you starting soon on your travels, may I ask?"

"What travels?"

"Why, on that 'journey'; you spoke of it yourself."

"A journey? Oh, yes. I did speak of a journey. Well, that's a wide

subject.... if only you knew what you are asking," he added, and gave

a sudden, loud, short laugh. "Perhaps I'll get married instead of the

journey. They're making a match for me."

"Here?"

"Yes."

"How have you had time for that?"

"But I am very anxious to see Avdotya Romanovna once. I earnestly beg

it. Well, good-bye for the present. Oh, yes. I have forgotten something.

Tell your sister, Rodion Romanovitch, that Marfa Petrovna remembered

her in her will and left her three thousand roubles. That's absolutely

certain. Marfa Petrovna arranged it a week before her death, and it was

done in my presence. Avdotya Romanovna will be able to receive the money

in two or three weeks."

"Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes, tell her. Well, your servant. I am staying very near you."

As he went out, Svidrigailov ran up against Razumihin in the doorway.

CHAPTER II

It was nearly eight o'clock. The two young men hurried to Bakaleyev's,

to arrive before Luzhin.

"Why, who was that?" asked Razumihin, as soon as they were in the

street.

"It was Svidrigailov, that landowner in whose house my sister was

insulted when she was their governess. Through his persecuting her with

his attentions, she was turned out by his wife, Marfa Petrovna. This

Marfa Petrovna begged Dounia's forgiveness afterwards, and she's just

died suddenly. It was of her we were talking this morning. I don't

know why I'm afraid of that man. He came here at once after his wife's

funeral. He is very strange, and is determined on doing something.... We

must guard Dounia from him... that's what I wanted to tell you, do you

hear?"

"Guard her! What can he do to harm Avdotya Romanovna? Thank you, Rodya,

for speaking to me like that.... We will, we will guard her. Where does

he live?"

"I don't know."

"Why didn't you ask? What a pity! I'll find out, though."

"Did you see him?" asked Raskolnikov after a pause.

"Yes, I noticed him, I noticed him well."

"You did really see him? You saw him clearly?" Raskolnikov insisted.

"Yes, I remember him perfectly, I should know him in a thousand; I have

a good memory for faces."

They were silent again.

"Hm!... that's all right," muttered Raskolnikov. "Do you know, I

fancied... I keep thinking that it may have been an hallucination."

"What do you mean? I don't understand you."

"Well, you all say," Raskolnikov went on, twisting his mouth into a

smile, "that I am mad. I thought just now that perhaps I really am mad,

and have only seen a phantom."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, who can tell? Perhaps I am really mad, and perhaps everything that

happened all these days may be only imagination."

"Ach, Rodya, you have been upset again!... But what did he say, what did

he come for?"

Raskolnikov did not answer. Razumihin thought a minute.

"Now let me tell you my story," he began, "I came to you, you were

asleep. Then we had dinner and then I went to Porfiry's, Zametov was

still with him. I tried to begin, but it was no use. I couldn't speak in

the right way. They don't seem to understand and can't understand, but

are not a bit ashamed. I drew Porfiry to the window, and began talking

to him, but it was still no use. He looked away and I looked away. At

last I shook my fist in his ugly face, and told him as a cousin I'd

brain him. He merely looked at me, I cursed and came away. That was

all. It was very stupid. To Zametov I didn't say a word. But, you see, I

thought I'd made a mess of it, but as I went downstairs a brilliant idea

struck me: why should we trouble? Of course if you were in any danger

or anything, but why need you care? You needn't care a hang for them. We

shall have a laugh at them afterwards, and if I were in your place I'd

mystify them more than ever. How ashamed they'll be afterwards! Hang

them! We can thrash them afterwards, but let's laugh at them now!"

"To be sure," answered Raskolnikov. "But what will you say to-morrow?"

he thought to himself. Strange to say, till that moment it had never

occurred to him to wonder what Razumihin would think when he knew. As he

thought it, Raskolnikov looked at him. Razumihin's account of his visit

to Porfiry had very little interest for him, so much had come and gone

since then.

In the corridor they came upon Luzhin; he had arrived punctually

at eight, and was looking for the number, so that all three went in

together without greeting or looking at one another. The young men

walked in first, while Pyotr Petrovitch, for good manners, lingered a

little in the passage, taking off his coat. Pulcheria Alexandrovna came

forward at once to greet him in the doorway, Dounia was welcoming her

brother. Pyotr Petrovitch walked in and quite amiably, though with

redoubled dignity, bowed to the ladies. He looked, however, as though

he were a little put out and could not yet recover himself. Pulcheria

Alexandrovna, who seemed also a little embarrassed, hastened to make

them all sit down at the round table where a samovar was boiling. Dounia

and Luzhin were facing one another on opposite sides of the table.

Razumihin and Raskolnikov were facing Pulcheria Alexandrovna, Razumihin

was next to Luzhin and Raskolnikov was beside his sister.

A moment's silence followed. Pyotr Petrovitch deliberately drew out a

cambric handkerchief reeking of scent and blew his nose with an air of

a benevolent man who felt himself slighted, and was firmly resolved to

insist on an explanation. In the passage the idea had occurred to him to

keep on his overcoat and walk away, and so give the two ladies a sharp

and emphatic lesson and make them feel the gravity of the position.

But he could not bring himself to do this. Besides, he could not endure

uncertainty, and he wanted an explanation: if his request had been so

openly disobeyed, there was something behind it, and in that case it was

better to find it out beforehand; it rested with him to punish them and

there would always be time for that.

"I trust you had a favourable journey," he inquired officially of

Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"Oh, very, Pyotr Petrovitch."

"I am gratified to hear it. And Avdotya Romanovna is not over-fatigued

either?"

"I am young and strong, I don't get tired, but it was a great strain for

mother," answered Dounia.

"That's unavoidable! our national railways are of terrible length.

'Mother Russia,' as they say, is a vast country.... In spite of all my

desire to do so, I was unable to meet you yesterday. But I trust all

passed off without inconvenience?"

"Oh, no, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was all terribly disheartening," Pulcheria

Alexandrovna hastened to declare with peculiar intonation, "and if

Dmitri Prokofitch had not been sent us, I really believe by God Himself,

we should have been utterly lost. Here, he is! Dmitri Prokofitch

Razumihin," she added, introducing him to Luzhin.

"I had the pleasure... yesterday," muttered Pyotr Petrovitch with a

hostile glance sidelong at Razumihin; then he scowled and was silent.

Pyotr Petrovitch belonged to that class of persons, on the surface very

polite in society, who make a great point of punctiliousness, but who,

directly they are crossed in anything, are completely disconcerted, and

become more like sacks of flour than elegant and lively men of society.

Again all was silent; Raskolnikov was obstinately mute, Avdotya

Romanovna was unwilling to open the conversation too soon. Razumihin had

nothing to say, so Pulcheria Alexandrovna was anxious again.

"Marfa Petrovna is dead, have you heard?" she began having recourse to

her leading item of conversation.

"To be sure, I heard so. I was immediately informed, and I have come to

make you acquainted with the fact that Arkady Ivanovitch Svidrigailov

set off in haste for Petersburg immediately after his wife's funeral. So

at least I have excellent authority for believing."

"To Petersburg? here?" Dounia asked in alarm and looked at her mother.

"Yes, indeed, and doubtless not without some design, having in view the

rapidity of his departure, and all the circumstances preceding it."

"Good heavens! won't he leave Dounia in peace even here?" cried

Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"I imagine that neither you nor Avdotya Romanovna have any grounds for

uneasiness, unless, of course, you are yourselves desirous of getting

into communication with him. For my part I am on my guard, and am now

discovering where he is lodging."

"Oh, Pyotr Petrovitch, you would not believe what a fright you have

given me," Pulcheria Alexandrovna went on: "I've only seen him twice,

but I thought him terrible, terrible! I am convinced that he was the

cause of Marfa Petrovna's death."

"It's impossible to be certain about that. I have precise information. I

do not dispute that he may have contributed to accelerate the course of

events by the moral influence, so to say, of the affront; but as to the

general conduct and moral characteristics of that personage, I am

in agreement with you. I do not know whether he is well off now, and

precisely what Marfa Petrovna left him; this will be known to me within

a very short period; but no doubt here in Petersburg, if he has any

pecuniary resources, he will relapse at once into his old ways. He is

the most depraved, and abjectly vicious specimen of that class of men.

I have considerable reason to believe that Marfa Petrovna, who was so

unfortunate as to fall in love with him and to pay his debts eight years

ago, was of service to him also in another way. Solely by her exertions

and sacrifices, a criminal charge, involving an element of fantastic

and homicidal brutality for which he might well have been sentenced to

Siberia, was hushed up. That's the sort of man he is, if you care to

know."

"Good heavens!" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Raskolnikov listened

attentively.

"Are you speaking the truth when you say that you have good evidence of

this?" Dounia asked sternly and emphatically.

"I only repeat what I was told in secret by Marfa Petrovna. I must

observe that from the legal point of view the case was far from clear.

There was, and I believe still is, living here a woman called Resslich,

a foreigner, who lent small sums of money at interest, and did other

commissions, and with this woman Svidrigailov had for a long while close

and mysterious relations. She had a relation, a niece I believe, living

with her, a deaf and dumb girl of fifteen, or perhaps not more than

fourteen. Resslich hated this girl, and grudged her every crust; she

used to beat her mercilessly. One day the girl was found hanging in

the garret. At the inquest the verdict was suicide. After the usual

proceedings the matter ended, but, later on, information was given that

the child had been... cruelly outraged by Svidrigailov. It is true, this

was not clearly established, the information was given by another German

woman of loose character whose word could not be trusted; no statement

was actually made to the police, thanks to Marfa Petrovna's money and

exertions; it did not get beyond gossip. And yet the story is a very

significant one. You heard, no doubt, Avdotya Romanovna, when you were

with them the story of the servant Philip who died of ill treatment he

received six years ago, before the abolition of serfdom."

"I heard, on the contrary, that this Philip hanged himself."

"Quite so, but what drove him, or rather perhaps disposed him,

to suicide was the systematic persecution and severity of Mr.

Svidrigailov."

"I don't know that," answered Dounia, dryly. "I only heard a queer story

that Philip was a sort of hypochondriac, a sort of domestic philosopher,

the servants used to say, 'he read himself silly,' and that he hanged

himself partly on account of Mr. Svidrigailov's mockery of him and not

his blows. When I was there he behaved well to the servants, and they

were actually fond of him, though they certainly did blame him for

Philip's death."

"I perceive, Avdotya Romanovna, that you seem disposed to undertake his

defence all of a sudden," Luzhin observed, twisting his lips into

an ambiguous smile, "there's no doubt that he is an astute man, and

insinuating where ladies are concerned, of which Marfa Petrovna, who has

died so strangely, is a terrible instance. My only desire has been to be

of service to you and your mother with my advice, in view of the renewed

efforts which may certainly be anticipated from him. For my part it's

my firm conviction, that he will end in a debtor's prison again.

Marfa Petrovna had not the slightest intention of settling anything

substantial on him, having regard for his children's interests, and,

if she left him anything, it would only be the merest sufficiency,

something insignificant and ephemeral, which would not last a year for a

man of his habits."

"Pyotr Petrovitch, I beg you," said Dounia, "say no more of Mr.

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