Part Six · V

Raskolnikov went after him.

“What’s this!” cried Svidrigailov, turning around. “I believe I said…”

“It means I’m not letting go of you now.”

“Wha-a-at?”

Both stopped, and for a minute or so both looked at each other, as if taking each other’s measure.

“From all your half-drunk stories,” Raskolnikov cut him short sharply, “I’ve concluded positively that you not only haven’t given up your vilest designs on my sister but are more taken up with them than ever. I know that this morning my sister received a letter of some kind. You couldn’t sit still the whole time… You may, let’s suppose, have dug up some wife or other on the way; but that means nothing. I want to make sure for myself…”

Raskolnikov could hardly have said himself what exactly he wanted now and what exactly he wished to make sure of for himself.

“Is that so! And would you like me to call the police this minute?”

“Call them!”

Again they stood facing each other for a minute or so. At last Svidrigailov’s face changed. Having made sure that Raskolnikov was not frightened by the threat, he suddenly assumed the most cheerful and friendly air.

“What a fellow! I purposely didn’t bring up your affair with you, though of course I’m tormented by curiosity. A fantastic affair. I’d put it off until another time, but really, you could provoke a dead man… Well, come along, only I’ll tell you beforehand: I’m just going home for a minute now, to pick up some money; then I lock up the apartment, take a cab, and go off to the Islands for the whole evening. So what’s the use of your following me?”

“For the moment I’m going to the house, and not to see you, but Sofya Semyonovna, to apologize for not being at the funeral.”

“As you please, but Sofya Semyonovna isn’t at home. She has taken all the children to a certain lady, a certain distinguished old lady, an old acquaintance of mine from long ago, who manages some orphan institutions. I charmed this lady by handing her the money for all three of Katerina Ivanovna’s fledglings, and I donated some more money to the institutions besides; and finally I told her Sofya Semyonovna’s story, with all the trimmings, hiding nothing. It produced an indescribable effect. That’s why Sofya Semyonovna was told to appear this very day, directly at the —— Hotel, where my lady is staying for the time being, in from her summer villa.”

“Never mind, I’ll call in all the same.”

“As you like, only I’m no companion of yours there; but what is it to me! Here we are, home already. Tell me, I’m convinced that you look at me with suspicion because I’ve been so delicate myself and haven’t troubled you with questions so far… you understand? It seemed to you something extraordinary; I’ll bet that’s it! Well, there you are, be delicate after that.”

“And eavesdrop at doors!”

“Ah, so that’s what you mean!” Svidrigailov laughed. “Yes, I’d have been surprised if, after everything, you had let that pass without a remark. Ha! ha! Though I did understand something of the mischief you… got up to… there that time, and told Sofya Semyonovna about yourself, still, what is it, after all? Maybe I’m a thoroughly backward man and can’t understand anything anymore. Explain it, for God’s sake, my dear fellow! Enlighten me with the latest principles.”

“You couldn’t have heard anything, you’re lying about all of it!”

“But I don’t mean that, not that (though as a matter of fact I did hear a thing or two), no, I mean the way you keep moaning and groaning! The Schiller in you is put out every minute. And now it’s don’t eavesdrop at doors, too. If that’s how it is, go and declare to the authorities that, well, so and so, here’s a little mishap that’s befallen me: a slight error came out in my theory. But if you’re convinced that one mustn’t eavesdrop at doors, but one may whack old women with whatever comes to hand, to one’s heart’s content, then go off somewhere quickly, to America! Run, young man! Perhaps there’s still time. I mean it sincerely. Is it money you haven’t got? I’ll give you some for the journey.”

“I’m not thinking about that at all,” Raskolnikov tried to interrupt with disgust.

“I understand (don’t trouble yourself, though: if you like, don’t say much); I understand what sort of questions are in play with you: moral ones, is it? questions of the citizen and the man? Well, push them aside; what do you need them for now? Heh, heh! Because you’re still a citizen and a man after all? But if so, you shouldn’t have meddled; no business taking on what isn’t your line. Well, shoot yourself; what, don’t feel like it?”

“You seem to be deliberately trying to provoke me, just so I’ll let go of you now…”

“What a queer fellow, but we’ve arrived, welcome to the stairs. You see, here’s the way in to Sofya Semyonovna’s, look, there’s nobody there! Don’t you believe me? Ask Kapernaumov; she leaves her key with them. And here’s madame de Kapernaumov herself, eh? What? (she’s a little deaf) gone out? Where? There, now you’ve heard? She isn’t here and won’t be until late in the evening, perhaps. Well, now let’s go to my place. You wanted to see me too, didn’t you? Well, here we are at my place. Madame Resslich isn’t at home. That woman is forever bustling about, but she’s a good woman, I assure you… she might be of use to you, perhaps, if you were a little more sensible. Well, now, kindly observe: I take this five-percent bond out of the bureau (look how many more of them I have!), and this one goes off to the money changer today. Well, did you see? I’ve no more time to lose. The bureau is locked, the apartment is locked, and we’re on the stairs again. Well, shall we hire a cab? I’m off to the Islands, you know. Wouldn’t you care for a drive? Here, I’m taking this carriage to Yelagin, what? You refuse? Lost your nerve? Let’s go for a drive, it’s nothing. It looks like rain coming on, never mind, we’ll put the top up…”

Svidrigailov was already sitting in the carriage. Raskolnikov concluded that his suspicions, at least for the moment, were unjust. Without answering a word, he turned and walked back in the direction of the Haymarket. If he had looked back even once on the way, he would have been in time to see Svidrigailov, after driving no more than a hundred paces, pay off the carriage and end up on the sidewalk himself. But he could no longer see anything and had already gone around the corner. A deep disgust drew him away from Svidrigailov. “And I could expect anything, even for a moment, from that coarse villain, that lecherous debauchee and scoundrel!” he cried involuntarily. True, Raskolnikov had pronounced his judgment too hastily and lightly. There was something in everything around Svidrigailov that lent him at least a certain originality, if not mystery. As for his sister’s part in all this, Raskolnikov still remained firmly convinced that Svidrigailov would not leave her in peace. But it was becoming too heavy and unbearable to think about all this and think it over again and again!

As was his habit, once he was alone, within twenty paces he sank into deep thought. Coming up onto the bridge, he stopped at the railing and began looking at the water. And all the while Avdotya Romanovna was standing close beside him.

He had met her at the approach to the bridge but walked past without making her out. Dunechka had never before come upon him in the street looking like this, and she was struck to the point of fear. She stopped and did not know whether to call out to him or not. Suddenly she noticed Svidrigailov hurrying toward them from the direction of the Haymarket.

But he seemed to be approaching mysteriously and cautiously. He did not come up onto the bridge but stopped off to one side, on the sidewalk, trying with all his might to keep Raskolnikov from seeing him. He had noticed Dunya long before and began making signs to her. It seemed to her that with his signs he was begging her not to call to her brother but to leave him in peace, and was beckoning her to come to him.

And so Dunya did. She quietly went around her brother and came up to Svidrigailov.

“Let’s go, quickly,” Svidrigailov whispered to her. “I don’t want Rodion Romanych to know about our meeting. I warn you that I’ve been sitting with him not far from here, in a tavern, where he found me himself, and I barely managed to shake him off. For some reason he knows about my letter to you and suspects something. Surely it wasn’t you who told him? And if not you, then who?”

“We’ve already turned the corner,” Dunya interrupted. “My brother won’t see us now. I tell you plainly that I won’t go any farther with you. Tell me everything here; all of it can be said in the street.”

“In the first place, it can’t possibly be said in the street; in the second place, you must hear Sofya Semyonovna too; in the third place, I’ll show you certain documents… Well, and finally, if you won’t agree to come in to my place, then I decline to give any explanations and leave at once. And I must ask you, besides, not to forget that a very curious secret of your beloved brother’s is entirely in my hands.”

Dunya stopped, undecided, and looked at Svidrigailov with a piercing gaze.

“What are you afraid of!” he remarked calmly. “The town isn’t the country. And even in the country you did me more harm than I did you, and here…”

“Has Sofya Semyonovna been told?”

“No, I haven’t said a word to her, and I’m not even quite sure she’s at home now. Probably she is, though. She buried a relative of hers today: it’s not the sort of day for paying calls. For the time being I don’t want to tell anyone about it, and I even partly regret having told you. Here the slightest carelessness is as good as informing. I live right here, in this house, we’re coming up to it now. That’s the caretaker of our house; the caretaker knows me very well; there, he’s bowing; he sees I’m walking with a lady, and of course he’s already had a good look at your face, and that will be useful to you if you’re very much afraid and suspect me. Forgive me for putting it so crudely. I rent my room from tenants myself. Sofya Semyonovna lives wall to wall with me, also renting from tenants. The whole floor is let out. So what is there to be afraid of, like a child? Or am I really so very terrible?”

Svidrigailov’s face twisted into a condescending smile; but he was in no mood for smiling. His heart was pounding and his breath was catching in his chest. He was talking louder on purpose to hide his growing agitation; but Dunya did not manage to notice this particular agitation; she was too irritated by his remark that she was afraid of him like a child and that he was so terrible to her.

“Though I know that you are a man… without honor, I’m not the least bit afraid of you. Lead the way,” she said, calmly to all appearances, but her face was very pale.

Svidrigailov stopped at Sonya’s door.

“Allow me to find out whether she’s in. No. Bad luck! But I know she may come very soon. If she has gone out, it can only be to see a certain lady, about her orphans. Their mother has died. I’ve got mixed up in this too, and made arrangements. If Sofya Semyonovna isn’t back in ten minutes, I’ll send her to you myself, if you like, today even; well, and here is my place. Here are my two rooms. Behind that door lives my landlady, Mrs. Resslich. Now look over here, I’ll show you my chief documents: this door here, from my bedroom, leads into two completely empty rooms, which are to let. Here they are… you need to look at this a little more attentively…”

Svidrigailov occupied two rather spacious furnished rooms. Dunechka looked around distrustfully but noticed nothing special either in the furnishings or in the arrangement of the rooms, though there was something that might have been noticed, for instance, that Svidrigailov’s apartment somehow happened to lie between two almost uninhabited apartments. The way in to his rooms was not directly from the corridor but through two of the landlady’s rooms, which were almost empty. And from the bedroom, unlocking a door that had been locked with a key, Svidrigailov showed Dunechka an apartment that was also empty and to let. Dunechka stopped on the threshold, not understanding why she was being invited to look, but Svidrigailov hastened to explain:

“Here, look in here, into this second, large room. Notice this door, it’s locked with a key. By the door there’s a chair, the only chair in both rooms. I brought it from my apartment, so as to listen more comfortably. Right there behind the door stands Sofya Semyonovna’s table; there she sat and talked with Rodion Romanych. And here I eavesdropped, sitting on the chair, two evenings running, both times for a couple of hours—and of course I could have learned something, don’t you think?”

“You eavesdropped?”

“Yes, I eavesdropped; now let’s go to my place; there’s nowhere even to sit here.”

He led Avdotya Romanovna back into his first room, which served him as a sitting room, and invited her to sit down on a chair. He himself sat at the other end of the table, at least a sazhen, seven feet, away from her, but probably the same flame that had once so frightened Dunechka was already shining in his eyes. She shuddered and once more looked around distrustfully. The gesture was involuntary; she clearly did not want to show distrust. But the isolated position of Svidrigailov’s apartment had struck her at last. She wanted to ask whether at least his landlady was at home, but she did not ask… out of pride. Besides, there was another suffering in her heart, beyond all proportion greater than fear for herself. She was in unbearable torment.

“Here is your letter,” she began, laying it on the table. “Can what you write be possible? You hint at a crime supposedly committed by my brother. You hint too clearly, you dare not try to wriggle out of it now. Know, then, that I had heard of this stupid tale even before you, and I don’t believe a single word of it. It’s a vile and ridiculous suspicion. I know the story, and how and why it was invented. You can’t have any proof. You promised to prove it: speak, then! But know beforehand that I don’t believe you! I don’t believe you!…”

Dunechka said this in a rapid patter, hurrying, and for an instant the color rushed to her face.

“If you didn’t believe it, how could it have happened that you risked coming to me alone? Why did you come, then? Out of mere curiosity?”

“Don’t torment me, speak, speak!”

“It goes without saying that you’re a brave girl. By God, I thought you’d ask Mr. Razumikhin to come here with you. But he was neither with you nor anywhere around you, I did look: that’s daring, it means you wanted to spare Rodion Romanych. But then everything about you is divine… As for your brother, what am I to tell you? You saw him yourself just now. How did he look?”

“Surely that’s not all you base it on?”

“No, not on that, but on his own words. He came here to Sofya Semyonovna two evenings running. I showed you where they sat. He made her a full confession. He is a murderer. He killed an old woman, an official’s widow, a pawnbroker, with whom he had pawned things himself; he also killed her sister, an old-clothes dealer by the name of Lizaveta, who happened to come in while her sister was being murdered. He killed them both with an axe he had brought with him. He killed them in order to rob them, and he did rob them; he took money and a few things… He told all this himself, word for word, to Sofya Semyonovna, who is the only one who knows the secret, though she had no part in the murder either by word or by deed, but, on the contrary, was as horrified as you are now. Don’t worry, she won’t give him away.”

“It can’t be!” Dunechka murmured with pale, deadened lips; she was gasping for breath. “It can’t be, there is no reason, not the slightest, no grounds at all… It’s a lie! A lie!”

“He robbed them, that’s the whole reason. He took money and things. True, by his own admission he made no use of either the money or the things, but carried them off somewhere and put them under a stone, where they’re lying to this day. But that’s because he didn’t dare use them.”

“But is it likely that he could steal, rob? That he could even think of it?” cried Dunya, jumping up from her chair. “You know him, you’ve seen him, haven’t you? Can he possibly be a thief?”

She was positively pleading with Svidrigailov; she had forgotten all her fear.

“There are thousands and millions of combinations and varieties here, Avdotya Romanovna. A thief steals, but then he knows inwardly that he’s a scoundrel; and yet I’ve heard of one noble gentleman who robbed the mail; so who knows, perhaps he really did think he’d done something decent! Of course, I wouldn’t have believed it myself, any more than you, if I’d been told it secondhand. But I believed my own ears. He explained all his reasons to Sofya Semyonovna as well; but at first she didn’t believe her own ears either, though at last she believed her eyes, her own eyes. He told her himself, in person, after all.”

“What… reasons!”

“It’s a long story, Avdotya Romanovna. Here there is, how shall I put it to you, a theory of a sort, the same kind of thing by which I find, for instance, that a single villainy is permissible if the main aim is good. A single evil and a hundred good deeds! It’s galling too, of course, for a young man of merit and of boundless self-esteem to know that if he had, say, only some three thousand, his whole career, his whole future and his aim in life would take a different shape, and yet that three thousand isn’t there. Add to that the irritation of hunger, of a cramped room, of rags, of a vivid awareness of the beauty of his social position, and of his sister’s and mother’s position at the same time. Above all, vanity, pride and vanity, though, God knows, perhaps with good inclinations too… I don’t blame him, please don’t think that; besides, it’s none of my business. There was also a little theory of his own here—a so-so sort of theory—according to which people are divided, you see, into material and special people, that is, into people for whom, owing to their high position, the law is not written, but who, on the contrary, themselves make up laws for the rest of people, for the material, the rubbish. Nothing much, a so-so little theory; une théorie comme une autre. Napoleon carried him away terribly, that is, properly speaking, what carried him away was that a great many men of genius paid no attention to a single evil but stepped over it without a second thought. He seems to have imagined that he too was a man of genius—that is, he was sure of it for a while. He suffered greatly and suffers now from the thought that he knew how to invent the theory but is not capable of stepping over without a second thought, and so he is not a man of genius. Well, and for a young man with self-esteem that is humiliating, in our age especially…”

“And remorse? So you deny him any moral feeling at all? Is he really like that?”

“Ah, Avdotya Romanovna, everything has become muddled now, that is, though, it was never in any particular order anyway. Russian people in general are broad people, Avdotya Romanovna, broad like their land, and extremely inclined to the fantastic, to the disorderly; but it’s a misfortune to be broad without any particular genius. And do you remember how much we talked in this same vein and on this same subject, the two of us, sitting in the evenings on the terrace in the garden, every time after supper? You even reproached me for precisely this breadth. Who knows, perhaps we were talking at the very time he was lying here thinking his own thoughts through. In our educated society, Avdotya Romanovna, there are no especially sacred traditions, you know: unless someone somehow puts some together for himself out of books… or digs something out of the chronicles. But those are mostly scholars and, you know, all dunces in their way, so that it’s even unbecoming for a man of the world. Still, you know my opinions in general; I accuse absolutely no one. I’m a soft-handed gentleman myself, and I hold to that. But we’ve talked about this more than once. I even had the happiness of interesting you with my opinions… You’re very pale, Avdotya Romanovna!”

“I know this theory of his. I read his article in a journal about people to whom everything is permitted… Razumikhin brought it to me…”

“Mr. Razumikhin? Your brother’s article? In a journal? There’s such an article? I didn’t know. That must be curious! But where are you going, Avdotya Romanovna?”

“I want to see Sofya Semyonovna,” Dunechka said in a weak voice. “Which way is it to her? Perhaps she’s come back; I must see her, I must, now. Let her…”

Avdotya Romanovna could not finish; her breath literally failed her.

“Sofya Semyonovna won’t be back until night. So I suppose. She was to have come very soon, but if not, then very late…”

“Ah, so you’re lying! I see it… you lied… you lied about everything!… I don’t believe you! I don’t believe you!” Dunechka screamed in a real frenzy, completely losing her head.

Almost fainting, she fell onto a chair that Svidrigailov hastily set for her.

“Avdotya Romanovna, what’s the matter, come to! Here’s water. Take one sip…”

He splashed some water on her. Dunechka started and came to.

“It’s hit her hard!” Svidrigailov muttered to himself, frowning. “Avdotya Romanovna, calm yourself! Know that he has friends. We’ll save him, get him out of it. Would you like me to take him abroad? I have money; I can get a ticket in three days. And as for his having killed, he’ll do a great many good deeds yet, so that all this will be made up for; calm yourself. He may be a great man yet. Well, what’s the matter? How do you feel?”

“Wicked man! He mocks me on top of it. Let me go…”

“Where are you going? Where are you going?”

“To him. Where is he? Do you know? Why is this door locked? We came in through this door, and now it’s locked with a key. When did you manage to lock it?”

“We could hardly shout to all the rooms about what we were saying here. I’m not mocking at all; I’m just sick of talking in that language. Well, where would you go in such a state? Or do you want to betray him? You’ll drive him into a frenzy, and he’ll give himself up. Know that they’re already watching him, they’re already on his trail. You’ll only give him away. Wait; I saw him and talked with him just now; he can still be saved. Wait, sit down, let’s think it over together. That’s why I asked you here, to talk about it in private and think it over properly. Do sit down!”

“How can you save him? Can he really be saved?”

Dunya sat down. Svidrigailov sat down beside her.

“It all depends on you, on you, on you alone,” he began with glittering eyes, almost in a whisper, losing the thread and even failing to get some words out from agitation.

Dunya drew farther away from him in fright. He too was trembling all over.

“You… one word from you, and he’s saved! I… I’ll save him. I have money and friends. I’ll send him off at once, and I’ll get a passport myself, two passports. One for him, the other for me. I have friends; I have people who know how to get things done… Do you want me to? I’ll get a passport for you too… for your mother… what do you want with Razumikhin? I love you too… I love you infinitely. Let me kiss the hem of your dress, let me! let me! I can’t bear to hear it rustle. Tell me: do this, and I’ll do it! I’ll do anything. I’ll do the impossible. Whatever you believe in, I’ll believe in too. I’ll do anything, anything! Don’t look, don’t look at me like that! Do you know that you’re killing me…”

He was even beginning to rave. Something had suddenly happened to him, as if it had suddenly gone to his head. Dunya jumped up and rushed to the door.

“Open up! open up!” she shouted through the door, calling for someone and shaking the door with her hands. “Open up, I say! Is there really no one?”

Svidrigailov stood up and came to his senses. A malicious, mocking smile was slowly forcing its way onto his still trembling lips.

“There’s no one at home there,” he said quietly, pausing between words. “The landlady has gone out, and it’s a waste of effort to shout like that: you’re only upsetting yourself for nothing.”

“Where’s the key? Open the door this minute, this minute, you low creature!”

“I’ve lost the key and can’t find it.”

“Ah! So it’s to be force!” cried Dunya, turned as pale as death, and rushed into the corner, where she quickly put between them a little table that happened to be at hand. She did not scream; but she fixed her eyes on her tormentor and kept a sharp watch on his every movement. Svidrigailov did not move from his place either and stood facing her at the other end of the room. He had even mastered himself, outwardly at least. But his face was as pale as before. The mocking smile did not leave it.

“You said ‘force’ just now, Avdotya Romanovna. If it’s force, you can judge for yourself that I’ve taken measures. Sofya Semyonovna isn’t at home; it’s a long way to the Kapernaumovs, five locked rooms. Finally, I’m at least twice as strong as you, and besides, I have nothing to fear, because you can’t complain afterward either: surely you don’t actually want to betray your brother? And no one will believe you anyway: why on earth would a girl go alone to a single man’s apartment? So that even if you do sacrifice your brother, you’ll prove nothing even then: force is very hard to prove, Avdotya Romanovna.”

“Scoundrel!” Dunya whispered in indignation.

“As you like, but mind, I was speaking only by way of supposition. In my own personal conviction you are perfectly right: force is a vile thing. I said it only to show that there would be absolutely nothing left on your conscience even if… even if you wanted to save your brother of your own free will, the way I’m proposing. You would simply, then, have submitted to circumstances, well, to force, at last, if we can’t do without that word. Think about it; the fate of your brother and your mother is in your hands. And I will be your slave… all my life… I’ll wait right here…”

Svidrigailov sat down on the sofa, about eight paces from Dunya. For her there was no longer the slightest doubt of his unshakable determination. Besides, she knew him…

Suddenly she took a revolver out of her pocket, cocked it, and lowered the hand that held it onto the little table. Svidrigailov jumped up from his seat.

“Aha! So that’s how it is!” he cried in surprise, but with a malicious grin. “Well, this changes the course of things completely! You’re making things extremely easy for me yourself, Avdotya Romanovna! But where did you get the revolver? Not from Mr. Razumikhin, surely? Bah! Why, the revolver is mine! An old acquaintance! And how I hunted for it then!… Our shooting lessons in the country, which I had the honor of giving you, weren’t wasted after all.”

“It isn’t your revolver, it’s Marfa Petrovna’s, whom you killed, you villain! You had nothing of your own in her house. I took it when I began to suspect what you were capable of. Just dare take one step, one, and I swear I’ll kill you!”

Dunya was in a frenzy. She held the revolver at the ready.

“Well, and your brother? I ask out of curiosity,” said Svidrigailov, still standing where he was.

“Inform on him, if you want! Don’t move! Stay where you are! I’ll shoot! You poisoned your wife, I know it, you’re a murderer yourself!…”

“And are you firmly convinced that I poisoned Marfa Petrovna?”

“You did! You hinted at it to me yourself; you talked to me about poison… I know you went to get it… you had it ready… It was you, it must have been you… you scoundrel!”

“Even if it were true, it would have been because of you… you would still have been the cause.”

“You’re lying! I always hated you, always…”

“Oho, Avdotya Romanovna! You’ve forgotten, it seems, how in the heat of propaganda you were already leaning toward me and melting… I could see it in your little eyes; remember, that evening, in the moonlight, and the nightingale singing too?”

“You’re lying!” (fury flashed in Dunya’s eyes) “You’re lying, you slanderer!”

“Lying? Well, perhaps I am lying. I lied. Women shouldn’t be reminded of these little things.” (He grinned.) “I know you’ll shoot, you pretty little wild thing. Go on, then, shoot!”

Dunya raised the revolver and, deathly pale, her lower lip white and trembling, her big black eyes flashing like fire, looked at him, her mind made up, measuring the distance and waiting for the first movement on his part. He had never yet seen her so beautiful. The fire that flashed from her eyes at the moment she raised the revolver seemed to scorch him, and his heart contracted with pain. He took a step, and a shot rang out. The bullet grazed his hair and struck the wall behind him. He stopped and laughed softly:

“Stung by a wasp! Aims straight for the head… What’s this? Blood!” He took out a handkerchief to wipe away the blood that was trickling in a thin stream down his right temple; the bullet had probably just grazed the skin of his skull. Dunya lowered the revolver and looked at Svidrigailov not so much in fear as in a kind of wild bewilderment. It was as if she herself no longer understood what she had done and what was happening!

“Well, so, a miss! Fire again, I’m waiting,” Svidrigailov said quietly, still grinning, but somehow darkly. “At this rate I’ll have time to seize you before you cock it!”

Dunechka started, quickly cocked the revolver, and raised it again.

“Leave me alone!” she said in despair. “I swear I’ll shoot again… I’ll… kill you!…”

“Well, then… at three paces you can’t help killing. And if you don’t kill… then…” His eyes flashed, and he took two more steps.

Dunechka fired: a misfire!

“You loaded it carelessly. Never mind! You still have a cap in there. Fix it, I’ll wait.”

He stood two paces in front of her, waiting and looking at her with wild determination, with an inflamed, passionate, heavy gaze. Dunya understood that he would sooner die than let her go. “And… and now, of course, she would kill him, at two paces!…”

Suddenly she flung the revolver away.

“Threw it away!” Svidrigailov said in surprise, and drew a deep breath. Something seemed to have lifted from his heart all at once, and perhaps not only the burden of mortal fear; and he hardly felt that fear at this moment anyway. It was deliverance from another, more sorrowful and somber feeling, which he himself could not have defined in all its force.

He went up to Dunya and quietly put his arm around her waist. She did not resist but, trembling all over like a leaf, looked at him with imploring eyes. He wanted to say something, but his lips only twisted, and he could not get a word out.

“Let me go!” Dunya said, pleading.

Svidrigailov started: this you had been spoken somehow differently from the one before.¹

“So you don’t love me?” he asked softly.

Dunya shook her head.

“And… you can’t?… Never?” he whispered in despair.

“Never!” whispered Dunya.

An instant of terrible, mute struggle passed in Svidrigailov’s soul. He looked at her with an inexpressible look. Suddenly he took his arm away, turned, walked quickly to the window, and stood before it.

Another instant 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 looking at Dunya or turning toward her.) “Take it; go, quickly!…”

He stared stubbornly out of the window.

Dunya went up to the table to take the key.

“Quickly! Quickly!” repeated Svidrigailov, still not moving and not turning around. But in that “quickly” some terrible note had evidently sounded.

Dunya understood it, snatched up the key, rushed to the door, quickly unlocked it, and tore out of the room. A minute later, like a madwoman, beside herself, she ran out onto the canal embankment and ran in the direction of —— Bridge.

Svidrigailov stood by the window about three minutes more; at last he slowly turned, looked around him, and quietly passed his palm across his forehead. A strange smile twisted his face, a pitiful, sad, weak smile, a smile of despair. The blood, already drying, had smeared his palm; he looked at the blood with spite; then he wet a towel and washed his temple. The revolver, which Dunya had flung away and which had flown over toward the door, suddenly caught his eye. He picked it up and examined it. It was a small, three-shot pocket revolver of an old make; there were still two charges and one cap left in it. It could be fired once. He thought for a moment, thrust the revolver into his pocket, took his hat, and went out.

Notes

1. 1. Russian has two forms of “you”: the formal vy and the intimate ty, used to family, lovers, and inferiors, or in contempt. When Dunya cries out “So you’re lying!” she drops into ty in her fury, and Svidrigailov answers her in kind. Her “Let me go!” uses ty again, now as a plea.