Part 4 · Chapter 1

"Seriously, is this still a dream?" Raskolnikov thought again.

He looked at the unexpected visitor, checking him out with suspicion.

"Svidrigaïlov! What the heck? This can’t be real!" he said finally, totally confused.

His visitor didn’t seem surprised at all.

"I came to see you for a couple of reasons. First, I’d heard so much about you - all good stuff, actually. Second, I’m hoping you can help me out with something important to your sister, Avdotya Romanovna."

"Without your support, she probably wouldn’t even let me near her now, because she’s got it in for me, but with your help, I’m counting on..."

"You’re wrong to count on it," Raskolnikov cut him off.

"You guys just got here yesterday, right?"

Raskolnikov didn’t reply.

"Yep, it was yesterday. I just got in myself the day before. Listen, Rodion Romanovitch, I don’t think I need to explain myself, but can you tell me, just being honest, what I did that was so messed up in all this? No sugarcoating it, just straight facts?"

Raskolnikov kept staring at him in silence.

"That I chased a defenseless girl in my own house and ‘made her uncomfortable with my crazy suggestions’ - is that it? (I’m anticipating you.)"

But if you just assume that I’m a guy, you know, a normal guy... capable of being attracted and falling in love (which isn’t something we can control), then everything makes sense. The question is, am I a monster, or am I a victim myself? And what if I am a victim?

"When I suggested eloping to America or Switzerland, I might have been totally respectful of her and genuinely thought I was helping us both find happiness! Reason is a slave to passion, you know? I probably ended up hurting myself more than anyone else!"

"That’s not the point," Raskolnikov interrupted, looking disgusted.

"It’s just that whether you’re right or wrong, we don’t like you. We don’t want anything to do with you. We’re showing you the door. Get out!"

Svidrigaïlov suddenly burst out laughing.

"But you’re... but there’s no getting around you," he said, still laughing. "I was hoping I could, but you went straight for the hard truth!"

"But you’re still trying to get around me!"

"So what? So what?"

Svidrigaïlov laughed openly.

"The French call that bonne guerre, a harmless kind of trickery! But still, you interrupted me; one way or another, I repeat: there wouldn't have been any trouble except for what happened in the garden. Marfa Petrovna..."

"You got rid of Marfa Petrovna, too, right?" Raskolnikov interrupted rudely.

"Oh, you’ve heard about that, too, huh? You would have, wouldn't you? But about your question, I don’t really know what to say, even though my conscience is totally clear. Don’t think I’m worried about it."

Everything was above board; the doctor said it was a stroke caused by bathing right after a big dinner and a bottle of wine, and it couldn’t have been anything else.

"But I’ve been thinking a lot lately, on the train here, and I was wondering: didn’t I, in some way, contribute to all that... mess, morally, by getting under her skin or something? But I decided that was totally out of the question."

Raskolnikov laughed.

"I can’t believe you even worry about it!"

"But what are you laughing about? Seriously, I only hit her twice with a belt - there weren’t even any marks... don’t think I’m a jerk, okay? I know it was bad, I get it; but I also know Marfa Petrovna was probably stoked about my, like, intensity."

Your sister’s story had been totally wrung out; for the last three days, Marfa Petrovna was stuck at home, had nothing to do in town. Plus, she’s been driving everyone crazy with that letter (you heard her reading it). And then, bam, those two whacks just fell from the sky!

"Her first move was to order the carriage. Not to mention, sometimes women are actually glad to be insulted, no matter how mad they act. Everyone does it; people just love to be insulted, haven't you noticed? Especially women. You could almost say it’s their only form of entertainment."

At one point, Raskolnikov thought about just getting up and leaving, ending the conversation. But curiosity and a bit of caution made him hang around for a second.

"You like fighting?" he asked casually.

"Nah, not really," Svidrigaïlov answered calmly. "And Marfa Petrovna and I barely ever fought. We got along great, and she was always happy with me. I only used the whip twice in all seven years (not counting a third time that was, like, super ambiguous)."

The first time was two months after we got married, right after we got to the countryside, and the last time was what we’re talking about now. Did you think I was a total monster, a dinosaur, a slave driver? Ha, ha!

By the way, do you remember, Rodion Romanovitch, how a few years ago, during that whole wave of ‘woke’ stuff, some nobleman got totally roasted everywhere in the papers for hitting a German woman on the train? You remember?

It was around that same year, I think, when ‘The Egyptian Nights’ was a big deal (you know, the dark eyes! Ah, the good old days of our youth, where did they go?). Well, as for the guy who hit the German, I don’t feel bad for him, because, honestly, why should I?

"But I gotta say, there are sometimes those kinds of provoking ‘Germans’ that I don’t think any progressive could really defend themselves. No one looked at it from that angle then, but that’s the truly fair way to see things, I promise."

After saying this, Svidrigaïlov burst out laughing again. Raskolnikov realized this was a guy with a plan and wasn't going to show his hand.

"You haven’t talked to anyone in days, right?" he asked.

"Pretty much. You wondering why I’m so easygoing?"

"Nah, I’m just wondering if you’re too easygoing."

"Because I’m not offended by your blunt questions? That’s it? But why get offended? You asked, I answered," he replied with a surprisingly simple expression. "You know, I’m hardly interested in anything," he went on, almost dreamily, "especially now, I’ve got nothing to do..."

You’re welcome to think I’m hitting on you, especially since I said I wanted to see your sister about something. But I’ll be honest, I’m super bored. The last three days especially, so I’m stoked to see you... Don’t be mad, Rodion Romanovitch, but you seem kind of weird yourself.

"Say what you like, something’s off with you, and now, too... not this second, I mean, but now, generally... Well, well, I won’t, I won’t, don’t scowl! I’m not such a grump, you know, like you think."

Raskolnikov looked at him gloomily.

"You’re not a bear, right?" he said. "I’m guessing you’re a really well-bred guy, or at least know how to act like one when it counts."

"I don’t really care what people think," Svidrigaïlov answered, dryly and with a hint of arrogance. "So why not be a little rough around the edges sometimes? It’s a good cover for our weather... and especially if it’s just your nature," he added, laughing again.

"But I hear you have tons of friends here. You’re, like, ‘connected,’ as they say. So, what do you want with me, unless you have a specific reason?"

"That’s true, I’m friendly with people around here," Svidrigaïlov admitted, dodging the main point.

"I’m already acquainted with some. I’ve been hanging around for the last three days, people have seen me, or I’ve seen them. It’s just how things are. I dress well and I’m clearly not broke. The emancipation thing didn't affect me; my property is mostly forests and meadows."

My income hasn’t dropped; but... I’m not seeing anyone, I was totally over it long ago. I’ve been here three days and haven’t visited a single person... What a town! How did this even happen? A town full of bureaucrats and students of every kind.

"Yeah, there's a lot I didn't pick up on when I was here eight years ago, living it up... My only hope now is in anatomy, honestly!"

"What do you mean? ...Anatomy?"

"But forget about clubs, parades, or fancy events, I’m not interested," he went on, still missing the question.

"Besides, who wants to be a card shark?"

"Have you been a card shark then?"

"How could I not be? We had a whole crew of us, guys from the best families, eight years ago; we had a blast. And all well-bred, you know, poets, people with money. And in Russian society, as a rule, you find the best manners among those who’ve been roughed up, haven’t you noticed?"

I went downhill in the countryside. But I did end up in prison for debt, thanks to a shady Greek from Nezhin. Then Marfa Petrovna showed up; she negotiated with him and bought my freedom for thirty thousand silver pieces (I owed seventy thousand).

We got married and she dragged me off to the countryside like a treasure. You know she was five years older than me. She really liked me. For seven years I didn't leave the country.

"And get this, the whole time she held an IOU for thirty thousand rubles over my head - so if I ever tried to cause trouble, I was trapped! And she would have done it! Women don’t find anything weird about that."

"If it wasn’t for that, would you have ditched her?"

"I donn't know what to say. It wasn't just the IOU holding me back. I didn’t want to go anywhere else. Marfa Petrovna even invited me to go abroad, seeing I was bored, but I’d been abroad before, and always felt sick there."

For no reason, just the sunrise, the bay of Naples, the sea - you look at them and it makes you sad. What’s the worst is that you’re actually sad! No, it’s better here. At least here you can blame others for everything and excuse yourself.

"I might have gone on an expedition to the North Pole, because I hate drinking and have a bad taste for wine, and there’s nothing else left. I tried it. But, I heard Berg is going up in a huge balloon next Sunday from the Yusupov Garden and will take passengers for a fee. Is that true?"

"Would you go?"

"I... No, oh, no," muttered Svidrigaïlov, really looking deep in thought.

"What’s he getting at? Is he serious?" Raskolnikov wondered.

"No, the document didn’t stop me," Svidrigaïlov went on, thinking it over.

"It was my own choice not to leave, and it was almost a year ago that Marfa Petrovna gave me back the document and gave me a good chunk of money, too. She had a fortune, you know. ‘You see how much I trust you, Arkady Ivanovitch’ - that’s exactly what she said. You don’t think she used it?"

"But you know, I managed the estate pretty well; people in the neighborhood know me. I even ordered books. Marfa Petrovna liked it at first, but then she got worried I was studying too much."

"You seem to miss Marfa Petrovna a lot?"

"Missing her? Maybe. Really, maybe I do."

"And, by the way, do you believe in ghosts?". "What ghosts?"

"You know, regular ghosts."

"Do you believe in them?"

"Maybe not, if it makes you happy... I wouldn’t completely rule it out."

"Do you see them, then?"

Svidrigaïlov looked at him a little weird.

"Marfa Petrovna likes to visit me," he said, twisting his mouth into a strange smile.

"What do you mean, ‘she likes to visit you’?"

"She’s been three times. I saw her first on the day of the funeral, an hour after she was buried. It was the day before I left to come here."

"The second time was the day before yesterday, at sunrise, at the train station in Malaya Vishera, and the third time was just two hours ago in the room where I’m staying. I was alone."

"Were you awake then?"

"Totally awake. I was wide awake every time. She comes, talks to me for a minute, and then leaves through the door - always at the door. I can almost hear her."

"What made me think something like that was happening to you?" Raskolnikov blurted out suddenly.

At the same moment, he was surprised he’d said it. He was really worked up.

"What! You thought so?" Svidrigaïlov asked, stunned. "You really thought that? Didn’t I say there was something we had in common, huh?"

"You never said that!" Raskolnikov snapped, his voice tight with emotion.

"Didn’t I?"

"No! but I thought I did."

"When I came in and saw you lying there with your eyes closed, pretending, I immediately thought, ‘This is the guy.’"

"What do you mean by ‘the guy?’ What are you even talking about?" Raskolnikov cried out.

"What do I mean? I honestly don’t know..." Svidrigaïlov muttered, sounding confused, as if he were puzzled too.

They were silent for a moment. They stared at each other.

"That’s all crazy!" Raskolnikov shouted, clearly frustrated. "What does she say when she comes to you?"

"Seriously? She talks about the most random stuff - it’d be hilarious if it didn’t bug me. Man, people are weird. The first time she showed up (I was totally wiped, you know: the funeral, the service, the lunch afterward. Finally, I was alone in my study."

I lit a cigar and started to think), she just walked in. ‘You’re so swamped today, Arkady Ivanovitch, you forgot to wind the dining room clock,’ she said. For seven whole years, I’ve wound that clock every week, and she always reminds me if I forget. The next day, I headed out here.

I got off the train at sunrise; I’d been dozing, totally exhausted, eyes half-closed. I was drinking coffee, and suddenly Marfa Petrovna was sitting next to me, holding a deck of cards. ‘Want me to read your fortune for the trip, Arkady Ivanovitch? She was a total fortune-telling whiz.

I seriously regret not asking her. I bolted when the bell rang, and, honestly, I was freaked out. I was sitting there today, feeling heavy after a pretty bad meal from a takeout place, smoking. Then, out of nowhere, Marfa Petrovna again.

She walked in looking sharp in a brand-new green silk dress with a long train. ‘Hey, Arkady Ivanovitch! What do you think of my dress? Aniska can’t even make something like this. (Aniska was a dressmaker back home, one of our old serf girls who’s been trained in Moscow - a really cute girl.)

She was twirling around in front of me. I looked at the dress, then I looked really closely at her face. ‘Seriously, why are you bothering me about something like this, Marfa Petrovna? ‘Good grief, you’ll let one little thing throw you off?’

Just to tease her, I said, ‘I want to get married, Marfa Petrovna.’ ‘That’s just like you, Arkady Ivanovitch; it’really doesn’t look good on you to be looking for a bride so soon after your wife died.

"And if you did make a good choice, at least, but I know it won’t be for your happiness or hers, you’ll just be a joke to everyone. ‘Then she left, and her train seemed to rustle. Isn’t that ridiculous, huh?"

"But maybe you’re lying?" Raskolnikov chimed in.

"I hardly ever lie," Svidrigaïlov answered thoughtfully, not even noticing how rude the question was.

"And have you ever seen ghosts before?"

"Y-yeah, I’ve seen them, but only once in my life, about six years ago. I had a serf, Filka; right after his burial, I called out, forgetting, ‘Filka, my pipe!’ He came in and went to the cupboard where my pipes were."

I just sat there thinking, ‘he’s doing it to get revenge,’ because we had a huge fight just before he died. ‘How dare you come in with a hole in your elbow? I said. ‘Get out of here, you goofball! He turned and left, and never came back. I didn’t tell Marfa Petrovna at the time.

"I wanted to have a service done for him, but I was embarrassed."

"You should see a doctor."

"I know I’m not feeling well, without you telling me, but I don’t know what’s wrong; I think I’m five times stronger than you are. I didn’t ask you if you believe that ghosts are seen, but whether you believe that they exist."

"No way, I won’t believe it!" Raskolnikov shouted, clearly annoyed.

"What do people usually say?" Svidrigaïlov muttered, talking to himself, looking away and nodding his head. "They say, ‘You’re sick, so anything you see is just a weird dream.’ But that’s not really logical."

"I agree that ghosts only show up to sick people, but that just proves they can’t appear to anyone but sick people, not that they don’t exist."

"That’s not what I meant," Raskolnikov insisted, irritated.

"Really? You don’t think so?" Svidrigaïlov went on, looking at him straight.

"But what do you say to this? Ghosts are, like, pieces and bits of other worlds, the start of them. When you’re healthy, you don't see them, because you’re all about this world and need to live fully in it to keep things orderly. But when you’re sick, things change."

"The normal order of your body gets messed up, and you start to wonder about another world. The sicker you get, the closer you feel to it - so when you die, you just step right into it. I thought about that a long time ago. If you believe in an afterlife, you could totally buy that."

"I don’t believe in an afterlife," said Raskolnikov.

Svidrigaïlov seemed lost in thought.

"And what if there are just spiders there, or something like that?" he asked suddenly.

"He’s totally off his rocker," thought Raskolnikov.

"We always picture eternity as something huge, beyond our understanding, right? But why does it have to be huge? What if it’s just a tiny room, like a dingy old bathhouse in the country, black and grimy with spiders everywhere? Maybe that’s all eternity is."

"You can actually imagine nothing more... comforting than that?" Raskolnikov cried, feeling a wave of despair.

"Comforting? How can we even know? Maybe that is the truth, and maybe you just don’t get it," answered Svidrigaïlov, with a vague smile.

That crazy answer sent a chill down Raskolnikov’s spine. Svidrigaïlov looked up, stared at him, and suddenly burst out laughing.

"Just think," he said, "half an hour ago we’re total strangers, we see each other as enemies, there’s a problem between us, we’re just tossing it aside and moving on to abstract ideas! Wasn’t I right to say we’re birds of a feather?"

"Please," Raskolnikov said, irritated, "can you explain why you’re even visiting? And... and I’m in a rush, I don’t have time to chat. I need to go out."

"Sure, no problem. Your sister, Avdotya Romanovna, is getting married to Mr. Luzhin, Pyotr Petrovitch?"

"Can you please not ask about my sister or mention her name? I cann't believe you’d even dare to say her name in front of me, if you really are Svidrigaïlov."

"But I came here to talk about her; how can I avoid it?"

"Fine, go ahead, but hurry up."

"I’m sure you’ve already formed an opinion of this Mr. Luzhin, who’s connected to me through my wife, even after just seeing him for a few minutes or hearing a few things about him. He’s no match for Avdotya Romanovna."

"I thought, from everything I’d heard about you, that you’d be super happy if the match could be broken off without losing any money. Now that I know you, I’m even more convinced."

"That’s really naive... excuse me, I should have said, pretty rude on your part," said Raskolnikov.

"So you think I’m looking out for myself? Don’t worry, Rodion Romanovitch, if I were working for my own advantage, I wouldn’t have been so blunt. I’m not that clueless. Let me tell you something kind of weird, though: just now, defending my feelings for Avdotya Romanovna, I said I was a victim."

"Well, let me tell you, I don’t feel any love now, not even a little bit. I’m actually surprised myself, because I really did feel something..."

"Through laziness and messed-up choices," Raskolnikov put in.

"Okay, yeah, I’m lazy and messed up. But your sister has qualities that even I couldn’t help but notice. But that’s all nonsense, as far as I can see now."

"Have you seen that?"

"I started noticing it before, but I only really realized it the day before yesterday, practically the moment I got to Petersburg. I still thought in Moscow that I was coming to try and win Avdotya Romanovna’s hand and to ditch Mr. Luzhin."

"Sorry to interrupt, but please get to the point. I’m in a rush, I need to head out..."

"It would be my pleasure. Once I got here and decided on a certain... trip, I wanted to make a few arrangements. I left my kids with an aunt; they’re doing great and don’t need me. Honestly, I’d be a decent dad! I only took what Marfa Petrovna gave me a year ago. That's enough for me."

Anyway, I'm getting to it. Before this trip happens, I need to sort out Mr. Luzhin, too. It's not that I hate him that much, but he’s the reason I fought with Marfa Petrovna when I found out she was setting up this marriage.

Now, I want to see Avdotya Romanovna through you, and if you’re okay with it, in front of you, to explain that she’s going to get nothing but trouble from Mr. Luzhin.

"Then, apologizing for any past awkwardness, to give her ten thousand rubles and help break things off with Mr. Luzhin, which I think she’s already leaning towards, if she could just figure out how."

"You’re seriously messed up," Raskolnikov said, more shocked than angry. "How can you even say that?"

"I figured you’d freak out. But first, even though I’m not rich, those ten thousand rubles are totally free; I don’t need them at all. If Avdotya Romanovna doesn’t take them, I’ll just waste them on something silly. That’s the first thing."

Second, my conscience is clear; I’m offering this with no hidden agenda. You might not believe me, but eventually Avdotya Romanovna and you will.

The point is, I actually caused your sister, who I really respect, some trouble and awkwardness, and so, genuinely regretting it, I want - not to make up for it, not to repay her for the bad times, but just to do something nice for her, to show that I’m not totally useless.

If I had even a tiny bit of ulterior motive, I wouldn’t have offered it so openly, and I certainly wouldn’t have offered only ten thousand when, five weeks ago, I offered her more. Plus, I might, perhaps, get married soon, and that alone should stop you from suspecting anything.

To wrap it up, marrying Mr. Luzhin is basically taking money from another guy anyway. Don’t get mad, Rodion Romanovitch, just think it over calmly.

Svidrigaïlov was totally cool and calm as he said this.

"I’m asking you to stop," Raskolnikov said. "This is totally disrespectful, no matter what."

"Not at all. It’s like, a guy can only do bad things for his neighbor in this world, and even the smallest good deed is blocked by silly rules. That’s ridiculous."

"If I died, for example, and left that sum to your sister in my will, would she really refuse it?" "Well Probably."

"Oh, I don’t think so. But if you refuse it, so be it, though ten thousand rubles is pretty useful sometimes".

In any case, I’m asking you to repeat what I’ve said to Avdotya Romanovna. "No way."

"Then, Rodion Romanovitch, I’ll have to try and see her myself and bug her about it."

"And if I tell her, won’t you try to see her?"

"I’m not really sure what to say. I’d really like to see her one more time."

"Don’t count on it."

"Too bad. But you don’t know me. Maybe we could even become friends."

"You think we could become friends?"

"And why not?" Svidrigaïlov said, grinning.

He stood up and grabbed his hat.

"I didn’t mean to bother you, and I didn't think I’d be here... though I was really struck by your face this morning."

"Where did you see me this morning?" Raskolnikov asked, looking kinda nervous.

"I ran into you, totally by chance... I kept thinking there’s something about you like me... But don’t worry."

"I’m not a creep; I used to chill with card sharks, and I never annoyed Prince Svirbey, a big deal who’s a distant relative, and I could write about Raphael’s Madonna in Madam Prilukov’s scrapbook, and I never left Marfa Petrovna’s side for seven years, and I used to crash at Viazemsky’s place in the Hay Market back in the day, and I might even go up in a hot air balloon with Berg, who knows?"

"Okay, cool. Are you heading off on a trip soon, or something?"

"What trip?"

"You know, that ‘journey’; you mentioned it yourself."

A journey? Oh, yeah. I did say something about a journey. Well, that’s a whole thing... if you only knew what you were asking, he added, and burst into a sudden, loud, short laugh.

"Maybe I’ll get married instead of the journey. They’re setting me up." "What, here?"

"Yeah. Why not?" "How did you even have time for that?"

But I really want to see Avdotya Romanovna one more time. I'm totally serious.

"Well, gotta go for now. Oh, yeah. I forgot something. Tell your sister, Rodion Romanovitch, that Marfa Petrovna remembered her in her will and left her three thousand rubles. That’s for real."

"Marfa Petrovna sorted it out a week before she died, and I was there when it happened. Avdotya Romanovna can get the money in a couple of weeks."

"Are you telling the truth?"

"Yeah, tell her. Later. I’m staying super close by."

As he left, Svidrigaïlov bumped into Razumihin in the doorway.