Crime and Punishment (8 page)

Marmeladov fell silent – his voice just seemed to break off. Then, with sudden haste, he poured out a glass, drank it and cleared his throat.

‘And ever since then, good sir,' he went on after a pause, ‘in consequence of a certain unfavourable circumstance and certain malicious reports, in which activity Darya Frantsevna proved especially zealous, alleging that she had not been shown due respect – ever since then my daughter, Sofya Semyonovna, has been obliged to take the yellow ticket, on account of which she could remain with us no longer. For our landlady, Amalia Fyodorovna, would not allow it (though she had previously assisted Darya Frantsevna), and Mr Lebezyatnikov himself . . . H'm . . . Well, it was on account of Sonya that he had that rumpus with Katerina Ivanovna. First he tried his luck with Sonechka, then he suddenly got up on his high horse: “Am I, a man of considerable education, to live under one roof with the likes of her?” Well, Katerina Ivanovna didn't let that pass; she stepped in . . . and that was that . . . Sonechka usually comes by at dusk now, helps out Katerina Ivanovna and brings us what she can . . . She lives at Kapernaumov's, the tailor's, rents a room there, and Kapernaumov is lame and tongue-tied, and his entire numerous brood is also tongue-tied. And his wife, she too is tongue-tied . . . They squeeze into a single room, while Sonya has one of her own, with a partition . . . H'm, yes . . . The poorest of people and tied of tongue . . . yes indeed . . . So I got up bright and early, put on my rags, raised my hands to heaven and set off to see His Excellency Ivan Afanasyevich. Perhaps you know His Excellency Ivan Afanasyevich? . . . No? Then you do not know a godly man! He is wax . . . wax before the face of the Lord; as wax melteth!
24
He was even moved to tears after deigning to hear me out. “Well, Marmeladov,” he says, “you've already disappointed me once . . . Now I'm giving you a second chance as my personal responsibility,” (those were his very words) “so remember that, and be off with you!” I kissed the dust at his feet – in my mind, of course, for in reality he would not have allowed it, being a dignitary and a man of the latest thinking in matters of state and education – and when I returned home and announced that I had been taken back into the service and was drawing a salary, well, good heavens, you should have seen what happened then! . . .'

Marmeladov broke off once again in the greatest excitement. At that moment, an entire platoon of drunkards, who were already far gone, came in off the street, and the sounds of a rented barrel organ and a cracked, seven-year-old voice singing ‘Little Farm'
25
carried over from the entrance. It grew noisy. The landlord and the serving boys busied themselves with the new group. Paying the latter no heed, Marmeladov went on with his story. By now, he appeared to have lost all strength, but the drunker he became the more he wanted to talk. The recollection of his recent success at work seemed to have revived him and had even marked his face with a sort of radiance. Raskolnikov listened attentively.

‘All this, good sir, happened five weeks ago. Yes . . . The moment those two, Katerina Ivanovna and Sonechka, found out – goodness, I thought I'd been taken up to heaven. Before, you would lie there like a beast and abuse was all you heard! But now they're going round on tiptoe, hushing the little ones: “Semyon Zakharych is tired out from work, he's resting, shhh!” I was being served coffee before work – and hot cream! Real cream, do you hear! And how they scraped together eleven roubles and fifty copecks to fit me out so nicely, I'll never know! Boots, magnificent cotton shirt fronts, a new uniform, all tip-top, for just eleven fifty. I walked in after my first morning at work and what did I find? Katerina Ivanovna had prepared two courses – soup and corned beef with horseradish – something we'd never even heard of before then. She doesn't have a single dress . . . not a single one, sir, but now here she was, got up as if to go to a party; incredible how she does it; incredible how she makes everything from nothing: the hairdo, a nice clean collar, cuffs, and by the end she looks a completely different person – younger, prettier. Sonechka, my precious, only assisted with money. “It's not proper,” she says, “for me to come over to your place too often now, not for a while anyway, maybe only at dusk, so nobody sees me.” Do you hear? I came home after lunch for forty winks and just imagine what I heard then: only a week before Katerina Ivanovna had had the most almighty row with Amalia Fyodorovna, but here she was inviting her round for coffee. Two hours they sat together, whispering. “So now Semyon Zakharych is working and drawing a salary, and he presented himself before His Excellency, and His Excellency came out in person, told everybody else to wait, took Semyon Zakharych by the hand and led him past everyone to his office.” Do you hear? “In view of past services, Semyon Zakharych,” said His Excellency, “and though you succumbed
for a time to this frivolous weakness, but as you are now making a promise, and besides we have been doing poorly without you” – do you hear? – “then I shall count on your word of honour” – and she'd made the whole thing up, I tell you, and not out of silliness or just to sing my praises! No, sir, she believes it all herself, she amuses herself with her own imaginings, by heaven! And I do not condemn it; no, this I do not condemn! . . . And when, six days ago, I brought home twenty-three roubles and forty copecks – my first salary, in its entirety – she even called me her little boy: “My clever little boy!” she says. And in private, understand? After all, I'm not much to look at and not much of a husband, am I? But no, she pinched my cheek and said, “My clever little boy!”'

Marmeladov paused as if to smile, but his chin suddenly began to quiver. Still, he held himself together. This pothouse, his depraved appearance, the five nights on the hay barges, the vodka and to top it all, this sickly love for wife and family, disorientated his listener. Raskolnikov listened intently, but with a sick feeling. How he wished he hadn't come here.

‘My good sir, my good sir!' Marmeladov exclaimed, having recovered. ‘Oh, sir, for you, perhaps, as for everyone else, this is all just a joke and I should really stop bothering you with all the idiotic, pathetic details of my domestic life, but it's no joke to me! For I can feel everything . . . Throughout the entire course of that one heavenly day and throughout the entire evening, I, too, was carried away by dreams: how I would arrange everything and clothe the little mites and give her some respite and bring my only-begotten daughter back from disgrace into the bosom of the family . . . And much else besides . . . Quite forgivable, sir. Well, my good man' – Marmeladov suddenly gave a kind of start, raised his head and stared straight at his listener – ‘well, sir, on the very next day, after all these reveries (that is to say, precisely five days ago), towards evening, by a clever ruse, like a thief in the night,
26
I stole the key to Katerina Ivanovna's chest, took what remained of the salary (I no longer remember how much), and look at me now, sir – kaput! My fifth day away from home and the search party's out, and it's the end of my career; and the uniform, in exchange for which I received these vestments, is in a pothouse by Egypt Bridge . . . and it's the end of everything!'

Marmeladov struck his forehead with his fist, clenched his teeth,
shut his eyes and planted an elbow on the table. But a minute later his face suddenly changed; glancing at Raskolnikov with an air of slyness and manufactured insolence, he laughed and said:

‘Today I went to Sonya, to beg some money – you know, hair of the dog! Heh-heh-heh!'

‘Don't tell me she gave it you?' shouted one of the newcomers, then roared with laughter.

‘This very pint of vodka was bought with her money, sir,' Marmeladov went on, addressing himself exclusively to Raskolnikov. ‘Brought me out thirty copecks, in her own hands, her very last coins; it was all she had, I saw for myself . . . Didn't say a word, just looked at me in silence . . . That's how – up there, not down here – people grieve and weep, but never a word of reproach, not a word! And that hurts even more, sir, when there's no reproach – yes, sir, that hurts more . . . Thirty copecks. She'll be needing them herself now, eh! Wouldn't you say, my dear sir? After all, she has to keep herself immaculate.
27
It costs money to be immaculate in that particular way, does it not? Does it not? Then there's lipstick to be bought, no getting away from that, sir, starched skirts, high-heeled shoes with a touch of class, to show a bit of leg when there's a puddle to be crossed. Do you see, sir, what it means to be immaculate – do you? Well, sir, and there's me, her very own father, swiping these thirty copecks to clear a sore head! And here I am spending them! In fact, I've already spent them! . . . So who could ever pity a man like me? Eh? Do you pity me now, sir, or do you not? Tell me, sir, yea or nay? Heh-heh-heh-heh!'

He was about to pour another glass, but there was nothing left. The pot was empty.

‘Pity you – what the hell for?' shouted the landlord, who had come back down again.

There was more laughter and even swearing, among those who were listening and even among those who were not – the sight of the retired civil servant was quite enough for them.

‘Pity me! Why pity me?' Marmeladov suddenly howled, standing up with his arm outstretched before him, in an access of inspiration, as though he had been waiting for precisely those words. ‘Why pity me, you ask? Oh yes! There is nothing to pity me for! I should be crucified, I should be nailed to the cross – not pitied! So crucify, O judge, crucify, and, having crucified, take pity! Then I shall come to you
myself to be nailed to the rood, for it is not merriment I crave, but sorrow and tears! . . . Do you imagine, O vendor, that this pot of yours brought me pleasure? It was sorrow I sought at its bottom, sorrow and tears, which I did taste and I did find; and He shall pity us who pitied all, who understood all men and all things, He alone, He the judge. He shall come on that day and He shall ask: “Where is the daughter who did betray herself for a wicked, consumptive stepmother and infant, alien children? Where is the daughter who did take pity on her mortal father, an obscene drunkard whose brutishness did not appal her?” And He will say: “Come! I forgave thee once . . . Yes, I forgave thee . . . Now, too, thy many sins are forgiven, for thou loved much . . .” And He will forgive my Sonya, He will, I know He will . . . I felt it just now, when I visited her, felt it in my heart! . . . He will judge and forgive all, the good and the wicked, the wise and the meek . . . And when He has finished with them He will speak unto us, too: “Come forth,” He will say, “even you! Come forth the tipsy, come forth the feeble, come forth the shameless!” And we shall all come forth, without shame, and we shall stand. And He will say, “You are swine, marked with the image and the stamp of the beast; yet even so – come!” And the wise and the reasonable shall proclaim: “Lord! Why takest Thou these men?” And He will say: “I take them – O men of wisdom, O men of reason – because not one of their number did think himself worthy . . .” And He shall reach out His hands to us, and we shall fall down . . . and we shall weep . . . and we shall understand all things! All things shall we understand! . . . and all will understand . . . even Katerina Ivanovna . . . she, too, will understand . . . May Thy kingdom come,
28
O Lord!'

Exhausted, enfeebled, he lowered himself onto the bench, not looking at anyone, as though oblivious to his surroundings and deep in thought. His words made quite an impression; for a moment there was silence, but the laughter and cursing soon resumed:

‘Pull the other one!'

‘Load of cobblers!'

‘Bureaucrat!'

And so on and so forth.

‘Let us be off, sir,' said Marmeladov suddenly, raising his head and addressing Raskolnikov. ‘You lead the way . . . Kozel's house, facing the courtyard. High time . . . to Katerina Ivanovna . . .'

Raskolnikov had been wanting to leave for a while, and the thought
of helping had already occurred to him. Marmeladov proved far weaker on his legs than in his oratory and leant heavily on the young man. It was a walk of two hundred yards or so. The closer they drew to the house, the more troubled and fearful the drunkard became.

‘It is not Katerina Ivanovna I fear now,' he muttered nervously, ‘nor the fact that she will start pulling my hair. Hair! . . . Hair is nothing! I say so myself! All the better if she starts pulling it, that's not what scares me . . . It's . . . her eyes that scare me . . . yes . . . her eyes . . . The red blotches on her cheeks scare me, too . . . not to mention – her breathing . . . Have you seen how people breathe with this sickness . . . when they are all worked up? And I fear the crying of the children . . . Because if Sonya has not fed them, then . . . well, search me! Search me! But I do not fear a beating . . . Know, sir, that such beatings, far from bringing me pain, often bring me pleasure . . . I cannot live without them. It's for the best. Let her beat me, vent her feelings . . . for the best, I say . . . And here's the house. Kozel's house. A locksmith, a German, very well off . . . lead the way!'

They entered from the courtyard and went up to the fourth floor. The higher they climbed, the darker the stairwell. It was nearly eleven and although night as such never falls at this time of year in Petersburg, the head of the stairwell was very dark.

A small soot-covered door stood open at the very top of the stairs. A candle stub illuminated a wretched room, the whole of which – ten paces or so from one end to the other – was visible from the door. Children's rags and other stuff lay strewn in disarray. A sheet full of holes was stretched across the far corner. Behind it there was probably a bed. The room itself contained just two chairs and a very tattered couch covered with oilcloth, before which stood an old kitchen table made of pine, unpainted and bare. On the edge of the table a tallow candle was guttering out in its iron holder. So Marmeladov did have his own room, not just a ‘corner', but it was a connecting one. The door leading into the other lodgings or cells into which Amalia Lippewechsel's apartment was divided stood ajar. It was noisy there. People were shouting and laughing, probably playing cards and drinking tea. Some choice obscenities flew out.