That's how strong the passion for propaganda is in some girls! I, of course, blamed it all on my fate, pretended to be hungering and thirsting for light, and, finally, employed the greatest and surest means of conquering a woman's heart, a means which has never yet failed anyone, which works decidedly on one and all, without exception—the well-known means of flattery. There's nothing in the world more difficult than candor, and nothing easier than flattery. If there is only the hundredth part of a false note in candor, there is immediately a dissonance, and then—scandal. But with flattery, even if everything is false down to the last little note, it is still agreeable and is listened to not without pleasure; crude though the pleasure may be, it is still a pleasure. And however crude the flattery may be, at least half of it is sure to seem true. And that is so for all levels of development and strata of society. Even a vestal virgin can be seduced by flattery. Not to mention ordinary people. I can't help laughing when I remember how I once seduced a certain lady who was devoted to her husband, her children, and her own virtues. It was so much fun, and so little work! And the lady was indeed virtuous, in her own way at least. My whole tactic consisted in being simply crushed and prostrate before her chastity at every moment. I flattered her infernally, and as soon as I obtained so much as the squeezing of her hand, or even just a look from her, I would reproach myself for having wrested it from her, because she had resisted, had resisted so much that I would never have gotten so far had I not been so depraved myself; because she, in her innocence, did not foresee any perfidy and succumbed inadvertently, without knowing, without thinking, and so on and so forth. In short, I obtained everything, and my lady remained convinced in the highest degree that she was innocent and chaste and had fulfilled all her duties and obligations, and had been ruined quite accidentally. And how angry she was with me when I declared to her finally that according to my sincere conviction she was seeking pleasure as much as I was. Poor Marfa Petrovna was also terribly susceptible to flattery, and if ever I had wanted, I could, of course, have transferred her entire estate to my name while she was still alive. (However, I'm drinking a terrible amount of wine and babbling away.) I hope you won't be angry if I now mention that the same effect began to show itself with Avdotya Romanovna. But I was stupid and impatient and spoiled the whole thing myself. Several times even before (and once somehow especially) Avdotya Romanovna had been terribly displeased by the look in my eyes—can you believe it? In short, a certain fire kept flaring up in them more and more strongly and imprudently, which frightened her and in the end became hateful to her. There's no point in going over the details, but we parted. Here again I was stupid. I began jeering in the crudest way regarding all these propagandas and conversions; Parasha appeared on the scene again, and not only her—in short, Sodom began. Ah, Rodion Romanych, if you'd seen at least once in your life how your dear sister's eyes can flash at times! It doesn't matter that I'm drunk now and have already finished a whole glass of wine, I'm telling the truth; I assure you that I used to see those eyes in my dreams; the rustling of her dress finally became unbearable to me. Really, I thought I'd get the falling sickness; I never imagined I could reach such a frenzy. In short, it was necessary to make peace—but it was no longer possible. And can you imagine what I did then? Oh, the degree of stupefaction to which rage can lead a man! Never undertake anything in a rage, Rodion Romanych! Considering that Avdotya Romanovna was essentially a beggar (ah, excuse me, that's not what I wanted...but isn't it all the same, if the concept is the same?), in short, that she was living by the work of her own hands, that she was supporting both her mother and you (ah, the devil, you're scowling again . . .), I decided to offer her all my money (I could have realized as much as thirty thousand even then) on condition that she elope with me, say, here to Petersburg. Naturally, I would swear eternal love, bliss, and so on and so forth. Believe me, I was so smitten that if she'd told me: Stick a knife into Marfa Petrovna, or poison her, and marry me—the thing would have been done at once! But it all ended in the catastrophe you already know about, and you can judge for yourself what a rage I was driven to when I discovered that Marfa Petrovna had procured that meanest of little clerks, Luzhin, and had almost put together a marriage—which would be essentially the same as what I was offering. Right? Right? Am I right? I notice you've begun listening rather attentively...an interesting young man...”
Svidrigailov impatiently pounded his fist on the table. He was flushed. Raskolnikov saw clearly that the glass or glass and a half of champagne he had drunk, sipping at it imperceptibly, was having a morbid effect on him, and decided to make use of his chance. He found Svidrigailov very suspicious.
“Well, after that, I'm fully convinced that you had my sister in mind when you came here,” he said to Svidrigailov, directly and without reticence, in order to provoke him even more.
“Eh, come on,” Svidrigailov suddenly seemed to catch himself, “didn't I tell you...and besides, your sister can't stand me.”
“That she can't stand you I'm also convinced of, but that's not the point now.”
“Are you so convinced of it?” (Svidrigailov narrowed his eyes and smiled mockingly.) “You're right, she doesn't love me; but never swear yourself to what has gone on between husband and wife, or between two lovers. There's always a little corner here that's always unknown to the whole world and is known only to the two of them. Will you swear that Avdotya Romanovna looked upon me with loathing?”
“I notice from certain words and phrases in your account that you still have your plans and the most immediate intentions on Dunya— vile ones, naturally.”
“What! Did such words and phrases escape me?” Svidrigailov became most naively frightened all at once, paying not the slightest attention to the epithet applied to his intentions.
“Yes, and they're still escaping you. What, for instance, are you so afraid of? Why are you suddenly so frightened?”
“Me? Afraid and frightened? Frightened of you? It's rather you who should be afraid of me, cher amiBut what drivel...However, I see that I'm drunk; I nearly let things slip again. Devil take wine! Ho, there! Water!”
He grabbed the bottle and hurled it unceremoniously out the window. Filipp brought water.
“That's all nonsense,” said Svidrigailov, wetting a towel and putting it to his head, “and I can haul you up short and reduce your suspicions to dust with a single word. Do you know, for instance, that I am getting married?”
“You told me that before.”
“Did I? I forgot. But I couldn't have spoken positively then, because I hadn't seen the bride yet; it was just an intention. Well, but now I have a bride, and the matter is settled, and if it weren't for some pressing matters, I'd certainly take you to see them—because I want to ask your advice. Eh, the devil! I only have ten minutes left. See, look at the time; however, I'll tell you, because it's an interesting little thing in its own way; my marriage, I mean—where are you going? Leaving again?”
“No, I wouldn't leave now.”
“Wouldn't leave at all? We'll see. I'll take you there, truly, to show you the bride, only not now; now it will soon be time for you to go. You to the right, and I to the left. Do you know this Resslich? This same Resslich who rents me the room—eh? You hear? No, what are you thinking, the same one they say, about the girl, in the water, in winter—well, do you hear? Do you? Well, so she's the one who cooked it all up for me; you're bored like this, she said, amuse yourself a little. And I really am a gloomy, boring man. You think I'm cheerful? No, I'm gloomy: I don't do any harm, I just sit in the corner; sometimes no one can get a word out of me for three days. And Resslich, that rogue, I'll tell you, here's what she has in mind: I'll get bored, abandon my wife, and leave; then she'll get the wife and put her into circulation—among our own set, that is, or a little higher up. There's this paralyzed father, she says, a retired official, sits in a chair and hasn't moved his legs for three years. There's also a mother, she says, a reasonable lady, the mother is. The son serves somewhere in the provinces, doesn't help them. One daughter is married and doesn't visit; there are two little nephews on their hands (as if their own weren't enough), and their last daughter's a schoolgirl, they took her out of school without letting her finish, in a month she'll be just sixteen, which means in a month she can be married. To me, that is. We went there; it was very funny. I introduced myself: a landowner, a widower, from a notable family, with such-and-such connections, with money— so what if I'm fifty and she's not sixteen yet? Who's looking at that? But isn't it tempting, eh? It's tempting, ha, ha! You should have seen me talking with the papa and mama! People would have paid just to see me then. She comes out, curtsies—can you imagine, she's still in a short dress; an unopened bud—she blushes, turns pink as the dawn (they had told her, of course). I don't know how you feel about women's faces, but to my mind those sixteen years, those still childish eyes, that timidity, those bashful little tears—to my mind they're better than beauty, and on top of that she's just like a picture. Fair hair fluffed up in little curls like a lamb's, plump little crimson lips, little feet— lovely! ... So we got acquainted, I announced that I was in a hurry owing to family circumstances, and the very next day—that is, two days ago—they gave us their blessing. Since then, the moment I come in I take her on my knees and don't let her get down...Well, she blushes like the dawn, and I kiss her all the time; and the mama naturally impresses upon her that this, you see, is your husband, and it ought to be this way—in short, clever! And this present position, as a fiancé, may in fact be better than that of a husband. It's what's called la nature et la vérité! [141] Ha, ha! I've talked with her a couple of times— the girl is far from stupid; once in a while she gives me a glance on the sly—it burns right through. And you know, she has the face of a Raphael Madonna. Because the Sistine Madonna has a fantastic face, the face of a mournful holy fool, has that ever struck you? Well, hers is the same sort. As soon as they blessed us, the next day, I came with fifteen hundred roubles' worth: a set of diamonds, another of pearls, and a lady's silver toilet case—this big—with all kinds of things in it, so that even her Madonna's face began to glow. I took her on my knees yesterday, but I must have done it too unceremoniously—she became all flushed, tears started, but though she didn't want to show it, she was all aflame herself. Everyone left for a moment, there were just the two of us, she suddenly threw herself on my neck (the first time on her own), embraced me with her little arms, kissed me, and vowed that she would be an obedient, faithful, and good wife to me, that she would make me happy, that she would spend her whole life on it, every minute of her life, would sacrifice everything, everything, and in return for all that she wished to have only my respect,and she said, 'I need nothing else, nothing, nothing, no presents!' You must agree that to hear such a confession, in private, from such a dear sixteen-year-old angel, in a lace dress, with fluffed-up little curls, with a blush of maidenly modesty and tears of enthusiasm in her eyes, you must agree it's rather tempting. It is tempting, isn't it? It's worth something, eh? Well, isn't it? Well...so, listen...let's go and see my fiancée...only not now!”
141
"Nature and truth" (French). Dostoevsky uses this phrase (compare