“And remorse of conscience? You mean you deny him all moral feeling? Is that what he's like?”
“Ah, Avdotya Romanovna, things have all become clouded now— though, by the way, they never were in any particular order. Russian people are generally broad people, Avdotya Romanovna, broad as their land, and greatly inclined to the fantastic, the disorderly; but it's disastrous to be broad without special genius. And do you remember how much you and I used to talk in the same way, and about the same subject, sitting by ourselves on the terrace, every evening after supper? You used to reproach me precisely with this broadness. Who knows, maybe at the same time as we were talking, he was lying here and thinking his thoughts. In our educated society, Avdotya Romanovna, we have no especially sacred traditions; except for what someone somehow pieces together from old books...or something drawn from the old chronicles. But they are mostly scholars and, you know, they're all dunces in their way, so that for a man of the world it's even indecent. However, you generally know my opinion; I'm certainly not accusing anyone. I myself am an idler and I keep to that. But we've already talked about it more than once. I even had the happiness of interesting you with my judgments...You are very pale, Avdotya Romanovna!”
“I know this theory of his. I read his article in a magazine, about people to whom everything is permitted...Razumikhin brought it to me . . .”
“Mr. Razumikhin? Your brother's article? In a magazine? Is there such an article? I didn't know. Now that is most certainly curious! But where are you going, Avdotya Romanovna?”
“I want to see Sofya Semyonovna,” Dunechka said in a weak voice. “How can I get to her? Maybe she's come back; I absolutely must see her now. Let her . . .”
Avdotya Romanovna could not finish; her breath literally failed her.
“Sofya Semyonovna will not come back before nightfall. So I suppose. She ought to have come very soon, but if not, it will be very late . . .”
“Ah, so you're lying! I see...you've been lying...it was all a lie! I don't believe you! I don't! I don't!” Dunechka cried out in a real frenzy, completely losing her head. [146]
Almost in a faint, she fell onto the chair that Svidrigailov hastened to move towards her.
“Avdotya Romanovna, what's wrong? Come to your senses! Here's some water. Take a sip . . .”
He sprinkled her with water. Dunechka started and came to her senses.
“It's affected her strongly!” Svidrigailov muttered to himself, frowning. “Avdotya Romanovna, calm yourself! I assure you, he has friends. We will save him, rescue him. Do you want me to take him abroad? I have money; I can get a ticket in three days. And as for the murder, he'll still have time to do many good deeds, so it will all be made up for; calm yourself. He still may be a great man. How are you now? How do you feel?”
“Wicked man! He's still jeering! Let me . . .”
“Where are you going? Where?”
“To him. Where is he? Do you know? Why is this door locked? We came in this door, and now it's locked. When did you manage to lock it?”
“We couldn't really shout for the whole house to hear what we were just talking about. I'm not jeering at all; I'm simply tired of speaking this language. Now, where are you going to go in such a state? Or do you want to betray him? You'll drive him into a rage, and he'll betray himself. I want you to know that he's being watched, they're already on his trail. You'll only give him away. Wait. I saw him and spoke with him just now; he can still be saved. Wait, sit down, let's think it over together. That's why I sent for you, to talk about it alone with you and think it over carefully. Do sit down!”
“How can you save him? Can he be saved?”
Dunya sat down. Svidrigailov sat beside her.
“It all depends on you, on you, on you alone,” he began, with flashing eyes, almost in a whisper, becoming confused, and even failing to articulate some words in his excitement.
Dunya drew further back from him in fear. He, too, was trembling all over.
“You...one word from you, and he is saved! I... I will save him. I have money, and friends. I'll send him away at once, and I'll get a passport, two passports. One for him, the other for me. I have friends; I have practical people...Do you want me to? I'll also get a passport for you...your mother...what do you need Razumikhin for? I, too, love you...I love you infinitely. Let me kiss the hem of your dress—let me, let me! I can't bear its rustling! Tell me: 'Do this,' and I'll do it! I'll do anything. I'll do the impossible. What you believe, I will believe. I'll do anything, anything! No, don't look at me like that! You know you're killing me . . .”
He was even beginning to rave. Something happened to him suddenly, as if it all suddenly went to his head. Dunya jumped up and rushed to the door.
“Open! Open!” she cried through the door, calling to someone and shaking the door with her hands. “Open, please! Is anyone there?”
Svidrigailov stood up and recovered himself. A spiteful and mocking smile was slowly forcing itself to his still trembling lips.
“No one is there,” he said softly and evenly, “the landlady has gone out, and shouting like that is a wasted effort; you're only upsetting yourself for nothing.”
“Where is the key? Open the door at once, at once, you vile man!” [147]
“I've lost the key; I can't find it.”
“Ah! So it's force!” Dunya cried out, turned pale as death, and rushed to the corner, where she quickly shielded herself with a little table that happened to be there. She did not scream; but she fastened her eyes on her tormentor and closely followed his every movement. Svidrigailov did not move from where he was, and stood facing her at the other end of the room. He even regained his composure, at least externally. But his face was as pale as before, and the mocking smile had not left it.
“You just mentioned 'force,' Avdotya Romanovna. If it's to be force, you can judge for yourself that I've taken measures. Sofya Semyonovna is not at home; the Kapernaumovs are very far, five locked doors away. Finally, I am at least twice as strong as you are, and, besides, I have nothing to fear, because you cannot complain afterwards either: you really won't want to betray your brother, will you? Besides, no one will believe you: why on earth should a girl go alone to a single man's apartment? So that even if you sacrifice your brother, you still won't prove anything: force is very difficult to prove, Avdotya Romanovna.”
“Scoundrel!” Dunya whispered indignantly.
“As you please, but note that I was speaking only by way of suggestion. According to my own personal conviction, you are entirely right: force is an abomination. What I was getting at was that there would be exactly nothing on your conscience even if...even if you wished to save your brother voluntarily, in the way I have offered. It would mean you were simply submitting to circumstances—well, to force, finally, if it's impossible to do without the word. Think about it; the fates of your brother and your mother are in your hands. And I shall be your slave...all my life...I'll wait here . . .”
146
Here Dunya suddenly addresses Svidrigailov in the familiar second person singular, which Russians generally use only with family and intimate friends. The shift has a strong effect for the Russian reader, suggesting more to their relationship than has appeared so far.