Disclaimer: don't own these dudes.
This is for a school paper. Any feedback or criticism or whatever would be greatly appreciated.
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Raskolnikov goes to the police station to confess. He gets as far as, "I'm here about the murder of Lizaveta and her sister-" before the clerk cuts him off. Thanking him for the offer of information, he tells Raskolnikov it won't be necessary because the killer has come in himself, only an hour ago, and confessed.
Shocked, Raskolnikov first wonders if it is one of Porfiry's tricks. But it's not – Svidrigailov has truly come in, claimed to be the killer, and given the details of the crime as he overheard from Raskolnikov's recounting it all to Sonya. The police have arrested him, sure beyond doubt that he is guilty. Raskolnikov wonders what could have prompted him to make a false confession.
Suddenly afraid that Dunya has made him some kind of deal, Raskolnikov rushes home to his sister, but the news comes as a surprise to her. Soon, their confusion is resolved by a letter, posted by Svidrigailov just before he turned himself in.
In the letter, Svidrigailov claims to be so in love with Dunya that he can't live without her. Utterly unhappy with his current existence, he says he contemplated suicide but wryly remarks that his gun would probably have misfired anyway. Instead of killing himself, he has conceived of a way for his life to be used to Dunya's advantage – he can take Raskolnikov's place in jail. Svidrigailov wishes Dunya all future happiness, he says, and asks that she come to his trial so that he can see her one last time.
Raskolnikov, touched by the man's devotion and horrified to have caused his unjust imprisonment, begins for the first time to feel truly remorseful. It had been impossible to mourn the old pawnbroker and wretched Lizaveta, but the cheerful nobleman was another story altogether. He forces himself to go to the trial, and when the sentence – fifteen years hard labor – is read out, Svidrigailov flinches and Rodya almost screams out the truth.
For the first time, he understands what it is to ruin a life, and feels sick over what he has done. Desperate to find some way of atoning, he confesses his self-loathing to Sonya and she approves of his decision to spend his life helping the destitute of St. Petersburg.
Dunya cannot bring herself to go to the trial. She spends days reading over the correspondences of Svidrigailov's that she hasn't destroyed, and eventually confesses the truth to Razumikhin, who comforts her and vows to help keep Rodya's secret.
A year after the trial, seeing her brother's life firmly on track and her own filled with happiness, Dunya is consumed all over again by guilt. She still has some money from Marfa Petrovna's will left over, and she decides to take a little trip to Siberia...
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She found Svidrigailov sitting alone outside, and despite the wretched condition of his clothes, and the grey of the sky, and the bitter cold of the morning, the scene was quite beautiful. She cleared her throat loudly.
"Oh!" Svidrigailov turned around, saw her, and smiled widely. "Oh, I'm dreaming. Hello, Avdotya Romanovna…or, rather, I shall call you Dunya if I wish, since you're not here, in any case."
Her presence had the effect of a ray of sunshine; his face had lit up so radiantly she thought she might cry. "No – I'm here, this is no dream."
She approached him and sank down, her dress billowing around her like a cloud. "Well, obviously you are here; I can see you. Yet, I'm certain that this is a dream, or at least, that you are a ghost… Well, no matter!" He stretched out and laid his head on her lap. "Dream or no, I intend to enjoy you."
A little thrill went through Dunya at these words, but she controlled her fear, remembering what great lengths Svidrigailov had gone to to protect her from himself. She was certain that she was quite safe here. In any case, she did have a revolver in her purse. One that would fire, this time. Since that fateful day, she had never been without it.
As though he read her mind, Svidrigailov smiled up at her. "You aren't going to shoot me today, Avdotya Romanovna, are you?" he asked. "I mean you no harm."
Her heart jumped at his tone; it was so easy to forget all that he had done, when he lay here with his head in her lap and spoke so guilelessly, like a child! Full of compassion and sudden tenderness, she smoothed his hair off his forehead with her dainty fingers and assured him, "Of course not. It's all right, Arkady Ivanovich, I only came to see you. To see how you are doing…"
"Oh, I am doing splendidly," he answered, letting his eyes drift closed. "Until you came today, I hadn't seen ghosts in – oh, any number of weeks! Amazing. It is true, what they say – hard work is rather effective in clearing up strange dreams. But I suppose it's only natural, after all – one is idle, which leads one to commit depravity from boredom, and then one is punished by being idle no more. Sensible, is it not?"
"Must I repeat that I'm not a ghost?" Dunya said a little sharply. "Perhaps if I shoot you again, the blood will convince you where nothing else would."
His eyes shot open. "Oh! No, don't shoot me." He sat up with difficulty. "You're really here?"
"I am." She was a little uncomfortable, and wished he would stop looking at her with that intense indescribable something in his gaze. "I wanted to thank you…I never spoke to you after…I mean, and what you did – you know, for my brother…"
He seized her hand, but for some reason his ardent manner didn't terrify her now. "No – don't speak of that. Never, Avdotya Romanovna, never thank me for anything; I've told you, what you are is cause enough for anything I might do for you. I love you, you must know that. There's nothing, no one, no place that can make me believe otherwise."
Dunya's eyes filled with tears at this impassioned declaration, and he was instantly contrite. "Please don't cry – I never meant to – here; I haven't a handkerchief any longer, but you mustn't drip on your pretty dress…" Here he reached out for her long beautiful hair and passed it across her cheek gently. "Be calm; I won't talk any more, if you don't wish it."
"No, no, that's all right, you can talk," she said to him, bringing herself under control with difficulty. "I ought never to have called you a man without honor." Those words had haunted her, tormented her through her nights ever since she found out what had done for Rodya.
But he looked away. "You were right," he said softly. "It is true that I never killed Marfa Petrovna, but what I have done…" He looked back into her eyes and said desperately, "But I never would have done any of it if you were watching me. If I knew that you would be there, with that look you wear right now, of stern disapproval – oh! I wouldn't dare so much as breathe and risk your displeasure."
But his words made her suspicious. "Rodya told me of your conversation with him," she said severely. "He believes that you feign these feelings to make girls like me care for you."
Svidrigailov smiled. "I did at one time," he said. "This is not feigned, not a bit…but is it working?" he asked earnestly, leaning close. "Do you care for me?"
She scrambled backwards in terror. "Arkady Ivanovich, I am a married woman," she squeaked.
"Ah, yes." Abruptly his mood turned gloomy. "You and that…that Razumikhin fellow." He sighed. "He is a good man."
The tone of his voice calmed her somewhat, and she made an inviting gesture towards her lap. He lay back down again, amazed that she should touch him so tenderly.
Dunya stared into the distance, stroking his hair absently. "Why do you do it?" she asked in genuine perplexion. "The things you do?"
"Hmm? Oh, those things." He sighed. "It's hard to explain it to someone as good as yourself…your brother would understand, but – ah!" he gasped, for she had tightened her hand about his hair and tugged quite sharply.
"Don't you speak badly about my brother, you rogue!"
But she was merely irritated, not seriously angry, and he was able to make amends. "I'm sorry. It's only that it really is difficult to describe…here: you remember the poison?"
"The poison you intended to use on your wife? Yes, I do."
"No, don't you see, I would never have used it on her," he explained. "Marfa Petrovna and I had a…a peculiar understanding. I let her rule me, you see; yet, I had to behave like a husband sometimes, so on occasion I would beat her. But that would have gotten repetitive. So I said, 'If you don't behave better, I'll poison you'. And such a threat would not have been effective if I hadn't gone and bought any poison, do you see? She was glad of it – she even told me where to keep the bottle, so the sun wouldn't spoil what was inside."
This all sounded rather sick and incomprehensible to Dunya, and she might have reproached him for it, but then he added quite softly, "Her ghost has visited me sometimes. It's rather unfortunate – I never liked her very much while she was alive, but now that she's dead, I do find myself missing her some days."
He sounded lost, helpless, and childlike again. Dunya smoothed his hair down and whispered soothingly, "It's all right. I'm sure she understood, then," not wishing to distress him further. She felt herself begin to absolve him in her mind of all his past horrors, and this made her a little nervous, so she added, "But you must remember that's all past now. You mustn't do that ever again."
Her severity made him smile. "Yes – that's right; you may reproach me like a mother if you wish. I'll take it all to heart and I'll do as you say." His manner made it almost believable that he really had been so vile for no better reason than that he had no reason not to be. "I had a dream once," he informed Dunya solemnly, "that a little girl wanted to seduce me, and I was disgusted. So perhaps I am not so depraved as you believe, after all."
"Perhaps," she agreed, and bent over to kiss him on the forehead. "It's time for me to leave now. I'll pray for you… but you must promise me not to be so vile again when you are released! Pretend that I am watching you, and I will scowl if you behave like a beast."
He sighed. "Avdotya Romanovna, I am still in love with you."
She sighed, too. "And I am still not in love with you," she informed him. Her tone softened a little. "I never will be; you must abandon any intentions of carrying me off, do you understand?"
Svidrigailov looked up at her and nodded mutely. 'I must really be in love,' he thought to himself, 'for I cannot even be annoyed by the depth of the pity she feels for me. It is really quite pathetic, in a way.' But he couldn't bring himself to be truly disgusted, reveling instead in the feel of her dress against his cheek.
"You can pretend that I only love you as a sister or a saint, then," he offered. "You will have nothing to fear from me."
She nodded, obviously pleased. "In that way, perhaps I can love you, too," she said gravely, then added with a bit of irony, "Although it is certain that you are no saint."
He flashed her his old impish grin, before sitting up and taking on a very serious demeanor. "But from now I will be."
Her whole face lit up, so that he almost forgot they were outside in the bitter cold of a prison camp in Siberia. "God willing, Arkady Ivanovich, perhaps you will."
THE END.
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I wrote this because I had to for school, but also because the original ending of Crime&Punishment really did annoy me. I would really like to know what you think. Review for me! The next "chapter" is where I explain why my ending is better than the original – I had to write that explanation for school anyway, so I might as well post it here in case anybody is interested.
And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming (ie, back to Javert and no more Svidrigailov for me.)