I
On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young
man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place
and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K.
bridge.
He had successfully avoided meeting his landlady on
the staircase. His garret was under the roof of a high, five-
storied house and was more like a cupboard than a room.
The landlady who provided him with garret, dinners, and
attendance, lived on the floor below, and every time he
went out he was obliged to pass her kitchen, the door of
which invariably stood open. And each time he passed, the
young man had a sick, frighten ed feeling, which made him
scowl and feel ashamed. He was hopelessly in debt to his
landlady, and was afraid of meeting her.
This was not because he was cowardly and abject, quite
the contrary; but for some time past he had been in an
overstrained irritable condition, verging on hypochondria.
He had become so completely absorbed in himself, and
isolated from his fellows that he dreaded meeting, not only
his landlady, but anyone at all. He was crushed by poverty,
but the anxieties of his position had of late ceased to weigh
upon him. He had given up attending to matters of
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practical importance; he had lost all desire to do so.
Nothing that any landlady c ould do had a real terror for
him. But to be stopped on the stairs, to be forced to listen
to her trivial, irrelevant goss ip, to pestering demands for
payment, threats and complaints, and to rack his brains for
excuses, to prevaricate, to lie?no, rather than that, he
would creep down the stairs like a cat and slip out unseen.
This evening, however, on co ming out into the street,
he became acutely aware of his fears.
?I want to attempt a thing like that and am frightened by
these trifles,? he thought, with an odd smile. ?Hm ? yes,
all is in a man?s hands and he lets it all slip from cowardice,
that?s an axiom. It would be interesting to know what it is
men are most afraid of. Taking a new step, uttering a new
word is what they fear most?. But I am talking too
much. It?s because I chatter that I do nothing. Or perhaps
it is that I chatter because I do nothing. I?ve learned to
chatter this last month, lying for days together in my den
thinking ? of Jack the Giant-killer. Why am I going
there now? Am I capable of that? Is that serious? It is not
serious at all. It?s simply a fantasy to amuse myself; a
plaything! Yes, maybe it is a plaything.?
The heat in the street was t errible: and the airlessness,
the bustle and the plaster, scaffolding, bricks, and dust all
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about him, and that special Petersburg stench, so familiar
to all who are unable to get out of town in summer?all
worked painfully upon the young man?s already
overwrought nerves. The insufferable stench from the pot-
houses, which are particularly numerous in that part of the
town, and the drunken men whom he met continually,
although it was a working day, completed the revolting
misery of the picture. An expression of the profoundest
disgust gleamed for a moment in the young man?s refined
face. He was, by the way, exceptionally handsome, above
the average in height, slim, we ll-built, with beautiful dark
eyes and dark brown hair. Soon he sank into deep
thought, or more accurately speaking into a complete
blankness of mind; he walked along not observing what
was about him and not caring to observe it. From time to
time, he would mutter something, from the habit of
talking to himself, to which he had just confessed. At these
moments he would become conscious that his ideas were
sometimes in a tangle and that he was very weak; for two
days he had scarcely tasted food.
He was so badly dressed that even a man accustomed to
shabbiness would have been ashamed to be seen in the
street in such rags. In that quarter of the town, however,
scarcely any shortcoming in dress would have created
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surprise. Owing to the proximity of the Hay Market, the
number of establishments of bad character, the
preponderance of the trading and working class population
crowded in these streets and alleys in the heart of
Petersburg, types so various were to be seen in the streets
that no figure, however queer, would have caused
surprise. But there was such accumulated bitterness and
contempt in the young man?s he art, that, in spite of all the
fastidiousness of youth, he minded his rags least of all in
the street. It was a different matter when he met with
acquaintances or with former fellow students, whom,
indeed, he disliked meeting at any time. And yet when a
drunken man who, for some unknown reason, was being
taken somewhere in a huge waggon dragged by a heavy
dray horse, suddenly shouted at him as he drove past: ?Hey
there, German hatter? bawling at the top of his voice and
pointing at him?the young man stopped suddenly and
clutched tremulously at his hat. It was a tall round hat
from Zimmerman?s, but completely worn out, rusty with
age, all torn and bespattered, brimless and bent on one side
in a most unseemly fashion. Not shame, however, but
quite another feeling akin to terror had overtaken him.
?I knew it,? he muttered in confusion, ?I thought so!
That?s the worst of all! Why, a stupid thing like this, the
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most trivial detail might spoil the whole plan. Yes, my hat
is too noticeable?. It looks absurd and that makes it
noticeable?. With my rags I ought to wear a cap, any sort
of old pancake, but not this grotesque thing. Nobody
wears such a hat, it would be noticed a mile off, it would
be remembered?. What matters is that people would
remember it, and that would give them a clue. For this
business one should be as littl e conspicuous as possible?.
Trifles, trifles are what matter! Why, it?s just such trifles
that always ruin everything?.?
He had not far to go; he kn ew indeed how many steps
it was from the gate of his lodging house: exactly seven
hundred and thirty. He had counted them once when he
had been lost in dreams. At the time he had put no faith in
those dreams and was only tantalising himself by their
hideous but daring recklessness. Now, a month later, he
had begun to look upon them differently, and, in spite of
the monologues in which he jeered at his own impotence
and indecision, he had invol untarily come to regard this
?hideous? dream as an exploit to be attempted, although he
still did not realise this himself . He was positively going
now for a ?rehearsal? of his project, and at every step his
excitement grew more and more violent.
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With a sinking heart and a nervous tremor, he went up
to a huge house which on one side looked on to the canal,
and on the other into the street . This house was let out in
tiny tenements and was inhabited by working people of all
kinds?tailors, locksmiths, cooks, Germans of sorts, girls
picking up a living as best they could, petty clerks, etc.
There was a continual coming and going through the two
gates and in the two courtyards of the house. Three or
four door-keepers were employed on the building. The
young man was very glad to meet none of them, and at
once slipped unnoticed through the door on the right, and
up the staircase. It was a back staircase, dark and narrow,
but he was familiar with it al ready, and knew his way, and
he liked all these surroundings: in such darkness even the
most inquisitive eyes were not to be dreaded.
?If I am so scared now, what would it be if it somehow
came to pass that I were really going to do it?? he could
not help asking himself as he reached the fourth storey.
There his progress was barred by some porters who were
engaged in moving furniture out of a flat. He knew that
the flat had been occupied by a German clerk in the civil
service, and his family. This German was moving out
then, and so the fourth floor on this staircase would be
untenanted except by the old woman. ?That?s a good
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thing anyway,? he thought to himself, as he rang the bell
of the old woman?s flat. The bell gave a faint tinkle as
though it were made of tin and not of copper. The little
flats in such houses always have bells that ring like that. He
had forgotten the note of that bell, and now its peculiar
tinkle seemed to remind him of something and to bring it
clearly before him?. He started, his nerves were terribly
overstrained by now. In a little while, the door was
opened a tiny crack: the old woman eyed her visitor with
evident distrust through the crack, and nothing could be
seen but her little eyes, glittering in the darkness. But,
seeing a number of people on the landing, she grew
bolder, and opened the door wide. The young man
stepped into the dark entry, which was partitioned off
from the tiny kitchen. The old woman stood facing him
in silence and looking inquiringly at him. She was a
diminutive, withered up old woman of sixty, with sharp
malignant eyes and a sharp li ttle nose. Her colourless,
somewhat grizzled hair was thickly smeared with oil, and
she wore no kerchief over it. Round her thin long neck,
which looked like a hen?s leg, was knotted some sort of
flannel rag, and, in spite of the heat, there hung flapping
on her shoulders, a mangy fur cape, yellow with age. The
old woman coughed and groaned at every instant. The
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young man must have looked at her with a rather peculiar
expression, for a gleam of mi strust came into her eyes
again.
?Raskolnikov, a student, I came here a month ago,? the
young man made haste to mutter, with a half bow,
remembering that he ought to be more polite.
?I remember, my good sir, I remember quite well your
coming here,? the old woman said distinctly, still keeping
her inquiring eyes on his face.
?And here ? I am again on the same errand,?
Raskolnikov continued, a little disconcerted and surprised
at the old woman?s mistrust. ?Perhaps she is always like
that though, only I did not not ice it the other time,? he
thought with an uneasy feeling.
The old woman paused, as though hesitating; then
stepped on one side, and poin ting to the door of the
room, she said, letting her visitor pass in front of her:
?Step in, my good sir.?
The little room into which the young man walked,
with yellow paper on the walls, geraniums and muslin
curtains in the windows, was br ightly lighted up at that
moment by the setting sun.
?So the sun will shine like this then too!? flashed as it
were by chance through Raskolnikov?s mind, and with a
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rapid glance he scanned everything in the room, trying as
far as possible to notice and remember its arrangement.
But there was nothing special in the room. The furniture,
all very old and of yellow wood, consisted of a sofa with a
huge bent wooden back, an oval table in front of the sofa,
a dressing-table with a looking-glass fixed on it between
the windows, chairs along the walls and two or three half-
penny prints in yellow frames, representing German
damsels with birds in their hands?that was all. In the
corner a light was burning before a small ikon. Everything
was very clean; the floor and the furniture were brightly
polished; everything shone.
?Lizaveta?s work,? thought the young man. There was
not a speck of dust to be seen in the whole flat.
?It?s in the houses of spiteful old widows that one finds
such cleanliness,? Raskolnikov thought again, and he stole
a curious glance at the cotton curtain over the door
leading into another tiny room, in which stood the old
woman?s bed and chest of drawers and into which he had
never looked before. These two rooms made up the
whole flat.
?What do you want?? the old woman said severely,
coming into the room and, as before, standing in front of
him so as to look him straight in the face.
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?I?ve brought something to pawn here,? and he drew
out of his pocket an old-fashioned flat silver watch, on the
back of which was engraved a globe; the chain was of
steel.
?But the time is up for your last pledge. The month was
up the day before yesterday.?
?I will bring you the interest for another month; wait a
little.?
?But that?s for me to do as I please, my good sir, to wait
or to sell your pledge at once.?
?How much will you give me for the watch, Alyona
Ivanovna??
?You come with such trifles, my good sir, it?s scarcely
worth anything. I gave you two roubles last time for your
ring and one could buy it quite new at a jeweler?s for a
rouble and a half.?
?Give me four roubles for it, I shall redeem it, it was
my father?s. I shall be getting some money soon.?
?A rouble and a half, and interest in advance, if you
like!?
?A rouble and a half!? cried the young man.
?Please yourself??and the old woman handed him back
the watch. The young man took it, and was so angry that
he was on the point of going away; but checked himself at
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once, remembering that there was nowhere else he could
go, and that he had had another object also in coming.
?Hand it over,? he said roughly.
The old woman fumbled in her pocket for her keys,
and disappeared behind the curtain into the other room.
The young man, left standing alone in the middle of the
room, listened inquisitively, thinking. He could hear her
unlocking the chest of drawers.
?It must be the top drawer,? he reflected. ?So she carries
the keys in a pocket on the right. All in one bunch on a
steel ring?. And there?s one key there, three times as big
as all the others, with deep notches; that can?t be the key
of the chest of drawers ? then there must be some other
chest or strong-box ? that ?s worth knowing. Strong-
boxes always have keys like that ? but how degrading it
all is.?
The old woman came back.
?Here, sir: as we say ten cope cks the rouble a month, so
I must take fifteen copecks from a rouble and a half for the
month in advance. But for the two roubles I lent you
before, you owe me now twenty copecks on the same
reckoning in advance. That makes thirty-five copecks
altogether. So I must give you a rouble and fifteen copecks
for the watch. Here it is.?
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?What! only a rouble and fifteen copecks now!?
?Just so.?
The young man did not dispute it and took the money.
He looked at the old woman, and was in no hurry to get
away, as though there was still something he wanted to say
or to do, but he did not himself quite know what.
?I may be bringing you something else in a day or two,
Alyona Ivanovna ?a valuable thing?silver?a cigarette-
box, as soon as I get it back from a friend ?? he broke off
in confusion.
?Well, we will talk about it then, sir.?
?Good-bye?are you always at home alone, your sister
is not here with you?? He asked her as casually as possible
as he went out into the passage.
?What business is she of yours, my good sir??
?Oh, nothing particular, I simply asked. You are too
quick?. Good-day, Alyona Ivanovna.?
Raskolnikov went out in complete confusion. This
confusion became more and more intense. As he went
down the stairs, he even stoppe d short, two or three times,
as though suddenly struck by some thought. When he was
in the street he cried out, ?O h, God, how loathsome it all
is! and can I, can I possibly ?. No, it?s nonsense, it?s
rubbish!? he added resolutely. ?And how could such an
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atrocious thing come into my head? What filthy things my
heart is capable of. Yes, filthy above all, disgusting,
loathsome, loathsome!?and for a whole month I?ve
been?.? But no words, no exclamations, could express his
agitation. The feeling of intense repulsion, which had
begun to oppress and torture his heart while he was on his
way to the old woman, had by now reached such a pitch
and had taken such a definite form that he did not know
what to do with himself to e scape from his wretchedness.
He walked along the pavement like a drunken man,
regardless of the passers-by, and jostling against them, and
only came to his senses when he was in the next street.
Looking round, he noticed that he was standing close to a
tavern which was entered by steps leading from the
pavement to the basement. At that instant two drunken
men came out at the door, and abusing and supporting
one another, they mounted the steps. Without stopping to
think, Raskolnikov went down the steps at once. Till that
moment he had never been into a tavern, but now he felt
giddy and was tormented by a burning thirst. He longed
for a drink of cold beer, and attributed his sudden
weakness to the want of food. He sat down at a sticky
little table in a dark and dirty corner; ordered some beer,
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and eagerly drank off the first glassful. At once he felt
easier; and his thoughts became clear.
?All that?s nonsense,? he sa id hopefully, ?and there is
nothing in it all to worry about! It?s simply physical
derangement. Just a glass of beer, a piece of dry bread?
and in one moment the brain is stronger, the mind is
clearer and the will is firm! Phew, how utterly petty it all
is!?
But in spite of this scornful reflection, he was by now
looking cheerful as though he were suddenly set free from
a terrible burden: and he gazed round in a friendly way at
the people in the room. But even at that moment he had a
dim foreboding that this happier frame of mind was also
not normal.
There were few people at the time in the tavern.
Besides the two drunken men he had met on the steps, a
group consisting of about five men and a girl with a
concertina had gone out at th e same time. Their departure
left the room quiet and rather empty. The persons still in
the tavern were a man who appeared to be an artisan,
drunk, but not extremely so, sitting before a pot of beer,
and his companion, a huge, st out man with a grey beard,
in a short full-skirted coat. He was very drunk: and had
dropped asleep on the bench; every now and then, he
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began as though in his sleep, cracking his fingers, with his
arms wide apart and the upper part of his body bounding
about on the bench, while he hummed some meaningless
refrain, trying to recall some such lines as these:
His wife a year he fondly loved
His wife a?a year he?fondly loved.
Or suddenly waking up again:
Walking along the crowded row
He met the one he used to know.
But no one shared his enjoyment: his silent companion
looked with positive hostility and mistrust at all these
manifestations. There was anot her man in the room who
looked somewhat like a retired government clerk. He was
sitting apart, now and then sipping from his pot and
looking round at the company. He, too, appeared to be in
some agitation.
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