_CRIME AND PUNISHMENT_[1]
One sultry evening early in July a young man emerged from the small
furnished lodging he occupied in a large five-storied house in the
Pereoulok S----, and turned slowly, with an air of indecision, toward
the K----bridge. He was fortunate enough not to meet his landlady on
the stairs. She occupied the floor beneath him, and her kitchen, with
its usually open door, was entered from the staircase. Thus, whenever
the young man went out, he found himself obliged to pass under the
enemy's fire, which always produced a morbid terror, humiliating him
and making him knit his brows. He owed her some money and felt afraid
of encountering her.
It was not that he had been terrified or crushed by misfortune, but
that for some time past he had fallen into a state of nervous
depression akin to hypochondria. He had withdrawn from society and
shut himself up, till he was ready to shun, not merely his landlady,
but every human face. Poverty had once weighed him down, though, of
late, he had lost his sensitiveness on that score. He had given up all
his daily occupations. In his heart of hearts he laughed scornfully at
his landlady and the extremities to which she might proceed. Still, to
be waylaid on the stairs, to have to listen to all her jargon, hear
her demands, threats, and complaints, and have to make excuses and
subterfuges in return--no, he preferred to steal down without
attracting notice. On this occasion, however, when he had gained the
street, he felt surprised himself at this dread of meeting the woman
to whom he was in debt.
"Why should I be alarmed by these trifles when I am contemplating such
a desperate deed?" thought he, and he gave a strange smile. "Ah, well,
man holds the remedy in his own hands, and lets everything go its own
way, simply through cowardice--that is an axiom. I should like to know
what people fear most:--whatever is contrary to their usual habits, I
imagine. But I am talking too much. I talk and so I do nothing, though
I might just as well say, I do nothing and so I talk. I have acquired
this habit of chattering during the last month, while I have been
lying for days together in a corner, feeding my mind on trifles. Come,
why am I taking this walk now? Am I capable of _that_? Can _that_
really be serious? Not in the least. These are mere chimeras, idle
fancies that flit across my brain!"
The heat in the streets was stifling. The crowd, the sight of lime,
bricks, scaffolding, and the peculiar odor so familiar to the nostrils
of the inhabitant of St. Petersburg who has no means of escaping to
the country for the summer, all contributed to irritate the young
man's already excited nerves. The reeking fumes of the dram shops, so
numerous in this part of the city, and the tipsy men to be seen at
every point, although it was no holiday, completed the repulsive
character of the scene. Our hero's refined features betrayed, for a
moment, an expression of bitter disgust. We may observe casually that
he was not destitute of personal attractions; he was above middle
height, with a slender and well-proportioned figure, and he had dark
auburn hair and fine dark eyes. In a little while he sank into a deep
reverie, or rather into a sort of mental torpor. He walked on without
noticing, or trying to notice, his surroundings. Occasionally he
muttered a few words to himself; as if, as he himself had just
perceived, this had become his habit. At this moment it dawned upon
him that his ideas were becoming confused and that he was very feeble;
he had eaten nothing worth mentioning for the last two days.
His dress was so miserable that anyone else might have scrupled to go
out in such rags during the daytime. This quarter of the city, indeed,
was not particular as to dress. In the neighborhood of the Cyennaza or
Haymarket, in those streets in the heart of St. Petersburg, occupied
by the artisan classes, no vagaries in costume call forth the least
surprise. Besides the young man's fierce disdain had reached such a
pitch, that, notwithstanding his extreme sensitiveness, he felt no
shame at exhibiting his tattered garments in the street. He would have
felt differently had he come across anyone he knew, any of the old
friends whom he usually avoided. Yet he stopped short on hearing the
attention of passers-by directed to him by the thick voice of a tipsy
man shouting: "Eh, look at the German hatter!" The exclamation came
from an individual who, for some unknown reason, was being jolted away
in a great wagon. The young man snatched off his hat and began to
examine it. It was a high-crowned hat that had been originally bought
at Zimmermann's, but had become worn and rusty, was covered with dents
and stains, slit and short of a brim, a frightful object in short. Yet
its owner, far from feeling his vanity wounded, was suffering rather
from anxiety than humiliation.
"I suspected this," muttered he, uneasily, "I foresaw it. That's the
worst of it! Some wretched trifle like this might spoil it all. Yes,
this hat is certainly too remarkable; it looks so ridiculous. I must
get a cap to suit my rags; any old thing would be better than this
horror. Hats like these are not worn; this one would be noticeable a
_verst_[2] off; it would be remembered; people would think of it again
some time after, and it might furnish a clew. I must attract as little
attention as possible just now. Trifles become important, everything
hinges on them."
He had not far to go; he knew the exact distance between his lodging
and present destination--just seven hundred and thirty paces. He had
counted them when his plan only floated through his brain like a vague
dream. At that time, he himself would not have believed it capable of
realization; he merely dallied in fancy with a chimera which was both
terrible and seductive. But a month had elapsed, and he had already
begun to view it in a different light. Although he reproached himself
throughout his soliloquies with irresolution and a want of energy, he
had accustomed himself, little by little, and, indeed, in spite of
himself, to consider the realization of his dream a possibility,
though he doubted his own resolution. He was but just now rehearsing
his enterprise, and his agitation was increasing at every step.
His heart sank, and his limbs trembled nervously, as he came to an
immense pile of building facing the canal on one side and the street
on the other. This block was divided into a host of small tenements,
tenanted by all sorts of trades. People were swarming in and out
through the two doors. There were three or four _dvorniks_[3]
belonging to the house, but the young man, to his great satisfaction,
came across none of them, and, escaping notice as he entered, mounted
at once the stairs on the right hand. He had already made acquaintance
with this dark and narrow staircase, and its obscurity was grateful to
him; it was gloomy enough to hide him from prying eyes. "If I feel so
timid now, what will it be when I come to put my plan into execution?"
thought he, as he reached the fourth floor. Here he found the passage
blocked; some military porters were removing the furniture from a
tenement recently occupied, as the young man knew, by a German
official and his family. "Thanks to the departure of this German, for
some time to come there will be no one on this landing but the old
woman. It is as well to know this, at any rate," thought he to
himself, as he rang the old woman's bell. It gave a faint sound, as if
it were made of tin instead of copper. In houses of this sort, the
smaller lodgings generally have such bells.
He had forgotten this; the peculiar tinkling sound seemed to recall
something to his memory, for he gave a shiver--his nerves were very
weak. In another moment the door was opened part way, and the occupant
of the rooms stood examining her visitor through the opening with
evident suspicion, her small eyes glimmering through the darkness like
luminous points. But when she saw the people on the landing, she
seemed reassured, and flung the door open. The young man entered a
gloomy ante-chamber, divided by a partition, behind which was a small
kitchen. The old woman stood silently in front of him, eying him
keenly. She was a thin little creature of sixty, with a small sharp
nose, and eyes sparkling with malice. Her head was uncovered, and her
grizzled locks shone with grease. A strip of flannel was wound round
her long thin neck, and, in spite of the heat, she wore a shabby
yellow fur tippet on her shoulders. She coughed incessantly. The young
man was probably eying her strangely, for the look of mistrust
suddenly reappeared on her face.
"The Student Raskolnikoff. I called on you a month ago," said the
visitor, hurriedly, with a slight bow. He had suddenly remembered that
he must make himself more agreeable.
"I remember, _batuchka_, I remember it well," returned the old woman,
still fixing her eyes on him suspiciously.
"Well, then, look here. I have come again on a similar errand,"
continued Raskolnikoff, somewhat surprised and uneasy at being
received with so much distrust. "After all, this may be her usual
manner, though I did not notice it before," thought he, unpleasantly
impressed.
The old woman remained silent a while, and seemed to reflect. Then,
pointing to the door of the inner room, she drew back for her visitor
to pass, and said, "Come in, _batuchka._"[4]
The small room into which the young man was ushered was papered with
yellow; there were geraniums and muslin curtains in the windows, and
the setting sun shed a flood of light on the interior. "The sun will
shine on it just the same _then_!" said Raskolnikoff all at once to
himself, as he glanced rapidly round to take in the various objects
and engrave them on his memory. The room, however, contained nothing
remarkable. The yellow wood furniture was all very old. A couch with a
shelving back, opposite which stood an oval table, a toilet-table with
a pier glass attached, chairs lining the walls, and two or three poor
prints representing German girls with birds in their hands, completed
the inventory. A lamp was burning in one corner in front of a small
image. The floor and furniture were clean and well polished.
"Elizabeth attends to that," thought the young man. It would have been
difficult to find a speck of dust on anything. "It is only in the
houses of these dreadful old widows that such order is to be seen,"
continued Raskolnikoff to himself, looking with curiosity at the
chintz curtain overhanging the door which led into a second small
room, in which he had never set foot; it contained the old woman's bed
and chest of drawers. The apartment consisted of these two rooms.
"What is it you want?" asked the mistress of the house dryly; she had
followed her visitor in, and planted herself in front of him to
examine him more closely.
"I have come to pawn something, that is all!" With this he drew from
his pocket a flat old silver watch. A globe was engraved inside the
lid, and the chain was of steel.
"But you have not repaid the sum I lent you before. It was due two
days ago."
"I will pay you the interest for another month; have a little
patience."
"I may have patience or I may sell your pledge at once, _batuchka_,
just whichever I like."
"What will you give me on this watch, Alena Ivanovna?"
"That is a wretched thing, _batuchka_, worth a mere nothing. Last time
I lent you two small notes on your ring, when I could have bought a
new one at the jeweler's for a ruble and a half."
"Give me four rubles, and I will redeem it; it belonged to my father.
I expect some money soon."
"A ruble and a half! and I shall take the interest in advance."
"A ruble and a half!" protested the young man.
"Please yourself whether you take it or not." So saying, the old woman
tendered back the watch. Her visitor took it and was about to depart
in vexation, when he reflected that this money lender was his last
resource--and, besides, he had another object in coming.
"Come, fork out!" said he in a rough tone.
The old woman fumbled in her pockets for her keys, and passed on into
the adjoining room. The young man, left standing there alone, pricked
up his ears and began to make various inductions. He heard this female
usurer open her drawer. "It must be the top one," was his conclusion.
"I know now that she carries her keys in her right pocket--they are
all hung on a steel ring--one of them is three times as large as the
rest, and has the wards toothed; that cannot be the key of her
drawer--then she must have some strong box or safe. It is curious that
the keys of strong boxes should be generally like that--but, after
all, how ignoble!"
The old woman reappeared. "See here, _batuchka_: if I take a
ten-kopeck piece a month on each ruble, I ought to receive fifteen
kopecks on a ruble and a half, the interest being payable in advance.
Then, as you ask me to wait another month for the repayment of the two
rubles I have already lent you, you owe me twenty kopecks more, which
makes a total of five and thirty. What, therefore, I have to advance
upon your watch is one ruble fifteen kopecks. Here it is."
"What! Is one ruble fifteen kopecks all you mean to give me now?"
"That is all that is due to you."
The young man took the money without further discussion. He looked at
the old woman and was in no haste to depart. He seemed anxious to say
or do something more, but without knowing exactly what. "Perhaps I may
be bringing you some other article soon, Alena Ivanovna, a very pretty
cigar case--a silver one--when I get it back from the friend to whom I
have lent it." These words were uttered with much embarrassment.
"Well, we can talk about it then, _batuchka_."
"Good-by. You are always alone--is your sister never with you?" asked
he with as indifferent an air as he could assume, as he entered the
anteroom.
"What have you to do with my sister, _batuchka_?"
"Nothing. I had no reason for asking. You will--well, good-by, Alena
Ivanovna."
Raskolnikoff made his exit in a perturbed state of mind. As he went
downstairs, he stopped from time to time, as if overcome by violent
emotion. When he had at length emerged upon the street, he exclaimed
to himself: "How loathsome it all is! Can I, can I ever?--no, it is
absurd, preposterous!" added he mentally. "How could such a horrible
idea ever enter my head? Could I ever be capable of such infamy? It is
odious, ignoble, repulsive! And yet for a whole month----"
Words and exclamations, however, could not give full vent to his
agitation. The loathing sense of disgust which had begun to oppress
him on his way to the old woman's house had now become so intense that
he longed to find some way of escape from the torture. He reeled along
the pavement like a tipsy man, taking no notice of those who passed,
but bumping against them. On looking round he saw a dram shop near at
hand; steps led down from the footpath to the basement, and
Raskolnikoff saw two drunkards coming out at that moment, leaning
heavily on each other and exchanging abusive language. The young man
barely paused before he descended the steps. He had never before
entered such a place, but he felt dizzy and was also suffering from
intense thirst. He had a craving for some beer, partly because he
attributed his weakness to an empty stomach. Seating himself in a dark
and dirty corner, in front of a filthy little table, he called for
some beer, and eagerly drank off a glass.
He felt instantly relieved, and his brain began to clear: "How absurd
I have been!" said he to himself, "there was really nothing to make me
uneasy! It was simply physical! A glass of beer and a mouthful of
biscuit were all that was necessary to restore my strength of mind and
make my thoughts clear and resolution fixed. How paltry all this is!"
The next morning Raskolnikoff awoke late, after disturbed and
unrefreshing slumbers. He felt very cross and glanced angrily round
his room. It was a tiny place, not more than six feet in length, and
its dirty buff paper hung in shreds, giving it a most miserable
aspect; besides which, the ceiling was so low that a tall man would
have felt in danger of bumping his head. The furniture was quite in
harmony with the room, consisting of three old rickety chairs, a
painted table in one corner, on which lay books and papers thick with
dust (showing how long it was since they had been touched), and,
finally, a large and very ugly sofa with ragged covers. This sofa,
which filled nearly half the room, served Raskolnikoff as a bed. He
often lay down on it in his clothes, without any sheets, covering
himself with his old student's coat, and using instead of a pillow a
little cushion, which he raised by keeping under it all his clean or
dirty linen. Before the sofa stood a small table.
Raskolnikoff's misanthropy did not take offense at the dirty state of
his den. Human faces had grown so distasteful to him, that the very
sight of the servant whose business it was to clean the rooms produced
a feeling of exasperation.
To such a condition may monomaniacs come by continually brooding over
one idea. For the last fortnight, the landlady had ceased to supply
her lodger with provisions, and he had not yet thought of demanding an
explanation. Nastasia, who had to cook and clean for the whole house,
was not sorry to see the lodger in this state of mind, as it
diminished her labors: she had quite given up tidying and dusting his
room; the utmost she did was to come and sweep it once a week. She it
was who was arousing him at this moment.
"Come, get up, why are you sleeping so late?" she exclaimed. "It is
nine o'clock. I have brought up some tea, will you take a cup? How
pale you look!"
Raskolnikoff opened his eyes, shook himself, and recognized Nastasia.
"Has the landlady sent me this tea?" asked he, making a painful effort
to sit up.
"Not much chance of that!" And the servant placed before him her own
teapot, in which there was still some tea left, and laid two small
lumps of brownish sugar on the table.
"Here, Nastasia, take this, please," said Raskolnikoff, fumbling in
his pocket and drawing out a handful of small change (for he had again
lain down in his clothes), "and fetch me a white roll. Go to the pork
shop as well, and buy me a bit of cheap sausage."
"I will bring you the roll in a minute, but had you not better take
some _shtchi_[5] instead of the sausage? We make it here, and it is
capital. I kept some for you last night, but it was so late before you
came in! You will find it very good." She went to fetch the _shtchi_,
and, when Raskolnikoff had begun to eat, she seated herself on the
sofa beside him and commenced to chatter, like a true country girl as
she was. "Prascovia Paulovna means to report you to the police," said
she.