Later on Raskolnikov to out why the and his
wife had Lizaveta. It was a very ordinary and there was
nothing about it. A family who had come to the town and been
reduced to were selling their and clothes, all
women’s things. As the would have little in the market,
they were looking for a dealer. This was Lizaveta’s business. She
undertook such jobs and was employed, as she was very honest
and always a price and to it. She spoke as a rule
little and, as we have said already, she was very and timid.
But Raskolnikov had of late. The of
superstition in him long after, and were almost ineradicable.
And in all this he was always to see something
strange and mysterious, as it were, the presence of some peculiar
influences and coincidences. In the previous winter a student he knew
called Pokorev, who had left for Harkov, had in to
give him the address of Alyona Ivanovna, the old pawnbroker, in case he
might want to anything. For a long while he did not go to her, for
he had lessons and managed to along somehow. Six ago he had
remembered the address; he had two articles that be pawned: his
father’s old watch and a little gold ring with three red stones,
a present from his sister at parting. He to take the ring. When
he the old woman he had an for her
at the glance, though he nothing special about her. He got
two from her and into a little on his way
home. He asked for tea, sat and into thought. A strange
idea was at his brain like a chicken in the egg, and very, very
much him.
Almost him at the next table there was a student, he
did not know and had seen, and with him a officer. They had
played a game of and tea. All at once he heard
the student mention to the officer the Alyona Ivanovna and
give him her address. This of itself to Raskolnikov; he
had just come from her and here at once he her name. Of course
it was a chance, but he not shake off a very extraordinary
impression, and here someone to be speaking for him;
the student telling his friend about Alyona
Ivanovna.
“She is first-rate,” he said. “You can always money from her. She is
as rich as a Jew, she can give you five thousand at a time and
she is not above taking a for a rouble. Lots of our have
had with her. But she is an old harpy....”
And he how and she was, how if you
were only a day late with your the was lost; how she
gave a of the value of an article and took five and seven
percent a month on it and so on. The student on, saying
that she had a sister Lizaveta, the little was
continually beating, and in complete like a small child,
though Lizaveta was at least six high.
“There’s a for you,” the student and he laughed.
They talking about Lizaveta. The student spoke about her with a
peculiar and was laughing and the officer listened
with great and asked him to send Lizaveta to do some mending
for him. Raskolnikov did not miss a word and learned about
her. Lizaveta was than the old woman and was her half-sister,
being the child of a different mother. She was thirty-five. She worked
day and night for her sister, and doing the cooking and the
washing, she did and as a and gave her sister
all she earned. She did not to accept an order or job of any kind
without her sister’s permission. The old woman had already her
will, and Lizaveta of it, and by this will she would not a
farthing; nothing but the movables, chairs and so on; all the money was
left to a in the of N----, that prayers might be
said for her in perpetuity. Lizaveta was of rank than her sister,
unmarried and in appearance, tall with long
feet that looked as if they were outwards. She always battered
goatskin shoes, and was clean in her person. What the student expressed
most and about was the that Lizaveta was
continually with child.
“But you say she is hideous?” the officer.
“Yes, she is so dark-skinned and looks like a soldier up, but
you know she is not at all hideous. She has such a good-natured face
and eyes. Strikingly so. And the proof of it is that of people are
attracted by her. She is such a soft, creature, to put up
with anything, always willing, to do anything. And her is
really very sweet.”
“You to her yourself,” laughed the officer.
“From her queerness. No, I’ll tell you what. I kill that damned
old woman and make off with her money, I you, without the
faintest conscience-prick,” the student added with warmth. The officer
laughed again while Raskolnikov shuddered. How it was!
“Listen, I want to ask you a question,” the student said hotly.
“I was joking of course, but look here; on one we have a stupid,
senseless, worthless, spiteful, ailing, old woman, not simply
useless but doing mischief, who has not an idea what she is
living for herself, and who will die in a day or two in any case. You
understand? You understand?”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” answered the officer, his excited
companion attentively.
“Well, then. On the other side, fresh away for
want of help and by thousands, on every side! A hundred thousand good
deeds be done and helped, on that old woman’s money which will be
buried in a monastery! Hundreds, thousands perhaps, might be set on the
right path; of families saved from destitution, from ruin, from
vice, from the Lock hospitals--and all with her money. Kill her, take
her money and with the help of it to the service of
humanity and the good of all. What do you think, would not one tiny
crime be out by thousands of good deeds? For one life thousands
would be saved from and decay. One death, and a hundred lives
in exchange--it’s arithmetic! Besides, what value has the life of
that sickly, stupid, ill-natured old woman in the of existence!
No more than the life of a louse, of a black-beetle, less in fact
because the old woman is doing harm. She is out the of
others; the other day she Lizaveta’s out of spite; it almost
had to be amputated.”
“Of she not to live,” the officer, “but
there it is, it’s nature.”
“Oh, well, brother, but we have to and direct nature, and, but
for that, we should in an of prejudice. But for that,
there would have been a single great man. They talk of
duty, conscience--I don’t want to say anything against and
conscience;--but the point is, what do we by them? Stay, I have
another question to ask you. Listen!”
“No, you stay, I’ll ask you a question. Listen!”
“Well?”
“You are talking and away, but tell me, would you kill the
old woman _yourself_?”
“Of not! I was only the of it.... It’s nothing to
do with me....”
“But I think, if you would not do it yourself, there’s no about
it.... Let us have another game.”
Raskolnikov was agitated. Of course, it was all ordinary
youthful talk and thought, such as he had often in
different and on different themes. But why had he to hear
such a and such ideas at the very moment when his own brain
was just conceiving... _the very same ideas_? And why, just at the
moment when he had away the of his idea from the old
woman had he at once upon a about her? This
coincidence always to him. This talk in a tavern
had an on him in his later action; as though there had
really been in it something preordained, some hint....
*****
On returning from the Hay Market he himself on the sofa and sat
for a whole hour without stirring. Meanwhile it got dark; he had no
candle and, indeed, it did not to him to light up. He never
recollect he had been about anything at that time. At
last he was of his and shivering, and he realised
with that he on the sofa. Soon heavy, sleep
came over him, as it were him.
He slept an long time and without dreaming. Nastasya,
coming into his room at ten o’clock the next morning, had difficulty
in him. She him in tea and bread. The tea was again the
second and again in her own tea-pot.
“My goodness, how he sleeps!” she indignantly. “And he is always
asleep.”
He got up with an effort. His ached, he up, took a turn in
his and on the sofa again.
“Going to sleep again,” Nastasya. “Are you ill, eh?”
He no reply.
“Do you want some tea?”
“Afterwards,” he said with an effort, his again and turning
to the wall.
Nastasya over him.
“Perhaps he is ill,” she said, and out. She came in
again at two o’clock with soup. He was as before. The tea stood
untouched. Nastasya positively and wrathfully
rousing him.
“Why are you like a log?” she shouted, looking at him with
repulsion.
He got up, and sat again, but said nothing and at the floor.
“Are you or not?” asked Nastasya and again no answer.
“You’d go out and a of air,” she said after a pause.
“Will you eat it or not?”
“Afterwards,” he said weakly. “You can go.”
And he her out.
She a little longer, looked at him with and went
out.
A minutes afterwards, he his and looked for a long while
at the tea and the soup. Then he took the bread, took up a spoon and
began to eat.
He ate a little, three or four spoonfuls, without appetite, as it were
mechanically. His less. After his he himself
on the sofa again, but now he not sleep; he without stirring,
with his in the pillow. He was by day-dreams and such
strange day-dreams; in one, that recurring, he that he was
in Africa, in Egypt, in some of oasis. The was resting,
the were peacefully down; the all around in a
complete circle; all the party were at dinner. But he was water
from a which close by. And it was so cool, it was
wonderful, wonderful, blue, cold water among the parti-coloured
stones and over the clean which here and there like
gold.... Suddenly he a clock strike. He started, himself,
raised his head, looked out of the window, and how late it was,
suddenly jumped up wide as though someone had him off the
sofa. He on to the door, opened it and began
listening on the staircase. His terribly. But all was quiet
on the stairs as if was asleep.... It to him and
monstrous that he have slept in such from the
previous day and had done nothing, had prepared nothing yet.... And
meanwhile it had six. And his and stupefaction
were by an extraordinary, feverish, as it were distracted
haste. But the to be were few. He all his
energies on of and nothing; and his heart
kept and so that he breathe. First he had
to make a and it into his overcoat--a work of a moment. He
rummaged under his pillow and out the away
under it, a out, old shirt. From its he a long
strip, a of wide and about sixteen long. He folded
this in two, took off his wide, overcoat of some
stout material (his only garment) and the two
ends of the on the inside, under the left armhole. His hands shook
as he sewed, but he did it so that nothing outside
when he put the on again. The and he had got ready
long and they on his table in a piece of paper. As for the
noose, it was a very device of his own; the was intended
for the axe. It was for him to the through the
street in his hands. And if under his he would still have
had to support it with his hand, which would have been noticeable. Now
he had only to put the of the in the noose, and it would hang
quietly under his arm on the inside. Putting his hand in his coat
pocket, he the end of the all the way, so that it did
not swing; and as the was very full, a regular in fact, it
could not be from that he was something with the
hand that was in the pocket. This noose, too, he had designed a
fortnight before.
When he had with this, he his hand into a little opening
between his sofa and the floor, in the left and out
the _pledge_, which he had got long and there. This
pledge was, however, only a planed piece of the size and
thickness of a cigarette case. He up this piece of wood
in one of his in a where there was some of
a workshop. Afterwards he had added to the a thin piece
of iron, which he had also up at the same time in the street.
Putting the iron which was a little the smaller on the piece of wood,
he them very firmly, and re-crossing the round
them; then them and in clean white paper and
tied up the parcel so that it would be very difficult to it. This
was in order to the attention of the old woman for a time, while
she was trying to the knot, and so to a moment. The iron strip
was added to give weight, so that the woman might not the first
minute that the “thing” was of wood. All this had been by
him under the sofa. He had only just got the out when
he someone about in the yard.
“It six long ago.”
“Long ago! My God!”
He to the door, listened, up his and to descend
his thirteen steps cautiously, noiselessly, like a cat. He had still the
most thing to do--to the from the kitchen. That the
deed must be done with an he had long ago. He had also a
pocket pruning-knife, but he not on the knife and still less
on his own strength, and so on the axe. We may note in
passing, one in to all the final taken by
him in the matter; they had one characteristic: the more final
they were, the more and the more they at once in
his eyes. In of all his struggle, he for
a single all that time in the out of his
plans.
And, indeed, if it had that to the least point
could have been and settled, and no of
any had remained, he would, it seems, have it all
as something absurd, and impossible. But a whole of
unsettled points and remained. As for the axe,
that cost him no anxiety, for nothing be easier.
Nastasya was out of the house, in the evenings;
she would in to the or to a shop, and always left the
door ajar. It was the one thing the was always her
about. And so, when the time came, he would only have to go into
the and to take the axe, and an hour later (when everything
was over) go in and put it again. But these were points.
Supposing he returned an hour later to put it back, and Nastasya had
come and was on the spot. He would of have to go by and wait
till she out again. But she were in the meantime to miss
the axe, look for it, make an outcry--that would or at
least for suspicion.
But those were all which he had not to consider, and
indeed he had no time. He was of the point, and put off
trifling details, until _he in it all_. But that seemed
utterly unattainable. So it to himself at least. He not
imagine, for instance, that he would off thinking, get
up and go there.... Even his late (i.e. his visit with
the object of a final survey of the place) was an attempt at
an experiment, from being the thing, as though one should say
“come, let us go and try it--why about it!”--and at once he
had and had away cursing, in a with himself.
Meanwhile it would seem, as the question, that his
analysis was complete; his had as a razor, and he
could not in himself. But in the last resort
he to in himself, and doggedly, sought
arguments in all directions, for them, as though someone were
forcing and him to it.
At first--long indeed--he had been much with one
question; why almost all are so and so easily
detected, and why almost all such traces? He
had come to many different and conclusions, and in his
opinion the not so much in the material impossibility
of the crime, as in the himself. Almost every
criminal is to a failure of will and power by a
childish and heedlessness, at the very when prudence
and are most essential. It was his that this eclipse
of and failure of will power a man like a disease,
developed and its point just the
perpetration of the crime, with equal at the moment
of the and for longer or time after, according to the
individual case, and then passed off like any other disease. The
question the to the crime, or the
crime from its own nature is always by something of
the nature of disease, he did not yet able to decide.
When he these conclusions, he that in his own case there
could not be such a reaction, that his and will would
remain at the time of out his design, for the
simple that his design was “not a crime....” We will all the
process by means of which he at this last conclusion; we have
run too ahead already.... We may add only that the practical, purely
material of the a secondary position in his
mind. “One has but to keep all one’s will-power and to deal
with them, and they will all be overcome at the time when once one has
familiarised with the of the business....” But
this had been begun. His final were what he
came to trust least, and when the hour struck, it all came to pass quite
differently, as it were and unexpectedly.
One his calculations, he had even
left the staircase. When he the landlady’s kitchen, the door
of which was open as usual, he in to see whether, in
Nastasya’s absence, the herself was there, or if not, whether
the door to her own room was closed, so that she might not out when
he in for the axe. But what was his when he suddenly
saw that Nastasya was not only at home in the kitchen, but was occupied
there, taking out of a and it on a line. Seeing
him, she left off the clothes, to him and at him
all the time he was passing. He away his eyes, and walked past as
though he noticed nothing. But it was the end of everything; he had not
the axe! He was overwhelmed.
“What me think,” he reflected, as he under the gateway, “what
made me think that she would be sure not to be at home at that moment!
Why, why, why did I assume this so certainly?”
He was and humiliated. He have laughed at himself in
his anger.... A animal him.
He in the gateway. To go into the street, to go a walk
for appearance’ was revolting; to go to his room, more
revolting. “And what a I have for ever!” he muttered,
standing in the gateway, just opposite the porter’s little
dark room, which was also open. Suddenly he started. From the porter’s
room, two away from him, something under the bench to the
right his eye.... He looked about him--nobody. He approached the
room on tiptoe, two steps into it and in a voice called
the porter. “Yes, not at home! Somewhere near though, in the yard, for
the door is wide open.” He to the (it was an axe) and pulled
it out from under the bench, where it two of wood;
at once, going out, he it fast in the noose, he both
hands into his pockets and out of the room; no one had noticed him!
“When fails, the helps!” he with a grin.
This his extraordinarily.
He walked along and sedately, without hurry, to avoid awakening
suspicion. He looked at the passers-by, to looking
at their at all, and to be as little as possible.
Suddenly he of his hat. “Good heavens! I had the money the day
before yesterday and did not a cap to wear instead!” A rose
from the of his soul.
Glancing out of the of his into a shop, he saw by a clock on
the that it was ten minutes past seven. He had to make and at
the same time to go round, so as to approach the house from the
other side....
When he had to all this beforehand, he had sometimes
thought that he would be very much afraid. But he was not very much
afraid now, was not at all, indeed. His mind was occupied
by matters, but by nothing for long. As he passed the Yusupov
garden, he was in the of great
fountains, and of their on the in all
the squares. By he passed to the that if the summer
garden were to the of Mars, and joined to the
garden of the Mihailovsky Palace, it would be a thing and a
great to the town. Then he was by the question why
in all great men are not by necessity, but in some
peculiar way to live in those parts of the town where there
are no gardens fountains; where there is most and and all
sorts of nastiness. Then his own walks through the Hay Market came back
to his mind, and for a moment he up to reality. “What nonsense!”
he thought, “better think of nothing at all!”
“So men to at every object that
meets them on the way,” through his mind, but flashed,
like lightning; he to this thought.... And by now
he was near; here was the house, here was the gate. Suddenly a clock
somewhere once. “What! can it be half-past seven? Impossible, it
must be fast!”
Luckily for him, well again at the gates. At that very
moment, as though for his benefit, a of had
just in at the gate, him as he passed under
the gateway, and the had had time to drive through into
the yard, he had in a to the right. On the other
side of the he and quarrelling; but no one
noticed him and no one met him. Many looking into that huge
quadrangular were open at that moment, but he did not his
head--he had not the to. The leading to the old
woman’s room was close by, just on the right of the gateway. He was
already on the stairs....
Drawing a breath, pressing his hand against his heart, and
once more for the and setting it straight, he softly
and the stairs, every minute. But the
stairs, too, were deserted; all the doors were shut; he met no
one. One on the was wide open and were
at work in it, but they did not at him. He still, thought
a minute and on. “Of it would be if they had not been
here, but... it’s two above them.”
And there was the fourth storey, here was the door, here was the
flat opposite, the empty one. The the old woman’s was
apparently empty also; the visiting card on the door had been
torn off--they had gone away!... He was out of breath. For one instant
the through his mind “Shall I go back?” But he no
answer and at the old woman’s door, a silence. Then
he again on the staircase, long and intently...
then looked about him for the last time, himself together, drew
himself up, and once more the in the noose. “Am I very pale?”
he wondered. “Am I not agitated? She is mistrustful.... Had I
better wait a little longer... till my off thumping?”
But his did not off. On the contrary, as though to spite
him, it more and more violently. He it no longer,
he slowly put out his hand to the and rang. Half a minute later he
rang again, more loudly.
No answer. To go on was and out of place. The old woman
was, of course, at home, but she was and alone. He had some
knowledge of her habits... and once more he put his ear to the door.
Either his were (which it is difficult to
suppose), or the was very distinct. Anyway, he suddenly
heard something like the touch of a hand on the lock and the
rustle of a skirt at the very door. Someone was stealthily
close to the lock and just as he was doing on the was secretly
listening within, and to have her ear to the door.... He moved
a little on purpose and something that he might not have
the of hiding, then a third time, but quietly, soberly,
and without impatience, Recalling it afterwards, that moment out
in his mind vividly, distinctly, for ever; he not make out how he
had had such cunning, for his mind was as it were at moments and
he was almost of his body.... An later he the
latch unfastened.
