Fyodor Dostoyevsky (1821 - 1881)
Crime and Punishment
translated by Constance Garnett
the parcel which
Razumihin had brought in that evening and had tied up
again and began
dressing. Strange to say, he seemed immediately to
have become perfectly
calm; not a trace of his recent delirium nor
of the panic fear
that had haunted him of late. It was the first
moment of a strange
sudden calm. His movements were precise and
definite; a firm
purpose was evident in them. "To-day, to-day," he
muttered to himself.
He understood that he was still weak, but his
concentration gave him strength and self-confidence.
He hoped, moreover,
that he would not fall down in the street. When he
had dressed in
entirely new clothes, he looked at the money lying on
the table, and
after a moment's thought put it in his pocket. It was
He took also all the copper change from the ten
roubles spent by
Razumihin on the clothes. Then he softly unlatched
the door, went
out, slipped downstairs and glanced in at the open
kitchen door. Nastasya
was standing with her back to him, blowing up
samovar. She heard nothing. Who would have dreamed of
his going out,
indeed? A minute later he was in the street.
It was nearly
eight o'clock, the sun was setting. It was as stifling
as before, but
he eagerly drank in the stinking, dusty town air. His
head felt rather
dizzy; a sort of savage energy gleamed suddenly in
his feverish eyes
and his wasted, pale and yellow face. He did not
know and did not
think where he was going, he had one thought only
this must be ended to-day, once for all, immediately; that
he would not return
home without it, because he would not go on living
How, with what to make an end? He had not an idea about
it, he did not
even want to think of it. He drove away thought;
him. All he knew, all he felt was that everything
must be changed
"one way or another," he repeated with desperate and
From old habit
he took his usual walk in the direction of the Hay
Market. A dark-haired
young man with a barrel organ was standing in
the road in front
of a little general shop and was grinding out a very
He was accompanying a girl of fifteen, who stood
on the pavement
in front of him. She was dressed up in a crinoline,
a mantle and a
straw hat with a flame-coloured feather in it, all very
old and shabby.
In a strong and rather agreeable voice, cracked and
coarsened by street
singing, she sang in hope of getting a copper from
the shop. Raskolnikov
joined two or three listeners, took out a five
copeck piece and
put it in the girl's hand. She broke off abruptly
on a sentimental
high note, shouted sharply to the organ grinder "Come
on," and both
moved on to the next shop.
"Do you like
street music?" said Raskolnikov, addressing a
standing idly by him. The man looked at him,
startled and wondering.
"I love to
hear singing to a street organ," said Raskolnikov, and
his manner seemed
strangely out of keeping with the subject- "I like
it on cold, dark,
damp autumn evenings- they must be damp- when all
have pale green, sickly faces, or better still when wet
snow is falling
straight down, when there's no wind- you know what I
mean? and the street
lamps shine through it..."
know.... Excuse me..." muttered the stranger, frightened by
the question and
Raskolnikov's strange manner, and he crossed over
to the other side
of the street.
straight on and came out at the corner of the Hay
Market, where the
huckster and his wife had talked with Lizaveta;
but they were not
there now. Recognising the place, he stopped, looked
round and addressed
a young fellow in a red shirt who stood gaping
before a corn chandler's
a man who keeps a booth with his wife at this corner?"
of people keep booths here," answered the young man,
a Zaraisky man, too? Which province?"
The young man
looked at Raskolnikov again.
a province, your excellency, but a district. Graciously
forgive me, your
a tavern at the top there?"
an eating-house and there's a billiard-room and you'll
there too.... La-la!"
the square. In that corner there was a dense
crowd of peasants.
He pushed his way into the thickest part of it,
looking at the
faces. He felt an unaccountable inclination to enter
with people. But the peasants took no notice of him;
they were all shouting
in groups together. He stood and thought a
little and took
a turning to the right in the direction of V.
He had often crossed
that little street which turns at an angle,
leading from the
market-place to Sadovy Street. Of late he had often
felt drawn to wander
about this district, when he felt depressed, that
he might feel more
Now he walked
along, thinking of nothing. At that point there is a
great block of
buildings, entirely let out in dram shops and
women were continually running in and out,
in their indoor clothes. Here and there they
gathered in groups,
on the pavement, especially about the entrances to
establishments in the lower storeys. From one of these
a loud din, sounds
of singing, the tinkling of a guitar and shouts
of merriment, floated
into the street. A crowd of women were thronging
round the door;
some were sitting on the steps, others on the
were standing talking. A drunken soldier, smoking a
walking near them in the road, swearing; he seemed to
be trying to find
his way somewhere, but had forgotten where. One
beggar was quarrelling
with another, and a man dead drunk was lying
right across the
road. Raskolnikov joined the throng of women, who
were talking in
husky voices. They were bare-headed and wore cotton
dresses and goatskin
shoes. There were women of forty and some not
more than seventeen;
almost all had blackened eyes.
He felt strangely
attracted by the singing and all the noise and
uproar in the saloon
below.... Some one could be heard within
marking time with his heels to the sounds of
the guitar and
of a thin falsetto voice singing a jaunty air. He
gloomily and dreamily, bending down at the entrance
and peeping inquisitively
in from the pavement.
"Oh, my handsome
Don't beat me
trilled the thin
voice of the singer. Raskolnikov felt a great
desire to make
out what he was singing, as though everything
depended on that.
go in?" he thought. "They are laughing. From drink. Shall I
come in?" one of the women asked him. Her voice was still
musical and less
thick than the others, she was young and not
only one of the group.
pretty," he said, drawing himself up and looking at her.
She smiled, much
pleased at the compliment.
nice looking yourself," she said.
thin though!" observed another woman in a deep bass. "Have
you just come out
of a hospital?"
all generals' daughters, it seems, but they have all snub
a tipsy peasant with a sly smile on his face,
wearing a loose
coat. "See how jolly they are."
And he darted
down into the saloon below. Raskolnikov moved on.
"I say, sir,"
the girl shouted after him.
be pleased to spend an hour with you, kind gentleman,
but now I feel
shy. Give me six copecks for a drink, there's a nice
her what came first- fifteen copecks.
a good-natured gentleman!"
too much," one of the women observed, shaking her head
at Duclida. "I
don't know how you can ask like that. I believe I
should drop with
curiously at the speaker. She was a pock-marked
wench of thirty,
covered with bruises, with her upper lip swollen. She
made her criticism
quietly and earnestly. "Where is it," thought
is it I've read that some one condemned to death
says or thinks,
an hour before his death, that if he had to live on
some high rock,
on such a narrow ledge that he'd only room to stand,
and the ocean,
everlasting darkness, everlasting solitude, everlasting
him, if he had to remain standing on a square yard of
space all his life,
a thousand years, eternity, it were better to live
so than to die
at once! Only to live, to live and live! Life, whatever
it may be!... How
true it is! Good God, how true! Man is a vile
vile is he who calls him vile for that," he added a
He went into another
street. "Bah, the Palais de Crystal!
Razumihin was just
talking of the Palais de Crystal. But what on earth
was it I wanted?
Yes, the newspapers.... Zossimov said he'd read it in
the papers. Have
you the papers?" he asked, going into a very spacious
clean restaurant, consisting of several rooms, which
were however rather
empty. Two or three people were drinking tea,
and in a room further
away were sitting four men drinking champagne.
that Zametov was one of them, but he could not
be sure at that
distance. "What if it is!" he thought.
have vodka?" asked the waiter.
some tea and bring me the papers, the old ones for the last
five days and I'll
give you something."
here's to-day's. No vodka?"
The old newspapers
and the tea were brought. Raskolnikov sat down
and began to look
these are the items of intelligence. An accident on a
combustion of a shopkeeper from alcohol, a fire
in Peski... a fire
in the Petersburg quarter... another fire in the
and another fire in the Petersburg quarter...
Ah, here it is!"
He found at last what he was seeking and began to
read it. The lines
danced before his eyes, but he read it all and
began eagerly seeking
later additions in the following numbers. His
hands shook with
nervous impatience as he turned the sheets.
Suddenly some one
sat down beside him at his table. He looked up, it
was the head clerk
Zametov, looking just the same, with the rings on
his fingers and
the watch-chain, with the curly, black hair, parted
and pomaded, with
the smart waistcoat, rather shabby coat and doubtful
linen. He was in
a good humour, at least he was smiling very gaily and
His dark face was rather flushed from the champagne
he had drunk.
here?" he began in surprise, speaking as though he'd
known him all his
life. "Why, Razumihin told me only yesterday you
How strange! And do you know I've been to see you?"
he would come up to him. He laid aside the papers
and turned to Zametov.
There was a smile on his lips, and a new
shade of irritable
impatience was apparent in that smile.
"I know you
have," he answered. "I've heard it. You looked for my
sock.... And you
know Razumihin has lost his heart to you? He says
you've been with
him to Luise Ivanovna's, you know the woman you tried
to befriend, for
whom you winked to the Explosive Lieutenant and he
would not understand.
Do you remember? How could he fail to
was quite clear, wasn't it?"
"What a hot
head he is!"
have a jolly life, Mr. Zametov; entrance free to the
places. Who's been pouring champagne into you just
been... having a drink together.... You talk about
pouring it into
"By way of
a fee! You profit by everything!" Raskolnikov laughed,
right, my dear boy," he added, slapping Zametov on the
am not speaking from temper, but in a friendly way, for
sport, as that
workman of yours said when he was scuffling with
Dmitri, in the
case of the old woman...."
"How do you
know about it?"
I know more about it than you do."
you are.... I am sure you are still very unwell. You
oughtn't to have
"Oh, do I
seem strange to you?"
are you doing, reading the papers?"
a lot about the fires."
"No, I am
not reading about the fires." Here he looked
Zametov; his lips were twisted again in a mocking
I am not reading about the fires," he went on, winking
at Zametov. "But
confess now, my dear fellow, you're awfully anxious
to know what I
am reading about?"
"I am not
in the least. Mayn't I ask a question? Why do you keep
you are a man of culture and education?"
"I was in
the sixth class at the gymnasium," said Zametov with
Ah, my cocksparrow! With your parting and your
rings- you are
a gentleman of fortune. Foo, what a charming boy!" Here
into a nervous laugh right in Zametov's face. The
latter drew back,
more amazed than offended.
strange you are!" Zametov repeated very seriously. "I
can't help thinking
you are still delirious."
"I am delirious?
You are fibbing, my cocksparrow! So I am strange?
You find me curious,
tell you what I was reading about, what I was looking
for? See what a
lot of papers I've made them bring me. Suspicious,
up your ears?"
"How do you
mean- prick up my ears?"
that afterwards, but now, my boy, I declare to
you... no, better
'I confess'... No, that's not right either; 'I
make a deposition
and you take it.' I depose that I was reading,
that I was looking
and searching...." he screwed up his eyes and
was searching- and came here on purpose to do it- for
news of the murder
of the old pawnbroker woman," he articulated at
last, almost in
a whisper, bringing his face exceedingly close to
the face of Zametov.
Zametov looked at him steadily, without moving or
drawing his face
away. What struck Zametov afterwards as the strangest
part of it all
was that silence followed for exactly a minute, and
that they gazed
at one another all the while.
you have been reading about it?" he cried at last,
perplexed and impatient.
"That's no business of mine! What of it?"
old woman," Raskolnikov went on in the same whisper, not
explanation, "about whom you were talking in the
you remember, when I fainted. Well, do you understand
you mean? Understand... what?" Zametov brought out,
set and earnest face was suddenly transformed, and
he suddenly went
off into the same nervous laugh as before, as
unable to restrain himself. And in one flash he
recalled with extraordinary
vividness of sensation a moment in the
recent past, that
moment when he stood with the axe behind the door,
while the latch
trembled and the men outside swore and shook it, and
he had a sudden
desire to shout at them, to swear at them, to put
out his tongue
at them, to mock them, to laugh, and laugh, and laugh!
either mad, or..." began Zametov, and he broke off, as
by the idea that had suddenly flashed into his mind.
"Or? Or what?
What? Come, tell me!"
said Zametov, getting angry, "it's all nonsense!"
Both were silent.
After his sudden fit of laughter Raskolnikov
thoughtful and melancholy. He put his elbow on the
table and leaned
his head on his hand. He seemed to have completely
The silence lasted for some time.
you drink your tea? It's getting cold," said Zametov.
Oh, yes..." Raskolnikov sipped the glass, put a morsel
of bread in his
mouth and, suddenly looking at Zametov, seemed to
and pulled himself together. At the same moment
his face resumed
its original mocking expression. He went on
been a great many of these crimes lately," said Zametov.
other day I read in the Moscow News that a whole gang of
false coiners had
been caught in Moscow. It was a regular society.
They used to forge
it was a long time ago! I read about it a month ago,"
calmly. "So you consider them criminals?" he
they are criminals."
are children, simpletons, not criminals! Why, half a
meeting for such an object- what an idea! Three would
be too many, and
then they want to have more faith in one other than
One has only to blab in his cups and it all
They engaged untrustworthy people to change the
notes- what a thing
to trust to a casual stranger! Well, let us
suppose that these
simpletons succeed and each makes a million, and
what follows for
the rest of their lives? Each is dependent on the
others for the
rest of his life! Better hang oneself at once! And they
did not know how
to change the notes either; the man who changed the
notes took five
thousand roubles, and his hands trembled. He counted
the first four
thousand, but did not count the fifth thousand- he
was in such a hurry
to get the money into his pocket and run away.
Of course he roused
suspicion. And the whole thing came to a crash
through one fool!
Is it possible?"
hands trembled?" observed Zametov, "yes, that's quite
I feel quite sure is possible. Sometimes one can't
you stand it then? No, I couldn't. For the sake of a
to face such a terrible experience! To go with false
notes into a bank
where it's their business to spot that sort of
thing! No, I should
not have the face to do it. Would you?"
an intense desire again "to put his tongue out."
Shivers kept running
down his spine.
do it quite differently," Raskolnikov began. "This is
how I would change
the notes: I'd count the first thousand three or
four times backwards
and forwards, look at every note and then I'd set
to the second thousand;
I'd count that half way through and then
hold some fifty
rouble note to the light, then turn it, then hold it
to the light again-
to see whether it was a good one? 'I am afraid,' I
would say. 'A relation
of mine lost twenty-five roubles the other
day through a false
note,' and then I'd tell them the whole story. And
after I began counting
the third, 'no, excuse me,' I would say, 'I
fancy I made a
mistake in the seventh hundred in that second thousand,
I am not sure.'
And so I would give up the third thousand and go
back to the second
and so on to the end. And when I had finished,
I'd pick out one
from the fifth and one from the second thousand and
take them again
to the light and ask again 'change them, please,'
and put the clerk
into such a stew that he would not know how to get
rid of me. When
I'd finished and had gone out, I'd come back, 'No,
excuse me,' and
ask for some explanation. That's how I'd do it."
terrible things you say!" said Zametov, laughing. "But
all that is only
talk. I dare say when it came to deeds you'd make a
slip. I believe
that even a practised, desperate man cannot always
reckon on himself,
much less you and I. To take an example near
home- that old
woman murdered in our district. The murderer seems to
have been a desperate
fellow, he risked everything in open daylight,
was saved by a
miracle- but his hands shook, too. He did not succeed
in robbing the
place, he' couldn't stand it. That was clear from
don't you catch him then?" he cried, maliciously
gibing at Zametov.
will catch him."
Do you suppose you could catch him? You've a tough job! A
great point for
you is whether a man is spending money or not. If he
had no money and
suddenly begins spending, he must be the man. So that
any child can mislead
is they always do that, though," answered Zametov. "A
man will commit
a clever murder at the risk of his life and then at
once he goes drinking
in a tavern. They are caught spending money,
they are not all
as cunning as you are. You wouldn't go to a tavern,
and looked steadily at Zametov.
to enjoy the subject and would like to know how I should
behave in that
case, too?" he asked with displeasure.
like to," Zametov answered firmly and seriously.
Somewhat too much
earnestness began to appear in his words and looks.
then. This is how I should behave," Raskolnikov began,
his face close to Zametov's, again staring at him and
speaking in a whisper,
so that the latter positively shuddered.
"This is what
I should have done. I should have taken the money and
jewels, I should
have walked out of there and have gone straight to
some deserted place
with fences round it and scarcely any one to be
seen, some kitchen
garden or place of that sort. I should have
looked out beforehand
some stone weighing a hundredweight or more
which had been
lying in the corner from the time the house was
built. I would
lift that stone- there would be sure to be a hollow
under it, and I
would put the jewels and money in that hole. Then
I'd roll the stone
back so that it would look as before, would press
it down with my
foot and walk away. And for a year or two, three
maybe, I would
not touch it. And, well, they could search! There'd
be no trace."
a madman," said Zametov, and for some reason he too spoke
in a whisper, and
moved away from Raskolnikov, whose eyes were
had turned fearfully pale and his upper lip was
twitching and quivering.
He bent down as close as possible to Zametov,
and his lips began
to move without uttering a word. This lasted for
half a minute;
he knew what he was doing, but could not restrain
himself. The terrible
word trembled on his lips, like the latch on
that door; in another
moment it will break out, in another moment he
will let it go,
he will speak out.
if it was I who murdered the old woman and Lizaveta?" he
said suddenly and-
realised what he had done.
wildly at him and turned white as the tablecloth. His
face wore a contorted
"But is it
possible?" he brought out faintly. Raskolnikov looked
wrathfully at him.
"Own up that
you believed it, yes, you did?"
"Not a bit
of it, I believe it less than ever now," Zametov cried
my cocksparrow! So you did believe it before, if now
you believe less
"Not at all,"
cried Zametov, obviously embarrassed. "Have you been
so as to lead up to this?"
believe it then? What were you talking about behind my
back when I went
out of the police office? And why did the Explosive
me after I fainted? Hey, there," he shouted to the
up and taking his cap, "how much?"
the latter replied, running up.
is twenty copecks for vodka. See what a lot of money!" he
held out his shaking
hand to Zametov with notes in it. "Red notes
and blue, twenty-five
roubles. Where did I get them? And where did
my new clothes
come from? You know I had not a copeck. You've
my landlady, I'll be bound.... Well, that's enough!
Assez cause! Till
we meet again!"
He went out, trembling
all over from a sort of wild hysterical
sensation, in which
there was an element of insufferable rapture.
Yet he was gloomy
and terribly tired. His face was twisted as after
a fit. His fatigue
increased rapidly. Any shock, any irritating
and revived his energies at once, but his
as quickly when the stimulus was removed.
alone, sat for a long time in the same place,
plunged in thought.
Raskolnikov had unwittingly worked a revolution in
his brain on a
certain point and had made up his mind for him
is a blockhead," he decided.
hardly opened the door of the restaurant when he
Razumihin on the steps. They did not see each other
till they almost
knocked against each other. For a moment they stood
looking each other
up and down. Razumihin was greatly astounded,
then anger, real
anger gleamed fiercely in his eyes.
you are!" he shouted at the top of his voice- "you ran away
from your bed!
And here I've been looking for you under the sofa! We
went up to the
garret. I almost beat Nastasya on your account. And
here he is after
all. Rodya! What is the meaning of it? Tell me the
whole truth! Confess!
Do you hear?"
that I'm sick to death of you all and I want to be alone,"
you are not able to walk, when your face is as white as
a sheet and you
are gasping for breath! Idiot!... What have you been
doing in the Palais
de Crystal? Own up at once!"
"Let me go!"
said Raskolnikov and tried to pass him. This was too
much for Razumihin;
he gripped him firmly by the shoulder.
go? You dare tell me to let you go? Do you know what I'll
do with you directly?
I'll pick you up, tie you up in a bundle,
carry you home
under my arm and lock you up!"
Razumihin," Raskolnikov began quietly, apparently calm-
see that I don't want your benevolence? A strange desire
you have to shower
benefits on a man who... curses them, who feels
them a burden in
fact! Why did you seek me out at the beginning of
my illness? Maybe
I was very glad to die. Didn't I tell you plainly
enough to-day that
you were torturing me, that I was... sick of you!
You seem to want
to torture people! I assure you that all that is
my recovery, because it's continually irritating
me. You saw Zossimov
went away just now to avoid irritating me. You
leave me alone
too, for goodness' sake! What right have you, indeed,
to keep me by force?
Don't you see that I am in possession of all my
How, can I persuade you not to persecute me with your
kindness? I may
be ungrateful, I may be mean, only let me be, for
God's sake, let
me be! Let me be, let me be!"
He began calmly,
gloating beforehand over the venomous phrases he
was about to utter,
but finished, panting for breath, in a frenzy,
as he had been
a moment, thought and let his hand drop.
to hell then," he said gently and thoughtfully. "Stay," he
roared, as Raskolnikov
was about to move. "Listen to me. Let me tell
you, that you are
all a set of babbling, posing idiots! If you've
any little trouble
you brood over it like a hen over an egg. And you
even in that! There isn't a sign of independent life
in you! You are
made of spermaceti ointment and you've lymph in your
veins instead of
blood. I don't believe in any one of you! In any
first thing for all of you is to be unlike a human
he cried with redoubled fury, noticing that
again making a movement- "hear me out! You know I'm
having a house-warming
this evening, I dare say they've arrived by
now, but I left
my uncle there- I just ran in- to receive the
guests. And if
you weren't a fool, a common fool, a perfect fool, if
you were an original
instead of a translation... you see, Rodya, I
a clever fellow, but you're a fool!- and if you
weren't a fool
you'd come round to me this evening instead of
wearing out your
boots in the street! Since you have gone out, there's
no help for it!
I'd give you a snug easy chair, my landlady has one...
a cup of tea, company....
Or you could lie on the sofa- any way you
would be with us....
Zossimov will be there too. Will you come?"
Razumihin shouted, out of patience. "How do you know?
You can't answer
for yourself! You don't know anything about it....
Thousands of times
I've fought tooth and nail with people and run back
to them afterwards....
One feels ashamed and goes back to a man! So
house on the third storey...."
Razumihin, I do believe you'd let anybody beat you from
Me? I'd twist his nose off at the mere idea!
47, Babushkin's flat...."
not come, Razumihin." Raskolnikov turned and walked away.
"I bet you
will," Razumihin shouted after him. "I refuse to know you
if you don't! Stay,
hey, is Zametov in there?"
Confound you, don't tell me then. Potchinkov's house,
on and turned the corner into Sadovy Street.
after him thoughtfully. Then with a wave of his
hand he went into
the house but stopped short of the stairs.
it," he went on almost aloud. "He talked sensibly but
yet... I am a fool!
As if madmen didn't talk sensibly! And this was
just what Zossimov
seemed afraid of." He struck his finger on his
if... how could I let him go off alone? He may drown
what a blunder! I can't." And he ran back to overtake
there was no trace of him. With a curse he returned
with rapid steps
to the Palais de Crystal to question Zametov.
straight to X__ Bridge, stood in the middle,
and leaning both
elbows on the rail stared into the distance. On
parting with Razumihin,
he felt so much weaker that he could
this place. He longed to sit or lie down somewhere in
the street. Bending
over the water, he gazed mechanically at the
last pink flush
of the sunset, at the row of houses growing dark in
the gathering twilight,
at one distant attic window on the left
as though on fire in the last rays of the setting
sun, at the darkening
water of the canal, and the water seemed to
catch his attention.
At last red circles flashed before his eyes,
the houses seemed
moving, the passers-by, the canal banks, the
danced before his eyes. Suddenly he started, saved
again perhaps from
swooning by an uncanny and hideous sight. He became
aware of some one
standing on the right side of him; he looked and saw
a tall woman with
a kerchief on her head, with a long, yellow,
wasted face and
red sunken eyes. She was looking straight at him,
but obviously she
saw nothing and recognized no one. Suddenly she
leaned her right
hand on the parapet, lifted her right leg over the
railing, then her
left and threw herself into the canal. The filthy
water parted and
swallowed up its victim for a moment, but an
instant later the
drowning woman floated to the surface, moving slowly
with the current,
her head and legs in the water, her skirt inflated
like a balloon
over her back.
drowning! A woman drowning!" shouted dozens of voices;
people ran up,
both banks were thronged with spectators, on the bridge
about Raskolnikov, pressing up behind him.
it! it's our Afrosinya!" a woman cried tearfully close by.
her! kind people, pull her out!"
a boat" was shouted in the crowd. But there was no need
of a boat; a policeman
ran down the steps to the canal, threw off
his great coat
and his boots and rushed into the water. It was easy to
reach her; she
floated within a couple of yards from the steps, he
caught hold of
her clothes with his right hand and with his left
seized a pole which
a comrade held out to him; the drowning woman
was pulled out
at once. They laid her on the granite pavement of the
soon recovered consciousness, raised her head, sat
up and began sneezing
and coughing, stupidly wiping her wet dress with
her hands. She
herself out of her senses," the same woman's voice
wailed at her side.
"Out of her senses. The other day she tried to
hang herself, we
cut her down. I ran out to the shop just now, left my
little girl to
look after her- and here she's in trouble again! A
neighbour, we live close by, the second house
from the end, see
The crowd broke
up. The police still remained round the woman,
some one mentioned
the police station.... Raskolnikov looked on with a
of indifference and apathy. He felt disgusted.
loathsome... water... it's not good enough," he muttered
to himself. "Nothing
will come of it," he added, "no use to wait. What
about the police
office...? And why isn't Zametov at the police
office? The police
office is open till ten o'clock...." He turned
his back to the
railing and looked about him.
then!" he said resolutely; he moved from the bridge and
walked in the direction
of the police office. His heart felt hollow
and empty. He did
not want to think. Even his depression had passed,
there was not a
trace now of the energy with which he had set out
"to make an
end of it all." Complete apathy had succeeded to it.
a way out of it," he thought, walking slowly and
the canal bank. "Anyway I'll make an end, for I
want to.... But
is it a way out? What does it matter! There'll be
the square yard
of space- ha! But what an end! Is it really the end?
Shall I tell them
or not? Ah... damn! How tired I am! If I could
to sit or lie down soon! What I am most ashamed of is
its being so stupid.
But I don't care about that either! What
idiotic ideas come
into one's head."
To reach the police
office he had to go straight forward and take
the second turning
to the left. It was only a few paces away. But at
the first turning
he stopped and, after a minute's thought, turned
into a side street
and went two streets out of his way, possibly
without any object,
or possibly to delay a minute and gain time. He
at the ground; suddenly some one seemed to whisper
in his ear; he
lifted his head and saw that he was standing at the
very gate of the
house. He had not passed it, he had not been near
it since that evening.
An overwhelming unaccountable prompting drew
him on. He went
into the house, passed through the gateway, then
into the first
entrance on the right, and began mounting the
to the fourth storey. The narrow, steep staircase
was very dark.
He stopped at each landing and looked round him with
curiosity; on the
first landing the framework of the window had been
taken out. "That
wasn't so then," he thought. Here was the flat on the
second storey where
Nikolay and Dmitri had been working. "It's shut up
and the door newly
painted. So it's to let." Then the third storey and
the fourth. "Here!"
He was perplexed to find the door of the flat wide
open. There were
men there, he could hear voices; he had not
After brief hesitation he mounted the last stairs and
went into the flat.
It, too, was being done up; there were workmen
in it. This seemed
to amaze him; he somehow fancied that he would find
everything as he
left it, even perhaps the corpses in the same
places on the floor.
And now, bare walls, no furniture; it seemed
strange. He walked
to the window and sat down on the window sill.
There were two
workmen, both young fellows, but one much younger
than the other.
They were papering the walls with a new white paper
covered with lilac
flowers, instead of the old, dirty, yellow one.
some reason felt horribly annoyed by this. He looked
at the new paper
with dislike, as though he felt sorry to have it
all so changed.
The workmen had obviously stayed beyond their time and
now they were hurriedly
rolling up their paper and getting ready to go
home. They took
no notice of Raskolnikov's coming in; they were
folded his arms and listened.
to me in the morning," said the elder to the younger,
all dressed up. 'Why are you preening and prinking?' says
I. 'I am ready
to do anything to please you, Tit Vassilitch!' That's a
way of going on!
And she dressed up like a regular fashion book!"
is a fashion book?" the younger one asked. He obviously
regarded the other
as an authority.
book is a lot of pictures, coloured, and they come to the
tailors here every
Saturday, by post from abroad, to show folks how to
dress, the male
sex as well as the female. They're pictures. The
gentlemen are generally
wearing fur coats and for the ladies'
beyond anything you can fancy."
nothing you can't find in Petersburg," the younger cried
"except father and mother, there's everything!"
there's everything to be found, my boy," the elder
up and walked into the other room where the strong
box, the bed, and
the chest of drawers had been; the room seemed to
him very tiny without
furniture in it. The paper was the same; the
paper in the corner
showed where the case of ikons had stood. He
looked at it and
went to the window. The elder workman looked at him
you want?" he asked suddenly.
Instead of answering
Raskolnikov went into the passage and pulled
the bell. The same
bell, the same cracked note. He rang it a second
and a third time;
he listened and remembered. The hideous and
sensation he had felt then began to come back more
and more vividly.
He shuddered at every ring and it gave him more
and more satisfaction.
do you want? Who are you?" the workman shouted, going
out to him. Raskolnikov
went inside again.
"I want to
take a flat," he said. "I am looking round."
the time to look at rooms at night! and you ought to
come up with the
have been washed, will they be painted?" Raskolnikov
went on. "Is
there no blood?"
old woman and her sister were murdered here. There was a
perfect pool there."
are you?" the workman cried, uneasy.
"Who am I?"
to know? Come to the police station, I'll tell you."
The workmen looked
at him in amazement.
for us to go, we are late. Come along, Alyoshka. We
must lock up,"
said the elder workman.
come along," said Raskolnikov indifferently, and going
out first, he went
slowly downstairs. "Hey, porter," he cried in the
At the entrance
several people were standing, staring at the
two porters, a peasant woman, a man in a long coat and
a few others. Raskolnikov
went straight up to them.
you want?" asked one of the porters.
been to the police office?"
been there. What do you want?"
"Is it open?"
"Is the assistant
"He was there
for a time. What do you want?"
no reply, but stood beside them lost in thought.
to look at the flat," said the elder workman, coming
are at work. 'Why have you washed away the blood?' says
he. 'There has
been a murder here,' says he, 'and I've come to take
it.' And he began
ringing at the bell, all but broke it. 'Come to
the police station,'
says he. 'I'll tell you everything there.' He
The porter looked
at Raskolnikov, frowning and perplexed.
you?" he shouted as impressively as he could.
"I am Rodion
Romanovitch Raskolnikov, formerly a student, I live
in Shil's house,
not far from here, flat Number 14, ask the porter, he
Raskolnikov said all this in a lazy, dreamy voice, not
but looking intently into the darkening street.
you been to the flat?"
there to look at?"
straight to the police station," the man in the long
coat jerked in
intently at him over his shoulder and said in the
same slow, lazy
him," the man went on more confidently. "Why was he going
into that, what's
in his mind, eh?"
drunk, but God knows what's the matter with him," muttered
do you want?" the porter shouted again, beginning to get
angry in earnest-
"Why are you hanging about?"
the police station then?" said Raskolnikov jeeringly.
it? Why are you hanging about?"
"He's a rogue!"
shouted the peasant woman.
time talking to him?" cried the other porter, a huge
peasant in a full
open coat and with keys on his belt. "Get along!
He is a rogue and
no mistake. Get along!"
And seizing Raskolnikov
by the shoulder he flung him into the
street. He lurched
forward, but recovered his footing, looked at the
spectators in silence
and walked away.
man!" observed the workman.
strange folks about nowadays," said the woman.
have taken him to the police station all the same," said
the man in the
nothing to do with him," decided the big porter. "A
Just what he wants, you may be sure, but once take
him up, you won't
get rid of him.... We know the sort!"
go there or not?" thought Raskolnikov, standing in the
middle of the thoroughfare
at the cross roads, and he looked about
him, as though
expecting from some one a decisive word. But no sound
came, all was dead
and silent like the stones on which he walked, dead
to him, to him
alone.... All at once at the end of the street, two
hundred yards away,
in the gathering dusk he saw a crowd and heard
talk and shouts.
In the middle of the crowd stood a carriage.... A
light gleamed in
the middle of the street. "What is it?" Raskolnikov
turned to the right
and went up to the crowd. He seemed to clutch at
smiled coldly when he recognised it, for he had fully
made up his mind
to go to the police station and knew that it would
all soon be over.
qu'on fait n'est jamais compris mais seulement loué ou blâmé.
Nietzsche, Gay Science