Prestuplenie i nakazanie. English by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
CHAPTER VI
Later on Raskolnikov happened to find out why the huckster and hiswife had invited Lizaveta. It was a very ordinary matter and there wasnothing exceptional about it. A family who had come to the town and beenreduced to poverty were selling their household goods and clothes, allwomen's things. As the things would have fetched little in the market,they were looking for a dealer. This was Lizaveta's business. Sheundertook such jobs and was frequently employed, as she was very honestand always fixed a fair price and stuck to it. She spoke as a rulelittle and, as we have said already, she was very submissive and timid.
But Raskolnikov had become superstitious of late. The traces ofsuperstition remained in him long after, and were almost ineradicable.And in all this he was always afterwards disposed to see somethingstrange and mysterious, as it were, the presence of some peculiarinfluences and coincidences. In the previous winter a student he knewcalled Pokorev, who had left for Harkov, had chanced in conversation togive him the address of Alyona Ivanovna, the old pawnbroker, in case hemight want to pawn anything. For a long while he did not go to her, forhe had lessons and managed to get along somehow. Six weeks ago he hadremembered the address; he had two articles that could be pawned: hisfather's old silver watch and a little gold ring with three red stones,a present from his sister at parting. He decided to take the ring. Whenhe found the old woman he had felt an insurmountable repulsion for herat the first glance, though he knew nothing special about her. He gottwo roubles from her and went into a miserable little tavern on his wayhome. He asked for tea, sat down and sank into deep thought. A strangeidea was pecking at his brain like a chicken in the egg, and very, verymuch absorbed him.
Almost beside him at the next table there was sitting a student, whom hedid not know and had never seen, and with him a young officer. They hadplayed a game of billiards and began drinking tea. All at once he heardthe student mention to the officer the pawnbroker Alyona Ivanovna andgive him her address. This of itself seemed strange to Raskolnikov; hehad just come from her and here at once he heard her name. Of courseit was a chance, but he could not shake off a very extraordinaryimpression, and here someone seemed to be speaking expressly for him;the student began telling his friend various details about AlyonaIvanovna.
"She is first-rate," he said. "You can always get money from her. She isas rich as a Jew, she can give you five thousand roubles at a time andshe is not above taking a pledge for a rouble. Lots of our fellows havehad dealings with her. But she is an awful old harpy...."
And he began describing how spiteful and uncertain she was, how if youwere only a day late with your interest the pledge was lost; how shegave a quarter of the value of an article and took five and even sevenpercent a month on it and so on. The student chattered on, sayingthat she had a sister Lizaveta, whom the wretched little creature wascontinually beating, and kept in complete bondage like a small child,though Lizaveta was at least six feet high.
"There's a phenomenon for you," cried the student and he laughed.
They began talking about Lizaveta. The student spoke about her with apeculiar relish and was continually laughing and the officer listenedwith great interest and asked him to send Lizaveta to do some mendingfor him. Raskolnikov did not miss a word and learned everything abouther. Lizaveta was younger than the old woman and was her half-sister,being the child of a different mother. She was thirty-five. She workedday and night for her sister, and besides doing the cooking and thewashing, she did sewing and worked as a charwoman and gave her sisterall she earned. She did not dare to accept an order or job of any kindwithout her sister's permission. The old woman had already made herwill, and Lizaveta knew of it, and by this will she would not get afarthing; nothing but the movables, chairs and so on; all the money wasleft to a monastery in the province of N----, that prayers might besaid for her in perpetuity. Lizaveta was of lower rank than her sister,unmarried and awfully uncouth in appearance, remarkably tall with longfeet that looked as if they were bent outwards. She always wore batteredgoatskin shoes, and was clean in her person. What the student expressedmost surprise and amusement about was the fact that Lizaveta wascontinually with child.
"But you say she is hideous?" observed the officer.
"Yes, she is so dark-skinned and looks like a soldier dressed up, butyou know she is not at all hideous. She has such a good-natured faceand eyes. Strikingly so. And the proof of it is that lots of people areattracted by her. She is such a soft, gentle creature, ready to put upwith anything, always willing, willing to do anything. And her smile isreally very sweet."
"You seem to find her attractive yourself," laughed the officer.
"From her queerness. No, I'll tell you what. I could kill that damnedold woman and make off with her money, I assure you, without thefaintest conscience-prick," the student added with warmth. The officerlaughed again while Raskolnikov shuddered. How strange it was!
"Listen, I want to ask you a serious question," the student said hotly."I was joking of course, but look here; on one side we have a stupid,senseless, worthless, spiteful, ailing, horrid old woman, not simplyuseless but doing actual mischief, who has not an idea what she isliving for herself, and who will die in a day or two in any case. Youunderstand? You understand?"
"Yes, yes, I understand," answered the officer, watching his excitedcompanion attentively.
"Well, listen then. On the other side, fresh young lives thrown away forwant of help and by thousands, on every side! A hundred thousand gooddeeds could be done and helped, on that old woman's money which will beburied in a monastery! Hundreds, thousands perhaps, might be set on theright path; dozens of families saved from destitution, from ruin, fromvice, from the Lock hospitals--and all with her money. Kill her, takeher money and with the help of it devote oneself to the service ofhumanity and the good of all. What do you think, would not one tinycrime be wiped out by thousands of good deeds? For one life thousandswould be saved from corruption and decay. One death, and a hundred livesin exchange--it's simple arithmetic! Besides, what value has the life ofthat sickly, stupid, ill-natured old woman in the balance of existence!No more than the life of a louse, of a black-beetle, less in factbecause the old woman is doing harm. She is wearing out the lives ofothers; the other day she bit Lizaveta's finger out of spite; it almosthad to be amputated."
"Of course she does not deserve to live," remarked the officer, "butthere it is, it's nature."
"Oh, well, brother, but we have to correct and direct nature, and, butfor that, we should drown in an ocean of prejudice. But for that,there would never have been a single great man. They talk ofduty, conscience--I don't want to say anything against duty andconscience;--but the point is, what do we mean by them? Stay, I haveanother question to ask you. Listen!"
"No, you stay, I'll ask you a question. Listen!"
"Well?"
"You are talking and speechifying away, but tell me, would you kill theold woman _yourself_?"
"Of course not! I was only arguing the justice of it.... It's nothing todo with me...."
"But I think, if you would not do it yourself, there's no justice aboutit.... Let us have another game."
Raskolnikov was violently agitated. Of course, it was all ordinaryyouthful talk and thought, such as he had often heard before indifferent forms and on different themes. But why had he happened to hearsuch a discussion and such ideas at the very moment when his own brainwas just conceiving... _the very same ideas_? And why, just at themoment when he had brought away the embryo of his idea from the oldwoman had he dropped at once upon a conversation about her? Thiscoincidence always seemed strange to him. This trivial talk in a tavernhad an immense influence on him in his later action; as though there hadreally been in it something preordained, some guiding hint....
*****
On returning from the Hay Market he flung himself on the sofa and satfor a whole hour without stirring. Meanwhile it got dark; he had nocandle and, indeed, it did not occur to him to light up. He could neverrecollect whether he had been thinking
He slept an extraordinarily long time and without dreaming. Nastasya,coming into his room at ten o'clock the next morning, had difficultyin rousing him. She brought him in tea and bread. The tea was again thesecond brew and again in her own tea-pot.
"My goodness, how he sleeps!" she cried indignantly. "And he is alwaysasleep."
He got up with an effort. His head ached, he stood up, took a turn inhis garret and sank back on the sofa again.
"Going to sleep again," cried Nastasya. "Are you ill, eh?"
He made no reply.
"Do you want some tea?"
"Afterwards," he said with an effort, closing his eyes again and turningto the wall.
Nastasya stood over him.
"Perhaps he really is ill," she said, turned and went out. She came inagain at two o'clock with soup. He was lying as before. The tea stooduntouched. Nastasya felt positively offended and began wrathfullyrousing him.
"Why are you lying like a log?" she shouted, looking at him withrepulsion.
He got up, and sat down again, but said nothing and stared at the floor.
"Are you ill or not?" asked Nastasya and again received no answer."You'd better go out and get a breath of air," she said after a pause."Will you eat it or not?"
"Afterwards," he said weakly. "You can go."
And he motioned her out.
She remained a little longer, looked at him with compassion and wentout.
A few minutes afterwards, he raised his eyes and looked for a long whileat the tea and the soup. Then he took the bread, took up a spoon andbegan to eat.
He ate a little, three or four spoonfuls, without appetite, as it weremechanically. His head ached less. After his meal he stretched himselfon the sofa again, but now he could not sleep; he lay without stirring,with his face in the pillow. He was haunted by day-dreams and suchstrange day-dreams; in one, that kept recurring, he fancied that he wasin Africa, in Egypt, in some sort of oasis. The caravan was resting,the camels were peacefully lying down; the palms stood all around in acomplete circle; all the party were at dinner. But he was drinking waterfrom a spring which flowed gurgling close by. And it was so cool, it waswonderful, wonderful, blue, cold water running among the parti-colouredstones and over the clean sand which glistened here and there likegold.... Suddenly he heard a clock strike. He started, roused himself,raised his head, looked out of the window, and seeing how late it was,suddenly jumped up wide awake as though someone had pulled him off thesofa. He crept on tiptoe to the door, stealthily opened it and beganlistening on the staircase. His heart beat terribly. But all was quieton the stairs as if everyone was asleep.... It seemed to him strange andmonstrous that he could have slept in such forgetfulness from theprevious day and had done nothing, had prepared nothing yet.... Andmeanwhile perhaps it had struck six. And his drowsiness and stupefactionwere followed by an extraordinary, feverish, as it were distractedhaste. But the preparations to be made were few. He concentrated all hisenergies on thinking of everything and forgetting nothing; and his heartkept beating and thumping so that he could hardly breathe. First he hadto make a noose and sew it into his overcoat--a work of a moment. Herummaged under his pillow and picked out amongst the linen stuffed awayunder it, a worn out, old unwashed shirt. From its rags he tore a longstrip, a couple of inches wide and about sixteen inches long. He foldedthis strip in two, took off his wide, strong summer overcoat of somestout cotton material (his only outer garment) and began sewing the twoends of the rag on the inside, under the left armhole. His hands shookas he sewed, but he did it successfully so that nothing showed outsidewhen he put the coat on again. The needle and thread he had got readylong before and they lay on his table in a piece of paper. As for thenoose, it was a very ingenious device of his own; the noose was intendedfor the axe. It was impossible for him to carry the axe through thestreet in his hands. And if hidden under his coat he would still havehad to support it with his hand, which would have been noticeable. Nowhe had only to put the head of the axe in the noose, and it would hangquietly under his arm on the inside. Putting his hand in his coatpocket, he could hold the end of the handle all the way, so that it didnot swing; and as the coat was very full, a regular sack in fact, itcould not be seen from outside that he was holding something with thehand that was in the pocket. This noose, too, he had designed afortnight before.
When he had finished with this, he thrust his hand into a little openingbetween his sofa and the floor, fumbled in the left corner and drew outthe _pledge_, which he had got ready long before and hidden there. Thispledge was, however, only a smoothly planed piece of wood the size andthickness of a silver cigarette case. He picked up this piece of woodin one of his wanderings in a courtyard where there was some sort ofa workshop. Afterwards he had added to the wood a thin smooth pieceof iron, which he had also picked up at the same time in the street.Putting the iron which was a little the smaller on the piece of wood,he fastened them very firmly, crossing and re-crossing the thread roundthem; then wrapped them carefully and daintily in clean white paper andtied up the parcel so that it would be very difficult to untie it. Thiswas in order to divert the attention of the old woman for a time, whileshe was trying to undo the knot, and so to gain a moment. The iron stripwas added to give weight, so that the woman might not guess the firstminute that the "thing" was made of wood. All this had been stored byhim beforehand under the sofa. He had only just got the pledge out whenhe heard someone suddenly about in the yard.
"It struck six long ago."
"Long ago! My God!"
He rushed to the door, listened, caught up his hat and began to descendhis thirteen steps cautiously, noiselessly, like a cat. He had still themost important thing to do--to steal the axe from the kitchen. That thedeed must be done with an axe he had decided long ago. He had also apocket pruning-knife, but he could not rely on the knife and still lesson his own strength, and so resolved finally on the axe. We may note inpassing, one peculiarity in regard to all the final resolutions taken byhim in the matter; they had one strange characteristic: the more finalthey were, the more hideous and the more absurd they at once became inhis eyes. In spite of all his agonising inward struggle, he never fora single instant all that time could believe in the carrying out of hisplans.
And, indeed, if it had ever happened that everything to the least pointcould have been considered and finally settled, and no uncertainty ofany kind had remained, he would, it seems, have renounced it allas something absurd, monstrous and impossible. But a whole mass ofunsettled points and uncertainties remained. As for getting the axe,that trifling business cost him no anxiety, for nothing could be easier.Nastasya was continually out of the house, especially in the evenings;she would run in to the neighbours or to a shop, and always left thedoor ajar. It was the one thing the landlady was always scolding herabout. And so, when the time came, he would only have to go quietly intothe kitchen and to take the axe, and an hour later (when everythingwas over) go in and put it back again. But these were doubtful points.Supposing he returned an hour later to put it back, and Nastasya hadcome back and was on the spot. He would of course have to go by and waittill she went out again. But supposing she were in the meantime to missthe axe, look for it, make an outcry--that would mean suspicion or atleast grounds for suspicion.
But those were all trifles which he had not even begun to consider, andindeed he had no time. He was thinking of the chief point, and put offtrifling details, until _he could believe in it all_. But that seemedutterly unattainable. So it seemed to himself at least. He could notimagine, for instance, that he would sometime leave off thinking, getup and simply go there.... Even his late experiment (i.e. his visit withthe object of a final survey of the place) was simply an attempt atan experiment, far from being the real thing, as though one should say"come, let us go and try it--why dream about it
At first--long before indeed--he had been much occupied with onequestion; why almost all crimes are so badly concealed and so easilydetected, and why almost all criminals leave such obvious traces? Hehad come gradually to many different and curious conclusions, and in hisopinion the chief reason lay not so much in the material impossibilityof concealing the crime, as in the criminal himself. Almost everycriminal is subject to a failure of will and reasoning power by achildish and phenomenal heedlessness, at the very instant when prudenceand caution are most essential. It was his conviction that this eclipseof reason and failure of will power attacked a man like a disease,developed gradually and reached its highest point just before theperpetration of the crime, continued with equal violence at the momentof the crime and for longer or shorter time after, according to theindividual case, and then passed off like any other disease. Thequestion whether the disease gives rise to the crime, or whether thecrime from its own peculiar nature is always accompanied by something ofthe nature of disease, he did not yet feel able to decide.
When he reached these conclusions, he decided that in his own case therecould not be such a morbid reaction, that his reason and will wouldremain unimpaired at the time of carrying out his design, for thesimple reason that his design was "not a crime...." We will omit all theprocess by means of which he arrived at this last conclusion; we haverun too far ahead already.... We may add only that the practical, purelymaterial difficulties of the affair occupied a secondary position in hismind. "One has but to keep all one's will-power and reason to dealwith them, and they will all be overcome at the time when once one hasfamiliarised oneself with the minutest details of the business...." Butthis preparation had never been begun. His final decisions were what hecame to trust least, and when the hour struck, it all came to pass quitedifferently, as it were accidentally and unexpectedly.
One trifling circumstance upset his calculations, before he had evenleft the staircase. When he reached the landlady's kitchen, the doorof which was open as usual, he glanced cautiously in to see whether, inNastasya's absence, the landlady herself was there, or if not, whetherthe door to her own room was closed, so that she might not peep out whenhe went in for the axe. But what was his amazement when he suddenlysaw that Nastasya was not only at home in the kitchen, but was occupiedthere, taking linen out of a basket and hanging it on a line. Seeinghim, she left off hanging the clothes, turned to him and stared at himall the time he was passing. He turned away his eyes, and walked past asthough he noticed nothing. But it was the end of everything; he had notthe axe! He was overwhelmed.
"What made me think," he reflected, as he went under the gateway, "whatmade 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 crushed and even humiliated. He could have laughed at himself inhis anger.... A dull animal rage boiled within him.
He stood hesitating in the gateway. To go into the street, to go a walkfor appearance' sake was revolting; to go back to his room, even morerevolting. "And what a chance I have lost for ever!" he muttered,standing aimlessly in the gateway, just opposite the porter's littledark room, which was also open. Suddenly he started. From the porter'sroom, two paces away from him, something shining under the bench to theright caught his eye.... He looked about him--nobody. He approached theroom on tiptoe, went down two steps into it and in a faint voice calledthe porter. "Yes, not at home! Somewhere near though, in the yard, forthe door is wide open." He dashed to the axe (it was an axe) and pulledit out from under the bench, where it lay between two chunks of wood;at once, before going out, he made it fast in the noose, he thrust bothhands into his pockets and went out of the room; no one had noticed him!"When reason fails, the devil helps!" he thought with a strange grin.This chance raised his spirits extraordinarily.
He walked along quietly and sedately, without hurry, to avoid awakeningsuspicion. He scarcely looked at the passers-by, tried to escape lookingat their faces at all, and to be as little noticeable as possible.Suddenly he thought of his hat. "Good heavens! I had the money the daybefore yesterday and did not get a cap to wear instead!" A curse rosefrom the bottom of his soul.
Glancing out of the corner of his eye into a shop, he saw by a clock onthe wall that it was ten minutes past seven. He had to make haste and atthe same time to go someway round, so as to approach the house from theother side....
When he had happened to imagine all this beforehand, he had sometimesthought that he would be very much afraid. But he was not very muchafraid now, was not afraid at all, indeed. His mind was even occupiedby irrelevant matters, but by nothing for long. As he passed the Yusupovgarden, he was deeply absorbed in considering the building of greatfountains, and of their refreshing effect on the atmosphere in allthe squares. By degrees he passed to the conviction that if the summergarden were extended to the field of Mars, and perhaps joined to thegarden of the Mihailovsky Palace, it would be a splendid thing and agreat benefit to the town. Then he was interested by the question whyin all great towns men are not simply driven by necessity, but in somepeculiar way inclined to live in those parts of the town where thereare no gardens nor fountains; where there is most dirt and smell and allsorts of nastiness. Then his own walks through the Hay Market came backto his mind, and for a moment he waked up to reality. "What nonsense!"he thought, "better think of nothing at all!"
"So probably men led to execution clutch mentally at every object thatmeets them on the way," flashed through his mind, but simply flashed,like lightning; he made haste to dismiss this thought.... And by nowhe was near; here was the house, here was the gate. Suddenly a clocksomewhere struck once. "What! can it be half-past seven? Impossible, itmust be fast!"
Luckily for him, everything went well again at the gates. At that verymoment, as though expressly for his benefit, a huge waggon of hay hadjust driven in at the gate, completely screening him as he passed underthe gateway, and the waggon had scarcely had time to drive through intothe yard, before he had slipped in a flash to the right. On the otherside of the waggon he could hear shouting and quarrelling; but no onenoticed him and no one met him. Many windows looking into that hugequadrangular yard were open at that moment, but he did not raise hishead--he had not the strength to. The staircase leading to the oldwoman's room was close by, just on the right of the gateway. He wasalready on the stairs....
Drawing a breath, pressing his hand against his throbbing heart, andonce more feeling for the axe and setting it straight, he began softlyand cautiously ascending the stairs, listening every minute. But thestairs, too, were quite deserted; all the doors were shut; he met noone. One flat indeed on the first floor was wide open and painters wereat work in it, but they did not glance at him. He stood still, thoughta minute and went on. "Of course it would be better if they had not beenhere, but... it's two storeys above them."
And there was the fourth storey, here was the door, here was theflat opposite, the empty one. The flat underneath the old woman's wasapparently empty also; the visiting card nailed on the door had beentorn off--they had gone away!... He was out of breath. For one instantthe thought floated through his mind "Shall I go back?" But he made noanswer and began listening at the old woman's door, a dead silence. Thenhe listened again on the staircase, listened long and intently...then looked about him for the last time, pulled himself together, drewhimself up, and once more tried the axe in the noose. "Am I very pale?"he wondered. "Am I not evidently agitated? She is mistrustful.... Had Ibetter wait a little longer... till my heart leaves off thumping?"
But his heart did not leave off. On the contrary, as
No answer. To go on ringing was useless and out of place. The old womanwas, of course, at home, but she was suspicious and alone. He had someknowledge of her habits... and once more he put his ear to the door.Either his senses were peculiarly keen (which it is difficult tosuppose), or the sound was really very distinct. Anyway, he suddenlyheard something like the cautious touch of a hand on the lock and therustle of a skirt at the very door. Someone was standing stealthilyclose to the lock and just as he was doing on the outside was secretlylistening within, and seemed to have her ear to the door.... He moveda little on purpose and muttered something aloud that he might not havethe appearance of hiding, then rang a third time, but quietly, soberly,and without impatience, Recalling it afterwards, that moment stood outin his mind vividly, distinctly, for ever; he could not make out how hehad had such cunning, for his mind was as it were clouded at moments andhe was almost unconscious of his body.... An instant later he heard thelatch unfastened.