Chapter 1

On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge.

On an exceptionally hot evening in early July, a young man left the attic room he rented in S. Place. He walked slowly toward K. bridge, as if hesitating.

He had successfully avoided meeting his landlady on the staircase. His garret was under the roof of a high, five-storied house and was more like a cupboard than a room. The landlady who provided him with garret, dinners, and attendance, lived on the floor below, and every time he went out he was obliged to pass her kitchen, the door of which invariably stood open. And each time he passed, the young man had a sick, frightened feeling, which made him scowl and feel ashamed. He was hopelessly in debt to his landlady, and was afraid of meeting her.

He had managed to avoid meeting his landlady on the stairs. His attic room was under the roof of a tall, five-story building. It was more like a cupboard than a room. His landlady provided the room, his dinners, and other services. She lived on the floor below, and whenever he went out, he had to pass her kitchen. Its door was always open. Each time he passed it, the young man felt sick and frightened. He would scowl and feel ashamed. He was hopelessly in debt to his landlady and was afraid of meeting her.

This was not because he was cowardly and abject, quite the contrary; but for some time past he had been in an overstrained irritable condition, verging on hypochondria. He had become so completely absorbed in himself, and isolated from his fellows that he dreaded meeting, not only his landlady, but anyone at all. He was crushed by poverty, but the anxieties of his position had of late ceased to weigh upon him. He had given up attending to matters of practical importance; he had lost all desire to do so. Nothing that any landlady could do had a real terror for him. But to be stopped on the stairs, to be forced to listen to her trivial, irrelevant gossip, to pestering demands for payment, threats and complaints, and to rack his brains for excuses, to prevaricate, to lie—no, rather than that, he would creep down the stairs like a cat and slip out unseen.

This was not because he was cowardly or spineless. Quite the opposite. But for some time he had been tense and irritable, almost to the point of hypochondria. He had become so absorbed in himself and cut off from others that he dreaded meeting anyone, not just his landlady. Poverty crushed him, but lately he had stopped worrying about his situation. He had given up dealing with practical matters and had lost all desire to do so. Nothing a landlady could do really frightened him. But he dreaded being stopped on the stairs and forced to listen to her pointless, irrelevant gossip. He dreaded her constant demands for payment, her threats and complaints. He dreaded having to rack his brains for excuses, to evade the truth, to lie. No, rather than face all that, he would creep down the stairs like a cat and slip out unseen.

This evening, however, on coming out into the street, he became acutely aware of his fears.

But this evening, when he stepped out into the street, he became keenly aware of his fears.

“I want to attempt a thing like that and am frightened by these trifles,” he thought, with an odd smile. “Hm... yes, all is in a man’s hands and he lets it all slip from cowardice, that’s an axiom. It would be interesting to know what it is men are most afraid of. Taking a new step, uttering a new word is what they fear most.... But I am talking too much. It’s because I chatter that I do nothing. Or perhaps it is that I chatter because I do nothing. I’ve learned to chatter this last month, lying for days together in my den thinking... of Jack the Giant-killer. Why am I going there now? Am I capable of that? Is that serious? It is not serious at all. It’s simply a fantasy to amuse myself; a plaything! Yes, maybe it is a plaything.”

“I want to try something like that, yet these little things frighten me,” he thought, with a strange smile. “Hm... yes, everything is in a man’s hands, and he lets it all slip away out of cowardice. That’s a basic truth. It would be interesting to know what men fear most. Taking a new step or saying a new word is what they fear most.... But I’m talking too much. I do nothing because I chatter. Or perhaps I chatter because I do nothing. I’ve learned to chatter this past month, lying in my den for days on end, thinking... of Jack the Giant-killer. Why am I going there now? Am I capable of that? Is that serious? It isn’t serious at all. It’s just a fantasy to amuse myself, a plaything! Yes, maybe it’s a plaything.”

The heat in the street was terrible: and the airlessness, the bustle and the plaster, scaffolding, bricks, and dust all about him, and that special Petersburg stench, so familiar to all who are unable to get out of town in summer—all worked painfully upon the young man’s already overwrought nerves. The insufferable stench from the pot-houses, which are particularly numerous in that part of the town, and the drunken men whom he met continually, although it was a working day, completed the revolting misery of the picture. An expression of the profoundest disgust gleamed for a moment in the young man’s refined face. He was, by the way, exceptionally handsome, above the average in height, slim, well-built, with beautiful dark eyes and dark brown hair. Soon he sank into deep thought, or more accurately speaking into a complete blankness of mind; he walked along not observing what was about him and not caring to observe it. From time to time, he would mutter something, from the habit of talking to himself, to which he had just confessed. At these moments he would become conscious that his ideas were sometimes in a tangle and that he was very weak; for two days he had scarcely tasted food.

The heat in the street was terrible. The air was stifling, and all around him were crowds, plaster, scaffolding, bricks, and dust. There was also that distinct Petersburg stench, familiar to all who cannot leave town in summer. All of it painfully strained the young man’s already frayed nerves. The unbearable smell from the taverns, especially numerous in that part of town, completed the disgusting, miserable scene. So did the drunken men he constantly passed, even though it was a working day. A look of profound disgust flashed across the young man’s refined face. He was exceptionally handsome, above average height, slim and well-built, with beautiful dark eyes and dark brown hair. Soon he sank into deep thought, or rather, his mind went completely blank. He walked on without noticing his surroundings or caring to notice them. From time to time, he muttered something, out of the habit of talking to himself that he had just admitted to. At these moments, he became aware that his thoughts were sometimes tangled and that he was very weak. He had eaten almost nothing for two days.

He was so badly dressed that even a man accustomed to shabbiness would have been ashamed to be seen in the street in such rags. In that quarter of the town, however, scarcely any shortcoming in dress would have created surprise. Owing to the proximity of the Hay Market, the number of establishments of bad character, the preponderance of the trading and working class population crowded in these streets and alleys in the heart of Petersburg, types so various were to be seen in the streets that no figure, however queer, would have caused surprise. But there was such accumulated bitterness and contempt in the young man’s heart, that, in spite of all the fastidiousness of youth, he minded his rags least of all in the street. It was a different matter when he met with acquaintances or with former fellow students, whom, indeed, he disliked meeting at any time. And yet when a drunken man who, for some unknown reason, was being taken somewhere in a huge waggon dragged by a heavy dray horse, suddenly shouted at him as he drove past: “Hey there, German hatter!” bawling at the top of his voice and pointing at him—the young man stopped suddenly and clutched tremulously at his hat. It was a tall round hat from Zimmerman’s, but completely worn out, rusty with age, all torn and bespattered, brimless and bent on one side in a most unseemly fashion. Not shame, however, but quite another feeling akin to terror had overtaken him.

He was dressed so badly that even a man used to shabby clothes would have been ashamed to wear such rags in the street. In that part of town, however, almost nothing a person wore would have caused surprise. The Hay Market was nearby, and there were many disreputable establishments. Traders and workers crowded the streets and alleys in the heart of Petersburg. So many different types of people appeared there that no figure, however strange, would have caused surprise. But the young man’s heart was so full of bitterness and contempt that, despite the self-consciousness of youth, he cared least of all about his rags when he was in the street. It was different when he met acquaintances or former fellow students. He disliked meeting them at any time. Yet a drunken man suddenly shouted at him as he passed: “Hey there, German hatter!” The man was pointing at him and yelling at the top of his voice. For some unknown reason, he was being taken somewhere in a huge wagon pulled by a heavy dray horse. The young man stopped suddenly and clutched his hat with a trembling hand. It was a tall, round hat from Zimmerman’s, but it was completely worn out and rusty with age. It was torn and splattered all over, with no brim, and bent to one side in a most unseemly way. What came over him, however, was not shame but quite another feeling, something close to terror.

“I knew it,” he muttered in confusion, “I thought so! That’s the worst of all! Why, a stupid thing like this, the most trivial detail might spoil the whole plan. Yes, my hat is too noticeable.... It looks absurd and that makes it noticeable.... With my rags I ought to wear a cap, any sort of old pancake, but not this grotesque thing. Nobody wears such a hat, it would be noticed a mile off, it would be remembered.... What matters is that people would remember it, and that would give them a clue. For this business one should be as little conspicuous as possible.... Trifles, trifles are what matter! Why, it’s just such trifles that always ruin everything....”

“I knew it,” he muttered, flustered. “I thought so! That’s the worst part! A stupid thing like this, the tiniest detail, could ruin the whole plan. Yes, my hat stands out too much.... It looks ridiculous, and that makes it stand out.... With these rags, I should wear a cap, any old flat cap, but not this ridiculous thing. Nobody wears a hat like this. It would stand out a mile away, and people would remember it.... That’s what matters. People would remember the hat, and that would give them a clue. For this job, I should attract as little attention as possible.... Little things, little things are what matter! It’s just such little things that always ruin everything....”

He had not far to go; he knew indeed how many steps it was from the gate of his lodging house: exactly seven hundred and thirty. He had counted them once when he had been lost in dreams. At the time he had put no faith in those dreams and was only tantalising himself by their hideous but daring recklessness. Now, a month later, he had begun to look upon them differently, and, in spite of the monologues in which he jeered at his own impotence and indecision, he had involuntarily come to regard this “hideous” dream as an exploit to be attempted, although he still did not realise this himself. He was positively going now for a “rehearsal” of his project, and at every step his excitement grew more and more violent.

He did not have far to go. He knew exactly how many steps it was from the gate of his lodging house: seven hundred and thirty. He had counted them once while he was lost in dreams. At the time, he had put no faith in those dreams. He had only been tantalizing himself with how hideous, daring, and reckless they were. Now, a month later, he had begun to see them differently. He still mocked his own helplessness and indecision in long speeches to himself. Despite this, he had come to think of the “hideous” dream as a feat he might attempt. He had done so without meaning to, and he still did not realize it himself. He was actually going now for a “rehearsal” of his plan, and with every step his excitement grew more intense.

With a sinking heart and a nervous tremor, he went up to a huge house which on one side looked on to the canal, and on the other into the street. This house was let out in tiny tenements and was inhabited by working people of all kinds—tailors, locksmiths, cooks, Germans of sorts, girls picking up a living as best they could, petty clerks, etc. There was a continual coming and going through the two gates and in the two courtyards of the house. Three or four door-keepers were employed on the building. The young man was very glad to meet none of them, and at once slipped unnoticed through the door on the right, and up the staircase. It was a back staircase, dark and narrow, but he was familiar with it already, and knew his way, and he liked all these surroundings: in such darkness even the most inquisitive eyes were not to be dreaded.

With a sinking heart and trembling nerves, he approached a huge house. One side faced the canal, the other the street. The house was divided into tiny rented apartments. All kinds of working people lived there: tailors, locksmiths, cooks, Germans of various kinds, girls getting by however they could, petty clerks, and others. People were constantly coming and going through the house’s two gates and two courtyards. Three or four doorkeepers worked in the building. The young man was glad he met none of them. He slipped unnoticed through the door on the right and went up the stairs. It was a dark, narrow back staircase, but he already knew his way around. He liked these surroundings. In such darkness, he had no reason to fear even the most curious eyes.

“If I am so scared now, what would it be if it somehow came to pass that I were really going to do it?” he could not help asking himself as he reached the fourth storey. There his progress was barred by some porters who were engaged in moving furniture out of a flat. He knew that the flat had been occupied by a German clerk in the civil service, and his family. This German was moving out then, and so the fourth floor on this staircase would be untenanted except by the old woman. “That’s a good thing anyway,” he thought to himself, as he rang the bell of the old woman’s flat. The bell gave a faint tinkle as though it were made of tin and not of copper. The little flats in such houses always have bells that ring like that. He had forgotten the note of that bell, and now its peculiar tinkle seemed to remind him of something and to bring it clearly before him.... He started, his nerves were terribly overstrained by now. In a little while, the door was opened a tiny crack: the old woman eyed her visitor with evident distrust through the crack, and nothing could be seen but her little eyes, glittering in the darkness. But, seeing a number of people on the landing, she grew bolder, and opened the door wide. The young man stepped into the dark entry, which was partitioned off from the tiny kitchen. The old woman stood facing him in silence and looking inquiringly at him. She was a diminutive, withered up old woman of sixty, with sharp malignant eyes and a sharp little nose. Her colourless, somewhat grizzled hair was thickly smeared with oil, and she wore no kerchief over it. Round her thin long neck, which looked like a hen’s leg, was knotted some sort of flannel rag, and, in spite of the heat, there hung flapping on her shoulders, a mangy fur cape, yellow with age. The old woman coughed and groaned at every instant. The young man must have looked at her with a rather peculiar expression, for a gleam of mistrust came into her eyes again.

“If I’m so scared now, what would it be like if I somehow really were going to do it?” he could not help asking himself as he reached the fourth floor. There, porters moving furniture out of an apartment blocked his way. He knew that a German civil servant and his family had lived there. The German was moving out, so only the old woman would be left on the fourth floor of this stairwell. “That’s a good thing anyway,” he thought as he rang the bell at her apartment. It gave a faint tinkle, as though it were made of tin rather than copper. The small apartments in such buildings always have bells that ring like that. He had forgotten the sound of the bell. Now its peculiar tinkle seemed to remind him of something and bring it clearly before him.... He started. By now, his nerves were terribly strained. A little later, the door opened a tiny crack. The old woman peered at her visitor through it with obvious distrust. He could see nothing but her little eyes, glittering in the darkness. But when she saw several people on the landing, she grew bolder and opened the door wide. The young man stepped into the dark entryway, which was separated from the tiny kitchen by a partition. The old woman stood facing him in silence, looking at him questioningly. She was a tiny, shriveled woman of sixty, with sharp, malicious eyes and a sharp little nose. Her colorless, somewhat gray hair was heavily coated with oil, and she wore no kerchief over it. Some kind of flannel rag was knotted around her long, thin neck, which looked like a chicken’s leg. Despite the heat, a ragged fur cape, yellow with age, hung loosely from her shoulders. The old woman coughed and groaned constantly. The young man must have looked at her rather strangely, for a gleam of distrust returned to her eyes.

“Raskolnikov, a student, I came here a month ago,” the young man made haste to mutter, with a half bow, remembering that he ought to be more polite.

“Raskolnikov, a student. I came here a month ago,” the young man hurriedly muttered, with a slight bow. He remembered that he should be more polite.

“I remember, my good sir, I remember quite well your coming here,” the old woman said distinctly, still keeping her inquiring eyes on his face.

“I remember, sir. I remember very well that you came here,” the old woman said clearly, still studying his face.

“And here... I am again on the same errand,” Raskolnikov continued, a little disconcerted and surprised at the old woman’s mistrust. “Perhaps she is always like that though, only I did not notice it the other time,” he thought with an uneasy feeling.

“And here... I am again on the same errand,” Raskolnikov continued. He was a little unsettled and surprised by the old woman’s mistrust. “Perhaps she is always like that, though I didn’t notice it last time,” he thought uneasily.

The old woman paused, as though hesitating; then stepped on one side, and pointing to the door of the room, she said, letting her visitor pass in front of her:

The old woman paused, as if hesitating. Then she stepped aside and pointed to the door of the room. She let her visitor go in front of her and said:

“Step in, my good sir.”

“Come in, sir.”

The little room into which the young man walked, with yellow paper on the walls, geraniums and muslin curtains in the windows, was brightly lighted up at that moment by the setting sun.

The young man walked into a small room with yellow wallpaper. Geraniums and muslin curtains filled the windows. The setting sun brightly lit the room.

“So the sun will shine like this then too!” flashed as it were by chance through Raskolnikov’s mind, and with a rapid glance he scanned everything in the room, trying as far as possible to notice and remember its arrangement. But there was nothing special in the room. The furniture, all very old and of yellow wood, consisted of a sofa with a huge bent wooden back, an oval table in front of the sofa, a dressing-table with a looking-glass fixed on it between the windows, chairs along the walls and two or three half-penny prints in yellow frames, representing German damsels with birds in their hands—that was all. In the corner a light was burning before a small ikon. Everything was very clean; the floor and the furniture were brightly polished; everything shone.

“So the sun will shine like this then too!” The thought flashed through Raskolnikov’s mind, almost by chance. He quickly glanced around the room, trying to notice and remember as much of its arrangement as possible. But there was nothing special about the room. The furniture was all very old and made of yellow wood. There was a sofa with a huge curved wooden back and an oval table in front of it. Between the windows stood a dressing table with a mirror fixed to it. Chairs lined the walls. There were also two or three cheap prints in yellow frames, showing German young women holding birds. That was all. In the corner, a light burned before a small icon. Everything was very clean. The floor and furniture were brightly polished. Everything shone.

“Lizaveta’s work,” thought the young man. There was not a speck of dust to be seen in the whole flat.

“Lizaveta’s work,” the young man thought. There wasn’t a speck of dust in the whole apartment.

“It’s in the houses of spiteful old widows that one finds such cleanliness,” Raskolnikov thought again, and he stole a curious glance at the cotton curtain over the door leading into another tiny room, in which stood the old woman’s bed and chest of drawers and into which he had never looked before. These two rooms made up the whole flat.

“You find this kind of cleanliness in the homes of spiteful old widows,” Raskolnikov thought again. He glanced curiously at the cotton curtain covering the door to another tiny room. The old woman’s bed and chest of drawers were in that room. He had never looked inside it before. Those two rooms made up the whole apartment.

“What do you want?” the old woman said severely, coming into the room and, as before, standing in front of him so as to look him straight in the face.

“What do you want?” the old woman asked sternly as she entered the room. As before, she stood in front of him so she could look him straight in the face.

“I’ve brought something to pawn here,” and he drew out of his pocket an old-fashioned flat silver watch, on the back of which was engraved a globe; the chain was of steel.

“I’ve brought something to pawn here,” he said, pulling an old-fashioned, flat silver watch from his pocket. A globe was engraved on the back, and the chain was steel.

“But the time is up for your last pledge. The month was up the day before yesterday.”

“But the time is up for your last pawned item. The month ended the day before yesterday.”

“I will bring you the interest for another month; wait a little.”

“I'll bring you the interest for another month. Just wait a little.”

“But that’s for me to do as I please, my good sir, to wait or to sell your pledge at once.”

“But it’s up to me, sir, whether to wait or sell your pledged item at once.”

“How much will you give me for the watch, Alyona Ivanovna?”

“How much will you give me for the watch, Alyona Ivanovna?”

“You come with such trifles, my good sir, it’s scarcely worth anything. I gave you two roubles last time for your ring and one could buy it quite new at a jeweler’s for a rouble and a half.”

“You bring me such little things, sir. They’re hardly worth anything. I gave you two roubles for your ring last time, and you could buy it new at a jeweler’s for one and a half roubles.”

“Give me four roubles for it, I shall redeem it, it was my father’s. I shall be getting some money soon.”

“Give me four roubles for it. I’ll buy it back. It was my father’s. I’ll be getting some money soon.”

“A rouble and a half, and interest in advance, if you like!”

“A rouble and a half, with interest paid upfront, if you like!”

“A rouble and a half!” cried the young man.

“A rouble and a half!” the young man shouted.

“Please yourself”—and the old woman handed him back the watch. The young man took it, and was so angry that he was on the point of going away; but checked himself at once, remembering that there was nowhere else he could go, and that he had had another object also in coming.

“Do as you like.” The old woman handed him back the watch. The young man took it, so angry that he almost walked away. But he stopped himself at once. He remembered that he had nowhere else to go and that he had another reason for coming.

“Hand it over,” he said roughly.

“Hand it over,” he said roughly.

The old woman fumbled in her pocket for her keys, and disappeared behind the curtain into the other room. The young man, left standing alone in the middle of the room, listened inquisitively, thinking. He could hear her unlocking the chest of drawers.

The old woman searched her pocket for her keys and disappeared behind the curtain into the other room. Left alone in the middle of the room, the young man listened with curiosity as he thought. He could hear her unlocking the chest of drawers.

“It must be the top drawer,” he reflected. “So she carries the keys in a pocket on the right. All in one bunch on a steel ring.... And there’s one key there, three times as big as all the others, with deep notches; that can’t be the key of the chest of drawers... then there must be some other chest or strong-box... that’s worth knowing. Strong-boxes always have keys like that... but how degrading it all is.”

“It must be the top drawer,” he thought. “So she carries the keys in her right pocket. They’re all together on a steel ring.... And one key is three times as big as the others, with deep notches. That can’t be the key to the chest of drawers... so there must be another chest or a strongbox... that’s worth knowing. Strongboxes always have keys like that... but how degrading all this is.”

The old woman came back.

The old woman came back.

“Here, sir: as we say ten copecks the rouble a month, so I must take fifteen copecks from a rouble and a half for the month in advance. But for the two roubles I lent you before, you owe me now twenty copecks on the same reckoning in advance. That makes thirty-five copecks altogether. So I must give you a rouble and fifteen copecks for the watch. Here it is.”

“Here, sir. The rate is ten copecks per rouble per month. So I have to take fifteen copecks in advance for a month on the rouble and a half. But you also owe me twenty copecks in advance on the two roubles I lent you before, at the same rate. That comes to thirty-five copecks in all. So I have to give you one rouble and fifteen copecks for the watch. Here it is.”

“What! only a rouble and fifteen copecks now!”

“What! Only one rouble and fifteen copecks now!”

“Just so.”

“Exactly.”

The young man did not dispute it and took the money. He looked at the old woman, and was in no hurry to get away, as though there was still something he wanted to say or to do, but he did not himself quite know what.

The young man did not argue and took the money. He looked at the old woman and was in no hurry to leave. It was as though he still wanted to say or do something, but he did not quite know what.

“I may be bringing you something else in a day or two, Alyona Ivanovna—a valuable thing—silver—a cigarette-box, as soon as I get it back from a friend...” he broke off in confusion.

“I may bring you something else in a day or two, Alyona Ivanovna. Something valuable, a silver cigarette case, as soon as I get it back from a friend...” He broke off in confusion.

“Well, we will talk about it then, sir.”

“Well, we'll talk about it then, sir.”

“Good-bye—are you always at home alone, your sister is not here with you?” He asked her as casually as possible as he went out into the passage.

“Goodbye. Are you always home alone? Your sister isn't here with you?” he asked as casually as he could as he stepped into the hall.

“What business is she of yours, my good sir?”

“What is she to you, sir?”

“Oh, nothing particular, I simply asked. You are too quick.... Good-day, Alyona Ivanovna.”

“Oh, nothing in particular. I was just asking. You’re too quick.... Goodbye, Alyona Ivanovna.”

Raskolnikov went out in complete confusion. This confusion became more and more intense. As he went down the stairs, he even stopped short, two or three times, as though suddenly struck by some thought. When he was in the street he cried out, “Oh, God, how loathsome it all is! and can I, can I possibly.... No, it’s nonsense, it’s rubbish!” he added resolutely. “And how could such an atrocious thing come into my head? What filthy things my heart is capable of. Yes, filthy above all, disgusting, loathsome, loathsome!—and for a whole month I’ve been....” But no words, no exclamations, could express his agitation. The feeling of intense repulsion, which had begun to oppress and torture his heart while he was on his way to the old woman, had by now reached such a pitch and had taken such a definite form that he did not know what to do with himself to escape from his wretchedness. He walked along the pavement like a drunken man, regardless of the passers-by, and jostling against them, and only came to his senses when he was in the next street. Looking round, he noticed that he was standing close to a tavern which was entered by steps leading from the pavement to the basement. At that instant two drunken men came out at the door, and abusing and supporting one another, they mounted the steps. Without stopping to think, Raskolnikov went down the steps at once. Till that moment he had never been into a tavern, but now he felt giddy and was tormented by a burning thirst. He longed for a drink of cold beer, and attributed his sudden weakness to the want of food. He sat down at a sticky little table in a dark and dirty corner; ordered some beer, and eagerly drank off the first glassful. At once he felt easier; and his thoughts became clear.

Raskolnikov went out in complete confusion, and his confusion only grew. As he went down the stairs, he stopped two or three times, as if suddenly struck by a thought. In the street he cried out, “Oh, God, how disgusting it all is! And can I, can I possibly.... No, it’s nonsense, it’s rubbish!” he added firmly. “How could such a horrible thing come into my head? What filthy things my heart is capable of. Yes, filthy above all, disgusting, revolting, revolting! And for a whole month I’ve been....” But no words or exclamations could express his distress. A feeling of intense disgust had begun to torment him on his way to the old woman. By now it had grown so strong and taken such a clear form that he did not know how to escape his misery. He walked along the pavement like a drunk, paying no attention to the people he bumped into. He only came to his senses in the next street. Looking around, he saw that he was standing near a tavern. Steps led down to its basement entrance from the pavement. Just then, two drunken men came out. They climbed the steps, supporting and insulting each other. Without stopping to think, Raskolnikov went straight down the steps. He had never been in a tavern before. But now he felt dizzy and was tormented by a burning thirst. He longed for a cold beer and blamed his sudden weakness on his lack of food. He sat down at a sticky little table in a dark, dirty corner. He ordered some beer and eagerly drank the first glass. At once he felt better, and his thoughts became clear.

“All that’s nonsense,” he said hopefully, “and there is nothing in it all to worry about! It’s simply physical derangement. Just a glass of beer, a piece of dry bread—and in one moment the brain is stronger, the mind is clearer and the will is firm! Phew, how utterly petty it all is!”

“All that’s nonsense,” he said hopefully, “and there’s nothing in it to worry about! It’s just a physical problem. A glass of beer and a piece of dry bread, and in a moment the brain is stronger, the mind clearer, and the will firmer! Phew, how utterly petty it all is!”

But in spite of this scornful reflection, he was by now looking cheerful as though he were suddenly set free from a terrible burden: and he gazed round in a friendly way at the people in the room. But even at that moment he had a dim foreboding that this happier frame of mind was also not normal.

But despite this scornful thought, he now looked cheerful, as if he had suddenly been freed from a terrible burden. He looked around the room at the people in a friendly way. But even then, he had a vague sense that this happier mood was not normal either.

There were few people at the time in the tavern. Besides the two drunken men he had met on the steps, a group consisting of about five men and a girl with a concertina had gone out at the same time. Their departure left the room quiet and rather empty. The persons still in the tavern were a man who appeared to be an artisan, drunk, but not extremely so, sitting before a pot of beer, and his companion, a huge, stout man with a grey beard, in a short full-skirted coat. He was very drunk: and had dropped asleep on the bench; every now and then, he began as though in his sleep, cracking his fingers, with his arms wide apart and the upper part of his body bounding about on the bench, while he hummed some meaningless refrain, trying to recall some such lines as these:

There were few people in the tavern at the time. Two drunken men he had met on the steps had gone out. A group of about five men and a girl with a concertina had left at the same time. Their departure left the room quiet and rather empty. Two men remained in the tavern. One appeared to be a craftsman. He was drunk, but not terribly so, and sat before a pot of beer. His companion was a huge, stout man with a gray beard and a short, full-skirted coat. He was very drunk and had fallen asleep on the bench. Now and then, seemingly in his sleep, he would spread his arms and crack his fingers. His upper body bounced about on the bench as he hummed a meaningless refrain, trying to remember lines something like these:

Or suddenly waking up again:

Or suddenly waking up again:

But no one shared his enjoyment: his silent companion looked with positive hostility and mistrust at all these manifestations. There was another man in the room who looked somewhat like a retired government clerk. He was sitting apart, now and then sipping from his pot and looking round at the company. He, too, appeared to be in some agitation.

But no one shared his enjoyment. His silent companion watched all these displays with open hostility and mistrust. Another man in the room looked somewhat like a retired government clerk. He sat apart, occasionally sipping from his pot and looking around at the others. He, too, seemed somewhat agitated.