Chapter 6

Later on Raskolnikov happened to find out why the huckster and his wife had invited Lizaveta. It was a very ordinary matter and there was nothing exceptional about it. A family who had come to the town and been reduced to poverty were selling their household goods and clothes, all women’s things. As the things would have fetched little in the market, they were looking for a dealer. This was Lizaveta’s business. She undertook such jobs and was frequently employed, as she was very honest and always fixed a fair price and stuck to it. She spoke as a rule little and, as we have said already, she was very submissive and timid.

Later, Raskolnikov happened to find out why the merchant and his wife had invited Lizaveta. The reason was quite ordinary. There was nothing unusual about it. A family who had come to town had fallen into poverty and were selling their household goods and clothes. All the items were women’s things. Because they would have brought in little at the market, the family was looking for a dealer. This was the kind of business Lizaveta did. She took on such jobs and was often hired because she was very honest. She always set a fair price and stuck to it. She usually spoke little and, as we have already said, was very submissive and timid.

But Raskolnikov had become superstitious of late. The traces of superstition remained in him long after, and were almost ineradicable. And in all this he was always afterwards disposed to see something strange and mysterious, as it were, the presence of some peculiar influences and coincidences. In the previous winter a student he knew called Pokorev, who had left for Harkov, had chanced in conversation to give him the address of Alyona Ivanovna, the old pawnbroker, in case he might want to pawn anything. For a long while he did not go to her, for he had lessons and managed to get along somehow. Six weeks ago he had remembered the address; he had two articles that could be pawned: his father’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. When he found the old woman he had felt an insurmountable repulsion for her at the first glance, though he knew nothing special about her. He got two roubles from her and went into a miserable little tavern on his way home. He asked for tea, sat down and sank into deep thought. A strange idea was pecking at his brain like a chicken in the egg, and very, very much absorbed him.

But Raskolnikov had become superstitious lately. Traces of that superstition remained with him long afterward and were almost impossible to erase. He would always look back on all this as something strange and mysterious, as if unusual influences and coincidences had been at work. The previous winter, a student he knew named Pokorev had happened to give him an address in conversation. It was the address of Alyona Ivanovna, the old pawnbroker, in case Raskolnikov ever wanted to pawn anything. Pokorev had since left for Harkov. For a long time, Raskolnikov did not go to her. He had students to teach and managed to get by somehow. Six weeks ago, he had remembered the address. He had two things he could pawn: his father’s old silver watch and a small gold ring with three red stones. His sister had given him the ring when they parted. He decided to take the ring. When he found the old woman, he felt an overwhelming disgust at the first sight of her. Yet he knew nothing in particular about her. He got two roubles from her and stopped at a miserable little tavern on his way home. He asked for tea, sat down, and sank into deep thought. A strange idea was pecking at his brain like a chicken inside an egg, and it absorbed him completely.

Almost beside him at the next table there was sitting a student, whom he did not know and had never seen, and with him a young officer. They had played a game of billiards and began drinking tea. All at once he heard the student mention to the officer the pawnbroker Alyona Ivanovna and give him her address. This of itself seemed strange to Raskolnikov; he had just come from her and here at once heard her name. Of course it was a chance, but he could not shake off a very extraordinary impression, and here someone seemed to be speaking expressly for him; the student began telling his friend various details about Alyona Ivanovna.

At the next table, almost beside him, sat a student he had never seen before, with a young officer. They had played billiards and were drinking tea. Suddenly, he heard the student mention the pawnbroker Alyona Ivanovna to the officer and give him her address. This struck Raskolnikov as strange. He had just come from her and was already hearing her name again. Of course, it was a coincidence, but he could not shake a very strange feeling. It seemed as if someone there were speaking just for him. The student began telling his friend various details about Alyona Ivanovna.

“She is first-rate,” he said. “You can always get money from her. She is as rich as a Jew, she can give you five thousand roubles at a time and she is not above taking a pledge for a rouble. Lots of our fellows have had dealings with her. But she is an awful old harpy....”

“She’s first-rate,” he said. “You can always get money from her. She’s as rich as a Jew. She can give you five thousand roubles at a time, but she’ll even take something in pawn for one rouble. Lots of our fellows have dealt with her. But she’s an awful old harpy....”

And he began describing how spiteful and uncertain she was, how if you were only a day late with your interest the pledge was lost; how she gave a quarter of the value of an article and took five and even seven percent a month on it and so on. The student chattered on, saying that she had a sister Lizaveta, whom the wretched little creature was continually beating, and kept in complete bondage like a small child, though Lizaveta was at least six feet high.

He began describing how spiteful and unpredictable she was. If you were even one day late paying interest, you lost the item you had pawned. She lent a quarter of an item’s value and charged five or even seven percent interest a month, and so on. The student chattered on, saying she had a sister named Lizaveta. The wretched little creature constantly beat Lizaveta and kept her in complete bondage, like a small child, though Lizaveta was at least six feet tall.

“There’s a phenomenon for you,” cried the student and he laughed.

“There’s something unusual for you,” the student exclaimed, laughing.

They began talking about Lizaveta. The student spoke about her with a peculiar relish and was continually laughing and the officer listened with great interest and asked him to send Lizaveta to do some mending for him. Raskolnikov did not miss a word and learned everything about her. Lizaveta was younger than the old woman and was her half-sister, being the child of a different mother. She was thirty-five. She worked day and night for her sister, and besides doing the cooking and the washing, she did sewing and worked as a charwoman and gave her sister all she earned. She did not dare to accept an order or job of any kind without her sister’s permission. The old woman had already made her will, and Lizaveta knew of it, and by this will she would not get a farthing; nothing but the movables, chairs and so on; all the money was left to a monastery in the province of N——, that prayers might be said for her in perpetuity. Lizaveta was of lower rank than her sister, unmarried and awfully uncouth in appearance, remarkably tall with long feet that looked as if they were bent outwards. She always wore battered goatskin shoes, and was clean in her person. What the student expressed most surprise and amusement about was the fact that Lizaveta was continually with child.

They began talking about Lizaveta. The student spoke about her with peculiar relish and kept laughing. The officer listened with great interest and asked the student to send Lizaveta to do some mending for him. Raskolnikov did not miss a word and learned everything about her. Lizaveta was younger than the old woman. She was her half-sister, the daughter of a different mother. She was thirty-five. She worked day and night for her sister. Besides cooking and washing, she sewed and worked as a cleaning woman. She gave her sister everything she earned. She did not dare accept an order or job of any kind without her sister’s permission. The old woman had already made her will, and Lizaveta knew about it. Under the will, Lizaveta would not get a penny, only the movable possessions, chairs and so on. All the money was left to a monastery in the province of N——. The old woman wanted prayers to be said for her there forever. Lizaveta was of lower social rank than her sister. She was unmarried and terribly awkward in appearance. She was remarkably tall, with long feet that looked as if they bent outward. She always wore worn-out goatskin shoes and kept herself clean. What surprised and amused the student most was that Lizaveta was constantly pregnant.

“But you say she is hideous?” observed the officer.

“But you say she’s ugly?” the officer said.

“Yes, she is so dark-skinned and looks like a soldier dressed up, but you know she is not at all hideous. She has such a good-natured face and eyes. Strikingly so. And the proof of it is that lots of people are attracted by her. She is such a soft, gentle creature, ready to put up with anything, always willing, willing to do anything. And her smile is really very sweet.”

“Yes, she has dark skin and looks like a soldier dressed up, but she isn’t at all ugly. Her face and eyes are strikingly kind. The proof is that lots of people are attracted to her. She’s so soft and gentle, ready to put up with anything, always willing, willing to do anything. And her smile is really very sweet.”

“You seem to find her attractive yourself,” laughed the officer.

“You seem to find her attractive yourself,” the officer laughed.

“From her queerness. No, I’ll tell you what. I could kill that damned old woman and make off with her money, I assure you, without the faintest conscience-prick,” the student added with warmth. The officer laughed again while Raskolnikov shuddered. How strange it was!

“Because she’s strange. No, let me tell you. I could kill that damned old woman and take her money, I assure you, without feeling the slightest guilt,” the student added passionately. The officer laughed 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 simply useless but doing actual mischief, who has not an idea what she is living for herself, and who will die in a day or two in any case. You understand? You understand?”

“Listen, I want to ask you a serious question,” the student said heatedly. “I was joking, of course, but look. On one side, we have a stupid, senseless, worthless, spiteful, sick, horrible old woman. She’s not just useless, she actually causes harm. She has no idea what she’s living for, and she’ll die in a day or two anyway. Do you understand? Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” answered the officer, watching his excited companion attentively.

“Yes, yes, I understand,” the officer replied, watching his excited companion closely.

“Well, listen then. On the other side, fresh young lives thrown away for want of help and by thousands, on every side! A hundred thousand good deeds could be done and helped, on that old woman’s money which will be buried in a monastery! Hundreds, thousands perhaps, might be set on the right path; dozens of families saved from destitution, from ruin, from vice, from the Lock hospitals—and all with her money. Kill her, take her money and with the help of it devote oneself to the service of humanity and the good of all. What do you think, would not one tiny crime be wiped out by thousands of good deeds? For one life thousands would be saved from corruption and decay. One death, and a hundred lives in exchange—it’s simple arithmetic! Besides, what value has the life of that 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 fact because the old woman is doing harm. She is wearing out the lives of others; the other day she bit Lizaveta’s finger out of spite; it almost had to be amputated.”

“Well, listen. On the other side, thousands of young lives are being wasted everywhere because they lack help! That old woman’s money could do a hundred thousand good deeds and help people. Instead, it will be buried in a monastery! Hundreds, perhaps thousands, might be put on the right path. Dozens of families could be saved from poverty, ruin, vice, and the Lock hospitals. And all with her money. Kill her, take her money, and use it to devote yourself to serving humanity and the good of all. What do you think? Wouldn’t thousands of good deeds wipe out one tiny crime? For one life, thousands would be saved from corruption and decay. One death for a hundred lives. It’s simple arithmetic! Besides, what is the life of that sickly, stupid, bad-tempered old woman worth in the balance of existence? No more than the life of a louse or a black beetle. Less, in fact, because the old woman does harm. She wears out other people’s lives. The other day, she bit Lizaveta’s finger out of spite. It almost had to be amputated.”

“Of course she does not deserve to live,” remarked the officer, “but there it is, it’s nature.”

“Of course she doesn’t deserve to live,” said the officer, “but that’s nature for you.”

“Oh, well, brother, but we have to correct and direct nature, and, but for that, we should drown in an ocean of prejudice. But for that, there would never have been a single great man. They talk of duty, conscience—I don’t want to say anything against duty and conscience;—but the point is, what do we mean by them? Stay, I have another question to ask you. Listen!”

“Oh, well, brother, we have to correct and guide nature. Otherwise, we would drown in an ocean of prejudice. Without that, there would never have been a single great man. People talk about duty and conscience. I don’t want to say anything against them, but what do we mean by them? Wait, I have another question for you. Listen!”

“No, you stay, I’ll ask you a question. Listen!”

“No, stay. I’ll ask you a question. Listen!”

“Well?”

“Well?”

“You are talking and speechifying away, but tell me, would you kill the old woman yourself?”

“You keep talking and making speeches, but tell me, would you kill the old woman yourself?”

“Of course not! I was only arguing the justice of it.... It’s nothing to do with me....”

“Of course not! I was only arguing about whether it was fair.... It has nothing to do with me....”

“But I think, if you would not do it yourself, there’s no justice about it.... Let us have another game.”

“But I think if you wouldn’t do it yourself, there’s no justice in it.... Let’s play another game.”

Raskolnikov was violently agitated. Of course, it was all ordinary youthful talk and thought, such as he had often heard before in different forms and on different themes. But why had he happened to hear such a discussion and such ideas at the very moment when his own brain was just conceiving... the very same ideas? And why, just at the moment when he had brought away the embryo of his idea from the old woman had he dropped at once upon a conversation about her? This coincidence always seemed strange to him. This trivial talk in a tavern had an immense influence on him in his later action; as though there had really been in it something preordained, some guiding hint....

Raskolnikov was deeply shaken. Of course, it was all ordinary talk and thinking among young people. He had often heard it before, in different forms and on different subjects. But why had he heard such a discussion and such ideas just as he was beginning to form... the very same ideas? And why had he come upon a conversation about the old woman just after leaving her with the first seed of his idea? This coincidence always seemed strange to him. The trivial tavern conversation had a huge influence on what he did later. It was as though the conversation really had been fated, a hint to guide him....

On returning from the Hay Market he flung himself on the sofa and sat for a whole hour without stirring. Meanwhile it got dark; he had no candle and, indeed, it did not occur to him to light up. He could never recollect whether he had been thinking about anything at that time. At last he was conscious of his former fever and shivering, and he realised with relief that he could lie down on the sofa. Soon heavy, leaden sleep came over him, as it were crushing him.

When he returned from the Hay Market, he flung himself onto the sofa and sat there without moving for an hour. Meanwhile, it grew dark. He had no candle, and it did not even occur to him to light one. He could never remember whether he had been thinking about anything during that time. At last he felt his fever and shivering return. He realized with relief that he could lie down on the sofa. Soon a heavy, leaden sleep came over him, as if crushing him.

He slept an extraordinarily long time and without dreaming. Nastasya, coming into his room at ten o’clock the next morning, had difficulty in rousing him. She brought him in tea and bread. The tea was again the second brew and again in her own tea-pot.

He slept for an extraordinarily long time without dreaming. Nastasya came into his room at ten the next morning and had trouble waking him. She brought him tea and bread. Once again, the tea was a second brew, served in her own teapot.

“My goodness, how he sleeps!” she cried indignantly. “And he is always asleep.”

“My goodness, he sleeps so soundly!” she cried indignantly. “And he’s always asleep.”

He got up with an effort. His head ached, he stood up, took a turn in his garret and sank back on the sofa again.

He struggled to get up. His head ached. He stood, paced around his attic room, and sank back onto the sofa.

“Going to sleep again,” cried Nastasya. “Are you ill, eh?”

“Going to sleep again?” Nastasya cried. “Are you sick, huh?”

He made no reply.

He didn't reply.

“Do you want some tea?”

“Do you want some tea?”

“Afterwards,” he said with an effort, closing his eyes again and turning to the wall.

“Later,” he said with effort, closing his eyes again and turning toward the wall.

Nastasya stood over him.

Nastasya stood over him.

“Perhaps he really is ill,” she said, turned and went out. She came in again at two o’clock with soup. He was lying as before. The tea stood untouched. Nastasya felt positively offended and began wrathfully rousing him.

“Perhaps he really is ill,” she said. She turned and went out. She came back at two o’clock with soup. He was lying just as before. The tea was untouched. Nastasya felt genuinely offended and began to wake him angrily.

“Why are you lying like a log?” she shouted, looking at him with repulsion.

“Why are you lying there like a log?” she shouted, looking at him with disgust.

He got up, and sat down again, but said nothing and stared at the floor.

He stood 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?”

“Are you sick or not?” Nastasya asked. Again, she got no answer. After a pause, she said, “You should go outside and get some fresh air. Will you eat it or not?”

“Afterwards,” he said weakly. “You can go.”

“Later,” he said weakly. “You can go.”

And he motioned her out.

And he gestured for her to leave.

She remained a little longer, looked at him with compassion and went out.

She stayed a little longer, looked at him with compassion, and left.

A few minutes afterwards, he raised his eyes and looked for a long while at the tea and the soup. Then he took the bread, took up a spoon and began to eat.

A few minutes later, he looked up and stared at the tea and soup for a long time. Then he took the bread, picked up a spoon, and began to eat.

He ate a little, three or four spoonfuls, without appetite, as it were mechanically. His head ached less. After his meal he stretched himself on 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 such strange day-dreams; in one, that kept recurring, he fancied that he was in Africa, in Egypt, in some sort of oasis. The caravan was resting, the camels were peacefully lying down; the palms stood all round in a complete circle; all the party were at dinner. But he was drinking water from a spring which flowed gurgling close by. And it was so cool, it was wonderful, wonderful, blue, cold water running among the parti-coloured stones and over the clean sand which glistened here and there like gold.... 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 the sofa. He crept on tiptoe to the door, stealthily opened it and began listening on the staircase. His heart beat terribly. But all was quiet on the stairs as if everyone was asleep.... It seemed to him strange and monstrous that he could have slept in such forgetfulness from the previous day and had done nothing, had prepared nothing yet.... And meanwhile perhaps it had struck six. And his drowsiness and stupefaction were followed by an extraordinary, feverish, as it were distracted haste. But the preparations to be made were few. He concentrated all his energies on thinking of everything and forgetting nothing; and his heart kept beating and thumping so that he could hardly breathe. First he had to make a noose and sew it into his overcoat—a work of a moment. He rummaged under his pillow and picked out amongst the linen stuffed away under it, a worn out, old unwashed shirt. From its rags he tore a long strip, a couple of inches wide and about sixteen inches long. He folded this strip in two, took off his wide, strong summer overcoat of some stout cotton material (his only outer garment) and began sewing the two ends of the rag on the inside, under the left armhole. His hands shook as he sewed, but he did it successfully so that nothing showed outside when he put the coat on again. The needle and thread he had got ready long before and they lay on his table in a piece of paper. As for the noose, it was a very ingenious device of his own; the noose was intended for the axe. It was impossible for him to carry the axe through the street in his hands. And if hidden under his coat he would still have had to support it with his hand, which would have been noticeable. Now he had only to put the head of the axe in the noose, and it would hang quietly under his arm on the inside. Putting his hand in his coat pocket, he could hold the end of the handle all the way, so that it did not swing; and as the coat was very full, a regular sack in fact, it could not be seen from outside that he was holding something with the hand that was in the pocket. This noose, too, he had designed a fortnight before.

He ate a little, three or four spoonfuls, without appetite, almost mechanically. His head ached less. After the meal, he stretched out on the sofa again, but now he could not sleep. He lay still, his face buried in the pillow. Strange daydreams haunted him. In one that kept returning, he imagined he was in Africa, in Egypt, in some kind of oasis. The caravan was resting, and the camels lay peacefully on the ground. Palm trees stood all around them in a complete circle, and everyone was eating dinner. But he was drinking water from a spring that gurgled nearby. It was so cool, wonderful, wonderful blue, cold water. It ran among the multicolored stones and over clean sand that glistened here and there like gold.... Suddenly he heard a clock strike. He started, came to himself, and raised his head. He looked out the window and saw how late it was. He jumped up, wide awake, as if someone had pulled him off the sofa. He crept on tiptoe to the door, opened it quietly, and listened to the staircase. His heart was beating terribly. But all was quiet on the stairs, as if everyone was asleep.... It seemed strange and monstrous that he had slept since the day before, forgetting everything. He had done nothing and had prepared nothing yet.... And by now, perhaps it had struck six. His drowsiness and stupor gave way to an extraordinary, feverish, almost frantic haste. But there was little to prepare. He concentrated all his energy on thinking of everything and forgetting nothing. His heart kept beating and pounding so hard that he could hardly breathe. First he had to make a loop and sew it inside his overcoat. It would only take a moment. He rummaged under his pillow and found a worn-out, unwashed old shirt among the linen stuffed there. From its rags he tore a long strip, a couple of inches wide and about sixteen inches long. He folded the strip in two and took off his wide, sturdy summer overcoat. It was made of thick cotton and was his only outer garment. He began sewing the two ends of the strip inside the coat, under the left armhole. His hands shook as he sewed, but he managed it. When he put the coat back on, nothing showed on the outside. He had got the needle and thread ready long before, and they lay on his table in a piece of paper. The loop was a very ingenious device of his own, intended to hold the axe. He could not carry the axe through the street in his hands. Even if he hid it under his coat, he would still have to support it with his hand. That would be noticeable. Now he only had to put the head of the axe in the loop. It would hang quietly inside the coat, under his arm. With his hand in his coat pocket, he could hold the end of the handle all the way. That would keep it from swinging. The coat was so loose, a regular sack, in fact, that no one could see he was holding something inside the pocket. He had designed this loop two weeks earlier.

When he had finished with this, he thrust his hand into a little opening between his sofa and the floor, fumbled in the left corner and drew out the pledge, which he had got ready long before and hidden there. This pledge was, however, only a smoothly planed piece of wood the size and thickness of a silver cigarette case. He picked up this piece of wood in one of his wanderings in a courtyard where there was some sort of a workshop. Afterwards he had added to the wood a thin smooth piece of 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 round them; then wrapped them carefully and daintily in clean white paper and tied up the parcel so that it would be very difficult to untie it. This was in order to divert the attention of the old woman for a time, while she was trying to undo the knot, and so to gain a moment. The iron strip was added to give weight, so that the woman might not guess the first minute that the “thing” was made of wood. All this had been stored by him beforehand under the sofa. He had only just got the pledge out when he heard someone suddenly shout in the yard.

When he had finished, he reached into a small gap between his sofa and the floor. He felt around in the left corner and pulled out the pledge. He had prepared it long before and hidden it there. The pledge, however, was only a smoothly planed piece of wood, the size and thickness of a silver cigarette case. He had picked it up during one of his wanderings, in a courtyard with some kind of workshop. Later, he added a thin, smooth piece of iron, which he had picked up in the street around the same time. The iron was slightly smaller than the wood. He laid it on the wood and bound the two pieces tightly together, winding thread around them again and again. Then he wrapped them carefully and neatly in clean white paper and tied the parcel so it would be very hard to untie. He meant to distract the old woman while she tried to undo the knot, giving himself a moment. The iron strip was there to add weight, so she would not immediately guess that the “thing” was made of wood. He had stored all of this under the sofa beforehand. He had only just taken out the pledge when he heard someone suddenly shout in the yard.

“It struck six long ago.”

“Six o'clock struck a long time ago.”

“Long ago! My God!”

“Long ago! My God!”

He rushed to the door, listened, caught up his hat and began to descend his thirteen steps cautiously, noiselessly, like a cat. He had still the most important thing to do—to steal the axe from the kitchen. That the deed must be done with an axe he had decided long ago. He had also a pocket pruning-knife, but he could not rely on the knife and still less on his own strength, and so resolved finally on the axe. We may note in passing, one peculiarity in regard to all the final resolutions taken by him in the matter; they had one strange characteristic: the more final they were, the more hideous and the more absurd they at once became in his eyes. In spite of all his agonising inward struggle, he never for a single instant all that time could believe in the carrying out of his plans.

He rushed to the door and listened. Then he grabbed his hat and began to descend his thirteen steps, cautiously and silently, like a cat. He still had the most important thing to do: steal the axe from the kitchen. He had decided long ago that he must use an axe for the deed. He also had a pocket pruning knife, but he could not rely on it. He trusted his own strength even less, so he finally settled on the axe. It is worth noting a peculiarity about all his final decisions in this matter. The more final they were, the more hideous and absurd they immediately seemed to him. Despite all his agonizing inner struggle, he never believed for a single instant that he would carry out his plans.

And, indeed, if it had ever happened that everything to the least point could have been considered and finally settled, and no uncertainty of any kind had remained, he would, it seems, have renounced it all as something absurd, monstrous and impossible. But a whole mass of unsettled 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 the door ajar. It was the one thing the landlady was always scolding her about. And so, when the time came, he would only have to go quietly into the kitchen and to take the axe, and an hour later (when everything was 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 had come back and was on the spot. He would of course have to go by and wait till she went out again. But supposing she were in the meantime to miss the axe, look for it, make an outcry—that would mean suspicion or at least grounds for suspicion.

And indeed, if he had ever considered and settled everything, down to the smallest detail, with no uncertainty left, he would apparently have abandoned it all as absurd, monstrous, and impossible. But a great many points and uncertainties remained unsettled. Getting the axe did not worry him. That small task could not have been easier. Nastasya was often out, especially in the evenings. She would run over to the neighbors or to a shop, always leaving the door ajar. The landlady was always scolding her for it. So, when the time came, he would only have to slip into the kitchen and take the axe. An hour later, when everything was over, he could slip back in and put it back. But there were doubts about this too. What if he returned an hour later to put the axe back, and Nastasya had come home and was there? Of course, he would have to walk past and wait until she went out again. But what if she noticed the axe was missing in the meantime, looked for it, and raised an alarm? That would mean suspicion, or at least grounds for suspicion.

But those were all trifles which he had not even begun to consider, and indeed he had no time. He was thinking of the chief point, and put off trifling details, until he could believe in it all. But that seemed utterly unattainable. So it seemed to himself at least. He could not imagine, for instance, that he would sometime leave off thinking, get up and simply go there.... Even his late experiment (i.e. his visit with the object of a final survey of the place) was simply an attempt at an experiment, far from being the real thing, as though one should say “come, let us go and try it—why dream about it!”—and at once he had broken down and had run away cursing, in a frenzy with himself. Meanwhile it would seem, as regards the moral question, that his analysis was complete; his casuistry had become keen as a razor, and he could not find rational objections in himself. But in the last resort he simply ceased to believe in himself, and doggedly, slavishly sought arguments in all directions, fumbling for them, as though someone were forcing and drawing him to it.

But those were all minor details he had not even begun to consider. In fact, he had no time. He was thinking about the main thing and putting off the minor details until he could believe in it all. But that seemed completely impossible, at least to him. For example, he could not imagine that one day he would stop thinking, get up, and simply go there.... Even his recent experiment was only an attempt at an experiment. He had visited the place to take one final look around, but that was far from the real thing. It was as if he had said, “Come, let’s go and try it. Why dream about it!” Then he had immediately broken down and run away cursing, furious with himself. Meanwhile, it seemed that his analysis of the moral question was complete. His reasoning had become as sharp as a razor, and he could find no rational objections within himself. But in the end, he simply stopped believing in himself. He stubbornly, slavishly searched everywhere for arguments, groping for them as though someone were forcing him and drawing him toward it.

At first—long before indeed—he had been much occupied with one question; why almost all crimes are so badly concealed and so easily detected, and why almost all criminals leave such obvious traces? He had come gradually to many different and curious conclusions, and in his opinion the chief reason lay not so much in the material impossibility of concealing the crime, as in the criminal himself. Almost every criminal is subject to a failure of will and reasoning power by a childish and phenomenal heedlessness, at the very instant when prudence and caution are most essential. It was his conviction that this eclipse of reason and failure of will power attacked a man like a disease, developed gradually and reached its highest point just before the perpetration of the crime, continued with equal violence at the moment of the crime and for longer or shorter time after, according to the individual case, and then passed off like any other disease. The question whether the disease gives rise to the crime, or whether the crime from its own peculiar nature is always accompanied by something of the nature of disease, he did not yet feel able to decide.

Long before this, he had spent much time thinking about a question. Why were almost all crimes so badly concealed and so easily discovered? Why did almost all criminals leave such obvious traces? He had gradually reached many different and curious conclusions. In his view, the main reason lay in the criminal himself, rather than in any practical difficulty in concealing the crime. Almost every criminal suffers a failure of will and reason, marked by a childish and extraordinary carelessness. It happens at the very moment when prudence and caution are most essential. He was convinced that this loss of reason and will struck a man like a disease. It developed gradually and reached its peak just before the crime was committed. It remained just as intense during the crime and for some time afterward. How long it lasted depended on the individual case. Then it passed, like any other disease. He was not yet able to decide whether the disease caused the crime. Nor could he decide whether the nature of crime meant it was always accompanied by something like a disease.

When he reached these conclusions, he decided that in his own case there could not be such a morbid reaction, that his reason and will would remain unimpaired at the time of carrying out his design, for the single reason that his design was “not a crime....” We will omit all the process by means of which he arrived at this last conclusion; we have run too far ahead already.... We may add only that the practical, purely material difficulties of the affair occupied a secondary position in his mind. “One has but to keep all one’s will-power and reason to deal with them, and they will all be overcome at the time when once one has familiarised oneself with the minutest details of the business....” But this preparation had never been begun. His final decisions were what he came to trust least, and when the hour struck, it all came to pass quite differently, as it were accidentally and unexpectedly.

When he reached these conclusions, he decided he could not have such a morbid reaction himself. His reason and will would remain unimpaired when he carried out his plan. The only reason was that his plan was “not a crime....” We will leave out the whole process by which he reached this last conclusion. We have already gone too far ahead.... We may add only that the practical, purely material difficulties of the affair mattered less to him. “One only has to keep all one’s willpower and reason to deal with them. Then they will all be overcome when the time comes, once one has learned every detail of the business....” But he had never begun this preparation. In the end, he trusted his final decisions least of all. And when the hour came, everything happened quite differently, almost by accident and unexpectedly.

One trifling circumstance upset his calculations, before he had even left the staircase. When he reached the landlady’s kitchen, the door of which was open as usual, he glanced cautiously in to see whether, in Nastasya’s absence, the landlady herself was there, or if not, whether the door to her own room was closed, so that she might not peep out when he went in for the axe. But what was his amazement when he suddenly saw that Nastasya was not only at home in the kitchen, but was occupied there, taking linen out of a basket and hanging it on a line. Seeing him, she left off hanging the clothes, turned to him and stared at him all the time he was passing. He turned away his eyes, and walked past as though he noticed nothing. But it was the end of everything; he had not the axe! He was overwhelmed.

A small detail upset his plans before he had even left the staircase. When he reached the landlady’s kitchen, the door was open, as usual. He glanced in cautiously to see whether the landlady was there while Nastasya was away. If she was not, he wanted to see whether the door to her room was closed. Then she would not be able to peek out when he went in for the axe. But to his amazement, Nastasya was at home in the kitchen. She was taking linen from a basket and hanging it on a line. When she saw him, she stopped hanging the clothes and turned toward him. She stared at him the whole time he was passing. He looked away and walked past as if he had noticed nothing. But it was the end of everything. He did not have the axe! He was overwhelmed.

“What made me think,” he reflected, as he went under the gateway, “what made me think that she would be sure not to be at home at that moment! Why, why, why did I assume this so certainly?”

“What made me think,” he wondered as he walked through the gateway, “that she was sure to be out at that moment? Why, why, why was I so sure she would be out?”

He was crushed and even humiliated. He could have laughed at himself in his anger.... A dull animal rage boiled within him.

He felt crushed and even humiliated. In his anger, he could have laughed at himself.... A dull, animal rage boiled inside him.

He stood hesitating in the gateway. To go into the street, to go a walk for appearance’ sake was revolting; to go back to his room, even more revolting. “And what a chance I have lost for ever!” he muttered, standing aimlessly in the gateway, just opposite the porter’s little dark room, which was also open. Suddenly he started. From the porter’s room, two paces away from him, something shining under the bench to the right caught his eye.... He looked about him—nobody. He approached the room on tiptoe, went down two steps into it and in a faint voice called the porter. “Yes, not at home! Somewhere near though, in the yard, for the door is wide open.” He dashed to the axe (it was an axe) and pulled it 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 both hands 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 stood hesitating in the gateway. The thought of going into the street for a walk, just to keep up appearances, disgusted him. Going back to his room disgusted him even more. “And what a chance I’ve lost forever!” he muttered. He stood there aimlessly, opposite the porter’s small, dark room. Its door was open too. Suddenly he started. Something was shining under the bench on the right side of the porter’s room, just two paces away. He looked around. Nobody was there. He tiptoed to the room, went down two steps, and called the porter in a faint voice. “Yes, he’s not home! But he must be somewhere nearby, in the yard, since the door is wide open.” He rushed to the axe and pulled it out from under the bench, where it lay between two chunks of wood. Before leaving, he quickly secured it in the noose. Then he thrust both hands 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 stroke of luck lifted his spirits enormously.

He walked along quietly and sedately, without hurry, to avoid awakening suspicion. He scarcely looked at the passers-by, tried to escape looking at 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 day before yesterday and did not get a cap to wear instead!” A curse rose from the bottom of his soul.

He walked quietly and calmly, without hurrying, so he wouldn't arouse suspicion. He hardly looked at the people passing by. He tried not to look at their faces at all and to attract as little attention as possible. Suddenly, he thought of his hat. “Good heavens! I had the money the day before yesterday and didn't buy a cap to wear instead!” A curse rose from the depths of his soul.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye into a shop, he saw by a clock on the wall that it was ten minutes past seven. He had to make haste and at the same time to go someway round, so as to approach the house from the other side....

Glancing into a shop out of the corner of his eye, he saw a clock on the wall. It was ten minutes past seven. He had to hurry, but also take a roundabout route so he could approach the house from the other side....

When he had happened to imagine all this beforehand, he had sometimes thought that he would be very much afraid. But he was not very much afraid now, was not afraid at all, indeed. His mind was even occupied by irrelevant matters, but by nothing for long. As he passed the Yusupov garden, he was deeply absorbed in considering the building of great fountains, and of their refreshing effect on the atmosphere in all the squares. By degrees he passed to the conviction that if the summer garden were extended to the field of Mars, and perhaps joined to the garden of the Mihailovsky Palace, it would be a splendid thing and a great benefit to the town. Then he was interested by the question why in all great towns men are not simply driven by necessity, but in some peculiar way inclined to live in those parts of the town where there are no gardens nor fountains; where there is most dirt and smell and all sorts of nastiness. Then his own walks through the Hay Market came back to his mind, and for a moment he waked up to reality. “What nonsense!” he thought, “better think of nothing at all!”

When he had imagined all this beforehand, he had sometimes thought he would be very afraid. But now he was not very afraid. In fact, he was not afraid at all. His mind was occupied with unrelated matters, though nothing held his attention for long. As he passed the Yusupov garden, he became absorbed in the idea of building great fountains. He thought about how they would cool the air in all the squares. Gradually, he became convinced that extending the summer garden to the field of Mars would be splendid. Perhaps it could even be joined to the garden of the Mihailovsky Palace. This would be a great benefit to the town. Then he wondered why people in all great towns lived in areas without gardens or fountains. It was not just necessity that drove them there. In some peculiar way, they seemed drawn to the places with the most dirt, smell, and all kinds of nastiness. Then he remembered his own walks through the Hay Market, and for a moment he woke up to reality. “What nonsense!” he thought, “better to think of nothing at all!”

“So probably men led to execution clutch mentally at every object that meets them on the way,” flashed through his mind, but simply flashed, like lightning; he made haste to dismiss this thought.... And by now he was near; here was the house, here was the gate. Suddenly a clock somewhere struck once. “What! can it be half-past seven? Impossible, it must be fast!”

“Men being led to execution probably cling in their minds to everything they see along the way,” he thought. But the thought only flashed through his mind like lightning, and he hurried to dismiss it.... By now he was close. Here was the house, here was the gate. Suddenly a clock somewhere struck once. “What! Can it be half past seven? Impossible, the clock must be fast!”

Luckily for him, everything went well again at the gates. At that very moment, as though expressly for his benefit, a huge waggon of hay had just driven in at the gate, completely screening him as he passed under the gateway, and the waggon had scarcely had time to drive through into the yard, before he had slipped in a flash to the right. On the other side of the waggon he could hear shouting and quarrelling; but no one noticed him and no one met him. Many windows looking into that huge quadrangular yard were open at that moment, but he did not raise his head—he had not the strength to. The staircase leading to the old woman’s room was close by, just on the right of the gateway. He was already on the stairs....

Luckily for him, everything went well at the gates again. Just then, as if for his benefit, a huge wagon of hay was entering through the gate. It completely hid him as he passed under the gateway. The wagon had barely entered the yard when he quickly slipped to the right. He could hear shouting and arguing on the other side of the wagon, but no one noticed him or crossed his path. Many windows overlooking the huge square yard were open, but he did not look up. He did not have the strength. The staircase leading to the old woman's room was nearby, just to the right of the gateway. He was already on the stairs....

Drawing a breath, pressing his hand against his throbbing heart, and once more feeling for the axe and setting it straight, he began softly and cautiously ascending the stairs, listening every minute. But the stairs, too, were quite deserted; all the doors were shut; he met no one. One flat indeed on the first floor was wide open and painters were at work in it, but they did not glance at him. He stood still, thought a minute and went on. “Of course it would be better if they had not been here, but... it’s two storeys above them.”

He took a breath and pressed his hand against his pounding heart. He felt for the axe again and straightened it. Then he began climbing the stairs quietly and carefully, listening all the while. But the stairs were deserted too. All the doors were shut, and he met no one. One apartment on the first floor was wide open, and painters were working inside, but they did not look at him. He stopped, thought for a minute, and went on. “Of course it would be better if they weren’t here, but... it’s two floors above them.”

And here was the fourth storey, here was the door, here was the flat opposite, the empty one. The flat underneath the old woman’s was apparently empty also; the visiting card nailed on the door had been torn off—they had gone away!... He was out of breath. For one instant the thought floated through his mind, “Shall I go back?” But he made no answer and began listening at the old woman’s door, a dead silence. Then he listened again on the staircase, listened long and intently... then looked about him for the last time, pulled himself together, drew himself 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 I better wait a little longer... till my heart leaves off thumping?”

Now he was on the fourth floor. Here was the door, and across from it was the empty apartment. The apartment below the old woman’s also seemed empty. The visiting card nailed to its door had been torn off. They had gone away! He was out of breath. For a moment, the thought crossed his mind, “Should I go back?” But he gave no answer. He began listening at the old woman’s door. There was complete silence. Then he listened on the staircase again, for a long time and with close attention. He looked around one last time, pulled himself together, stood up straight, and checked the axe in its loop again. “Am I very pale?” he wondered. “Can she tell I’m agitated? She’s suspicious.... Should I wait a little longer... until my heart stops pounding?”

But his heart did not leave off. On the contrary, as though to spite him, it throbbed more and more violently. He could stand it no longer, he slowly put out his hand to the bell and rang. Half a minute later he rang again, more loudly.

But his heart would not stop pounding. On the contrary, as if to spite him, it beat harder and harder. He could stand it no longer. He slowly reached for the bell and rang it. Half a minute later, he rang again, more loudly.

No answer. To go on ringing was useless and out of place. The old woman was, of course, at home, but she was suspicious and alone. He had some knowledge of her habits... and once more he put his ear to the door. Either his senses were peculiarly keen (which it is difficult to suppose), or the sound was really very distinct. Anyway, he suddenly heard something like the cautious touch of a hand on the lock and the rustle of a skirt at the very door. Someone was standing stealthily close to the lock and just as he was doing on the outside was secretly listening within, and seemed to have her ear to the door.... He moved a little on purpose and muttered something aloud that he might not have the appearance of hiding, then rang a third time, but quietly, soberly, and without impatience. Recalling it afterwards, that moment stood out in his mind vividly, distinctly, for ever; he could not make out how he had had such cunning, for his mind was as it were clouded at moments and he was almost unconscious of his body.... An instant later he heard the latch unfastened.

No answer. There was no point in ringing again, and it would have been improper. The old woman was home, of course, but she was suspicious and alone. He knew something of her habits... and once more he put his ear to the door. Either his senses were unusually sharp (which is hard to believe), or the sound was really very clear. In any case, he suddenly heard what sounded like a hand carefully touching the lock and a skirt rustling right by the door. Someone was standing silently beside the lock, listening secretly from inside, just as he was outside. She seemed to have her ear to the door.... He moved a little on purpose and muttered something aloud so he would not seem to be hiding. Then he rang a third time, but quietly, calmly, and without impatience. When he recalled that moment later, it stood out vividly and clearly in his mind forever. He could not understand how he had been so cunning. At times his mind had seemed clouded, and he had been barely aware of his body.... An instant later, he heard the latch being unfastened.