Part 1 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.

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.

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 evening, however, on coming out into the street, he became acutely 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."

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.

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.

"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. . . ."

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.

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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

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:

"Step in, my good 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.

"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.

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

"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.

"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.

"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.

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

"I will bring you the interest for another month; 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."

"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."

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

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

"A rouble and a half!" cried the young man.

"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.

"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.

"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."

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."

"What! only a rouble and fifteen copecks now!"

"Just so."

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.

"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.

"Well, we will 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.

"What business is she of yours, my good sir?"

"Oh, nothing particular, I simply asked. You are too quick. . . . Good-day, 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.

"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!"

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.

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:

"His wife a year he fondly loved His wife a--a year he--fondly loved."

Or suddenly waking up again:

"Walking along the crowded row He met the one he used to know."

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.

 

七月初，天气特别热的时候①，傍晚时分，有个年轻人走出他在C一胡一同向二房东租来的那间斗室，来到街上，然后慢腾腾地，仿佛犹豫不决地往K桥那边走去。

他顺利地避开了在楼梯上与自己的女房东相遇。他那间斗室是一幢高高的五层楼房②的顶间，就在房顶底下，与其说像间住房，倒不如说更像个大橱。他向女房东租了这间供给伙食、而且有女仆侍候的斗室，女房东就住在他楼下一套单独的住房里，他每次外出，都一定得打女房东的厨房门前经过，而厨房门几乎总是冲着楼梯大敞着。每次这个年轻人从一旁走过的时候，都有一种病态的胆怯的感觉，他为此感到羞愧，于是皱起眉头。他欠了女房东一身债，怕和她见面。

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①据作者说，小说中的故事发生在一八六五年，小说中没有明确说明年份，但有些地方曾有所暗示，这句话就是其中之一——一八六五年夏天天气特别热。

②一八六六年作者写这部小说的时候，自己就住在小市民街、木匠一胡一同一幢类似的房子里。

倒不是说他是那么胆小和怯懦，甚至完全相反；但从某个时期以来，他一直处于一种很容易激动和紧张的状态。患了多疑症。他是那样经常陷入沉思，离群索居，甚至害怕见到任何人，而不单单是怕与女房东见面。他让贫穷给压垮了；但最近一个时期就连窘迫的处境也已不再使他感到苦恼。绝对必须的事情他已经不再去做，也不想做。其实，什么女房东他都不怕，不管她打算怎样跟他过不去。然而站在楼梯上，听这些与他毫不相干的日常生活中鸡一毛一蒜皮之类琐事的种种废话，听所有这些纠缠不休的讨债，威胁，抱怨，自己却要尽力设法摆脱，道歉，撒谎，——不，最好还是想个办法像猫儿样从楼梯上悄悄地过去，偷偷溜掉，让谁也别看见他。

可是这一次，到了街上以后，那种怕遇到女债主的恐惧心理，就连他自己也感到惊讶。

“我正要下决心做一件什么样的事情啊，但却害怕一些微不足道的琐事！”他想，脸上露出奇怪的微笑。“嗯……是的……事在人为嘛，他却仅仅由于胆怯而错过一切……这可是明显的道理……真有意思，人们最害怕什么呢？他们最害怕迈出新的一步，最害怕自己的新想法……不过，我说空话说得太多了。因为我尽说空话，所以什么也不做。不过，大概也可能是这样：由于我什么也不做，所以才尽说空话。我是在最近一个月里学会说空话的，整天躺在一个角落里，想啊……想入非非。嗯，现在我去干什么？难道我能去干这个吗？难道这是当真？绝对不是当真的。就是这样，为了梦想，自己在哄自己；儿戏！对了，大概是儿戏！”

街上热得可怕，而且气闷，拥挤不堪，到处都是石灰浆、脚手架、砖头，灰尘，还有那种夏天的特殊臭气。每个无法租一座别墅的彼得堡人都那么熟悉的那种臭气， ——所有这一切一下子就令人不快地震撼了这个青年人本已很不正常的神经。在城市的这一部分，小酒馆特别多，从这些小酒馆里冒出的臭气，还有那些尽管是在工作时间，却不断碰到的醉鬼，给这幅街景添上了最后一笔令人厌恶的忧郁色彩。有一瞬间，极端厌恶的神情在这个青年人清秀的面庞上忽然一闪。顺便说一声，他生得很美，有一双漂亮的黑眼睛，一头褐色的头发，比中等身材还高一些，消瘦而身材匀称。但不久他就仿佛陷入沉思，甚至，说得更确切些，似乎是想出了神，他往前走去，已经不注意周围的一切，而且也不想注意。他只是偶尔喃喃自语，这是由于他有自言自语的一习一惯，对这一一习一惯，现在他已经暗自承认了。这时他自己也意识到，他的思想有时是混乱的，而且他十分虚弱：已经有一天多他几乎什么也没吃了。

他穿得那么差，如果换一个人，即使是对此已经一习一以为常的人，衣衫如此褴褛，白天上街也会感到不好意思。不过这街区就是这样的，在这儿衣著很难让人感到惊讶。这儿靠近干草广场①，一妓一院比比皆是，而且麇集在彼得堡市中心这些大街小巷里的居民，主要是那些在车间干活的工人和手工业工匠，因此有时在这儿就是会遇到这样一些人，使这儿的街景显得更加丰富多采，如果碰到一个这样的人就感到惊讶，那倒反而是怪事了。这个年轻人心里已经积聚了那么多愤懑不平的怒火，他蔑视一切，所以尽管他有青年人特有的一爱一面子心理，有时非常注意细节，可是穿着这身破烂儿外出，却丝毫也不觉得不好意思。要是遇见他根本就不愿碰到的某些熟人和以前的同学，那就是另一回事了……然而有个喝得醉醺醺的人，不知为什么在这时候坐在一辆大车上打街上经过，车上套着一匹拉车的高头大马，也不知是要把他送往哪里去，这醉鬼从一旁驶过的时候，突然对着他大喊一声：“嗳，你呀，德国做帽子的工人！”那人用手指着他，扯着嗓子大喊，年轻人突然站住，急忙抓住了自己的帽子。这顶高筒圆帽是从齐梅尔曼②帽店里买的，不过已经戴得十分破旧，颜色都褪尽了，到处都是破洞和污迹，没有宽帽檐，帽筒歪到了一边，上面折出一个怪难看的角来。但不是羞愧，而完全是另一种，甚至是一种类似恐惧的感觉突然向他袭来。

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①彼得堡最大的市场就在干草广场上。

②齐梅尔曼是当时彼得堡一家制帽工厂和涅瓦大街上一家帽店的老板。

“我就知道！”他惊恐不安地喃喃说，“我就这么考虑过！这可是最糟糕的了！真的，不管什么样的蠢事，不管什么不起眼的细节，都会破坏整个计划！是啊，帽子太容易让人记住了……可笑，因此就容易让人记住……我这身破烂儿一定得配一顶制帽，哪怕是一顶煎饼式的旧帽子也行，可不能戴这个难看的怪玩意儿。谁也不戴这样的帽子，一俄里①以外就会让人注意到，就会记住的……主要的是，以后会想起来，瞧，这就是罪证。这儿需要尽可能不惹人注意……细节，主要是细节！…… 就是这些细节，总是会出问题，毁掉一切……”

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①一俄里等于一·○六公里。

他用不着走多远；他甚至知道，从他那幢房子的大门出来要走多少步：整整七百三十步。有一次他幻想得完全出了神的时候，曾经数过。那时他还不相信自己的这些幻想，他所幻想的这些虽说是没有道理，然而却是十分诱人的大胆计划，只是会惹他生气。现在，过了一个月以后，他已经开始以另一种眼光来看待这一切了，尽管他总是自言自语，嘲笑自己无能和优柔寡断，却不知怎么甚至不由自主地已经一习一惯于把这“没有道理”的幻想看作一项事业了，虽说他仍然不相信自己。现在他甚至要去为完成自己的这一事业进行试探，每走一步，他的激动不安也越来越强烈了。

他心情紧张，神经颤栗，走到一幢很大的大房子前，房子的一堵墙对着运河，另一面墙冲着×街。这幢大房子分作一套套不大的住宅，里面住满了各行各业的手艺人 ——裁缝、小炉匠、厨一娘一，形形色一色的德国人，一妓一女，小官吏，以及其他行业的人。进进出出的人就这样在房子的两道大门和两个院子里匆匆走过。这儿有三个、要么是四个管院子的。那个年轻人没碰到他们当中的任何一个，立刻无人察觉地溜进大门，往右一拐，溜上了楼梯，因此他感到非常满意。楼梯又暗，又窄，是“后楼梯”，但是他对这一切都已经了解，而且察看过了，对这整个环境他都十分喜欢：在这样的黑暗中，就连好奇的目光也并不危险。“要是这时候我就这么害怕，说不定什么时候，如果真的要去干那件事的话，又会怎样呢？……”上四楼的时候，他不由得想。几个当搬运工的退伍士兵在这里挡住了他的路，他们正从一套住宅里往外搬家具。以前他已经知道，这套住宅里住着一个带家眷的德国人，是个官吏：“这么说，这个德国人现在搬走了，因而四层楼上，这道楼梯和这个楼梯平台上，在一段时间里就只剩下老太婆的住宅里还住着人。这好极了……以防万一……”他又想，并且拉了拉老太婆住房的门铃。门铃响声很轻，好像铃不是铜的，而是用白铁做的。这样的楼房一中一套套这种不大的住宅里，几乎都是装着这样的门铃。他已经忘记了这小铃铛的响声，现在这很特别的响声突然让他想起了什么，并清清楚楚地想象……他猛地颤栗了一下，这一次神经真是太脆弱了。稍过了一会儿，房门开了很小一道缝：住在里面的那个女人带着明显不信任的神情从门缝里细细打量来人，只能看到她那双在黑暗中闪闪发亮的小眼睛。但是看到楼梯平台上有不少人，她胆壮起来，于是把房门完全打开了。年轻人跨过门坎，走进用隔板隔开的前室，隔板后面是一间很小的厨房。老太婆默默地站在他面前，疑问地注视着他。这是一个干瘪的小老太婆，六十来岁，有一双目光锐利、神情凶恶的小眼睛，尖尖的小鼻子，光着头，没包头巾。她那像鸡腿样细长的脖子上缠着一块法兰绒破围巾，别看天热，肩上还披着一件穿得十分破旧、已经发黄的一毛一皮女短上衣。老太婆一刻不停地咳嗽，发出呼哧呼哧的声音。想必是年轻人用异样的眼光看了她一眼，因而先前那种不信任的神情突然又在她眼睛里忽地一闪。

“拉斯科利尼科夫，大学生，一个月以前来过您这儿，”年轻人急忙含含糊糊地说，并且微微鞠躬行礼，因为他想起，应该客气一些。

“我记得，先生，记得很清楚，您来过，”老太婆清清楚楚地说，仍然没把自己疑问的目光从他脸上移开。

“那么……又是为这事来的……”拉斯科利尼科夫接着说，稍有点儿窘，并且为老太婆的不信任感到诧异。

“不过，也许她一向都是这样，我那一次却没有注意，”他怀着不愉快的心情想。

老太婆沉默了一会儿，仿佛在考虑，随后退到一边，指指房间的门，让客人到前面去，并且说：

“请进，先生。”

年轻人进去的那间房间并不大，墙上糊着黄色的墙纸，屋里摆着天竺葵，窗上挂着细纱窗帘，这时落日的余晖把屋里照得亮堂堂的。“这么说，那时候，太一陽一也会像这样照着！……”这想法仿佛无意中掠过拉斯科利尼科夫的脑海，于是他用目光匆匆打量了一下屋里的一切，想尽可能了解并记住屋里的布局。不过屋里并没有任何特殊的东西。家具都很旧了，都是黄木做的：一张有老大的弯木靠背的沙发，沙发前摆一张椭圆形的圆桌，窗和门之间的墙上有个带镜子的梳妆台，沿墙放着几把椅子，还有两三幅毫无价值的图画，都装在黄色的画框里，上面画着几个手里拿着小鸟的德国小一姐，——这就是全部家具。墙角落里，不大的神像前点着神灯。一切都很干净：家具和地板都擦得发亮；一切都闪闪发光。“莉扎薇塔做的，”年轻人想。整套住宅里纤尘不染。“凶恶的老寡一妇家里才会这么干净，”拉斯科利尼科夫继续暗自思忖，并且好奇地斜着眼睛瞟了瞟第二间小房间门前的印花布门帘，那间屋里摆着老太婆的一床一和一个一抽一屉柜，他还一次也没朝那屋里看过。整套住宅就只有这两间房间。

“有什么事啊？”老太婆走进屋来，严厉地说，仍然正对着他站着，这样可以直瞅着他的脸。

“我拿了一件抵押品来，您瞧，这就是！”说着他从衣袋里掏出一块扁平的旧银表。表的背面刻着一个地球仪。表链是钢的。

“要知道，上次抵押的东西已经到期了。还在前天就超过一个月了。”

“我再给您一个月的利息；请您宽限一下。”

“先生，宽限几天，还是这会儿就把您的东西卖掉，这都得由我决定。”

“表可以当多少钱，阿廖娜·伊万诺芙娜？”

“先生，你尽拿些不值钱的东西来，差不多一文不值。上次那个戒指给了您两个卢布，可在首饰商那儿，花一个半卢布就能买个新的。”

“请给我四个卢布吧，我一定来赎，是我父亲的。我很快就会得到钱了。”

“一个半卢布，利息先付，要是您愿意的话。”

“一个半卢布！”年轻人叫了起来。

“随您便。”说着老太婆把表递还给他。年轻人接过表来，感到那样气愤，已经想要走了；但立刻又改了主意，因为他想起，再也无处可去，而且他来这儿还有旁的目的。

“拿来吧！”他粗一暴地说。

老太婆伸手到衣袋里去掏钥匙，然后走进门帘后面另一间屋里。只剩下年轻人独自一人站在房屋中间，好奇地侧耳谛听，暗自猜测。可以听到她打开了一抽一屉柜。“大概是上面的一抽一屉，”他猜测。“这么说，她是把钥匙装在右边口袋里……全都串成一串，串在一个钢圈儿上……那儿有一把最大的钥匙，有旁的三倍大，带锯齿，当然不是开一抽一屉柜的……可见还有一个小匣子，要么是个小箱子……瞧，这真有意思。小箱子都是用这样的钥匙……不过，这一切多么卑鄙……”

老太婆回来了。

“您瞧，先生：既然一个卢布一个月的利息是十个戈比，那么一个半卢布该收您十五个戈比，先付一个月的利息。上次那两个卢布也照这样计算，该先收您二十戈比。这么说，总共是三十五戈比。现在您这块表，总共还该给您一卢布十五戈比。这不是，请收下吧。”

“怎么！现在就只有一卢布十五戈比了！”

“正是这样。”

年轻人没有争论，接过了钱。他瞅着老太婆，并不急于出去，似乎他还想说点儿什么，要么是做点儿什么，但好像他自己也不知道，到底要干什么……

“阿廖娜·伊万诺芙娜，也许，就在这几天里，我还要给您拿一样东西来……银的……很一精一致的……烟盒……只等我从朋友那里取回来……”他发窘了，于是住了声。

“好，到那时再说吧，先生。”

“再见……您总是一个人在家？妹妹不在吗？”他到前室去的时候，尽可能随随便便地问。

“先生，您问她干什么？”

“啊，没什么。我不过这么问问。您现在真是……阿廖娜·伊万诺芙娜！”

拉斯科利尼科夫从屋里出来时已经十分心慌意乱。这不安的心情越来越强烈了。下楼时他甚至有好几次停了下来，仿佛有什么事情使他突然吃了一惊。最后，已经到了街上的时候，他激动地说：

“噢，天哪！这一切多么令人厌恶！难道，难道我……不！这是无稽之谈，这是荒谬绝伦！”他毅然决然地加上几句。

“难道我的头脑里会出现这样可怕的想法？我的良心竟能允许干这种肮脏的事情！主要的是：肮脏，卑污，恶劣，恶劣！……

而我，整整一个月……”

但是他既不能用言词、也不能用感叹来表达自己的激动与不安。还在他刚刚去老太婆那儿的时候就开始使他感到压抑和不安的极端厌恶的心情，现在已经达到这种程度，而且变得十分明显，以致他不知该躲到哪里去，才能逃避自己的忧愁。他像喝醉了似地在人行道上走着，看不见路上的行人，老是会撞到他们，清醒过来的时候，已经到了另一条街上。他环顾四周，发觉自己站在一家小酒馆旁，要进酒馆，得从人行道顺着楼梯往下，到地下室去。就在这时，恰好从门里走出两个醉醺醺的人来，他们互相搀扶着，嘴里不干不净地骂着，顺着楼梯爬到街上。拉斯科利尼科夫没想多久，立刻就下去了。在此以前他从未进过酒馆，但是现在他感到头昏，加以火烧火燎的干渴正在折磨着他。他想喝点儿冰冷的啤酒，而且他把自己突然感到的虚弱归咎于饥饿。他坐到又暗又脏的角落里一张发黏的小桌旁边，要了啤酒，贪婪地喝干了第一杯。立刻一切都消失了，他的思想也清晰了。“这一切都是一胡一说八道，”他满怀希望地说，“这儿没有什么可以感到不安的！只不过是身一体不舒服，是一种病态！只要一杯啤酒，一小块干面包，——瞧，转瞬间就变得坚强起来，思想清楚了，意向也坚定了！呸！这一切是多么微不足道！……”但尽管他轻蔑地啐了一口唾沫，他却已经高兴起来，仿佛突然摆脱了某种可怕的沉重负担，并且目光友好地扫视了一下在座的人。不过就是在这时候，他也隐隐约约预感到，这种一切都往好处想的乐观态度也是一种病态。

这时小酒馆里剩下的人已经不多了。除了在楼梯上碰到过的那两个醉鬼，又有吵吵嚷嚷的一群人跟着他们走了出去，他们这一伙约摸有五、六个人，其中有一个姑一娘一，还带着一架手风琴。他们走了以后，变得静悄悄、空荡荡的。剩下的人中有一个已经醉了，不过醉得并不厉害，坐在摆着啤酒的桌边，看样子是个小市民；他的同伴是个胖子，身材魁梧，穿一件竖领打褶的细一腰短呢上衣，蓄一部花白的大一胡一子，已经喝得酩酊大醉，正坐在长凳上打瞌睡，有时突然似乎半睡半醒，伸开双手，开始用手指打榧子，他并没有从长凳上站起来，上身却不时往上动一动，而且在一胡一乱哼着一首什么歌曲，竭力想记起歌词，好像是：

整整一年我和妻子亲一亲一热一热，

整——整一年我和妻——子亲一亲——热一热……

要么是突然醒来，又唱道：

我去波季亚契大街闲逛，

找到了自己从前的婆一娘一……

但谁也不分享他的幸福；他那个沉默寡言的伙伴对这些感情爆发甚至抱有敌意，而且持怀疑态度。那儿还有一个人，看样子好像是个退职的官吏。他面对自己的酒杯，单独坐在一张桌子旁边，有时喝一口酒，并向四周看看。他似乎也有点儿激动不安。