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 some one suddenly
about in the yard.
"It struck six long ago."
"Long ago! My God!"
He rushed to the door, listened, caught up his hat and began to 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.
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.
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 some one were forcing and drawing
him to 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.
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 simple 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.
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.
"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?"
He was crushed and even humiliated. He could have laughed at himself in his anger….
A dull animal rage boiled within him.
He stood hesitating in the gateway. To go into the street, to go for 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 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.
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….
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!"
"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!"
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….
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."
And there 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?"
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.
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. Some one 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, forever; 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.
CHAPTERSEVEN Chapter Seven
THE DOOR was as before opened a tiny crack, and again two sharp and suspicious
eyes stared at him out of the darkness. Then Raskolnikov lost his head and nearly
made a great mistake.
Fearing the old woman would be frightened by their being alone, and not hoping
that the sight of him would disarm her suspicions, he took hold of the door and
drew it towards him to prevent the old woman from attempting to shut it again. Seeing
this she did not pull the door back, but she did not let go the handle so that he
almost dragged her out with it on to the stairs. Seeing that she was standing in
the doorway not allowing him to pass, he advanced straight upon her. She stepped
back in alarm, tried to say something, but seemed unable to speak and stared with
open eyes at him.