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(单词翻译:双击或拖选)
Chapter I
On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged1 in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation2, towards K. bridge.
He had successfully avoided meeting his landlady3 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 scowl4 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 abject5, quite the contrary; but for some time past he had been in an overstrained irritable6 condition, verging7 on hypochondria. He had become so completely absorbed in himself, and isolated8 from his fellows that he dreaded9 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, irrelevant10 gossip, to pestering11 demands for payment, threats and complaints, and to rack his brains for excuses, to prevaricate12, 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 cowardice13, 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 chatter15 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 den16 thinking . . . of Jack17 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 bustle18 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 misery19 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 accurately20 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 tangle21 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 proximity22 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 alleys23 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 waggon24 dragged by a heavy dray horse, suddenly shouted at him as he drove past: “Hey there, German hatter” bawling25 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, rusty26 with age, all torn and bespattered, brimless and bent27 on one side in a most unseemly fashion. Not shame, however, but quite another feeling akin14 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 grotesque28 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 conspicuous29 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 lodging30 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 hideous31 but daring recklessness. Now, a month later, he had begun to look upon them differently, and, in spite of the monologues32 in which he jeered33 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 positively34 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 tremor35, 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 tenements36 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 inquisitive37 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 tinkle38 as though it were made of tin and not of copper39. The little flats in such houses always have bells that ring like that. He had forgotten the note of that bell, and now its peculiar40 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 diminutive41, withered42 up old woman of sixty, with sharp malignant43 eyes and a sharp little nose. Her colourless, somewhat grizzled hair was thickly smeared44 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 flannel45 rag, and, in spite of the heat, there hung flapping on her shoulders, a mangy fur cape46, yellow with age. The old woman coughed and groaned47 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 fixed48 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 speck49 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 severely50, coming into the room and, as before, standing51 in front of him so as to look him straight in the face.
“I’ve brought something to pawn52 here,” and he drew out of his pocket an old-fashioned flat silver watch, on the back of which was engraved53 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 redeem54 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 fumbled55 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 inquisitively56, 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 notches57; 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 casually58 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 loathsome59 it all is! and can I, can I possibly. . . . No, it’s nonsense, it’s rubbish!” he added resolutely60. “And how could such an atrocious thing come into my head? What filthy61 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 exclamations62, could express his agitation63. 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 tavern64 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 tormented65 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 derangement66. 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 utterly67 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, stout68 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 enjoyment69: his silent companion looked with positive hostility70 and mistrust at all these manifestations71. There was another man in the room who looked somewhat like a retired72 government clerk. He was sitting apart, now and then sipping73 from his pot and looking round at the company. He, too, appeared to be in some agitation.
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1
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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verging
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| 接近，逼近（verge的现在分词形式） | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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pestering
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的现在分词 ) | |
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prevaricate
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| v.支吾其词；说谎；n.推诿的人；撒谎的人 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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25
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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monologues
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| n.（戏剧）长篇独白( monologue的名词复数 )；滔滔不绝的讲话；独角戏 | |
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jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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tenements
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| n.房屋，住户，租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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38
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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39
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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40
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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42
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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43
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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44
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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45
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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46
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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47
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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48
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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49
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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50
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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51
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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52
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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53
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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54
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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55
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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56
inquisitively
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| 过分好奇地； 好问地 | |
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57
notches
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| n.（边缘或表面上的）V型痕迹( notch的名词复数 )；刻痕；水平；等级 | |
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58
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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59
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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60
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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61
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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62
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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63
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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64
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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65
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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66
derangement
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| n.精神错乱 | |
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67
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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68
stout
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| adj.强壮的，粗大的，结实的，勇猛的，矮胖的 | |
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69
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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70
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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71
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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72
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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73
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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