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only capable of killing。 And it seems I wasn't even capable of that。。。
Principle？ Why was that fool Razumihin abusing the socialists？ They
are industrious； commercial people； 'the happiness of all' is their
case。 No； life is only given to me once and I shall never have it
again； I don't want to wait for 'the happiness of all。' I want to live
myself； or else better not live at all。 I simply couldn't pass by my
mother starving； keeping my trouble in my pocket while I waited for
the 'happiness of all。' I am putting my little brick into the
happiness of all and so my heart is at peace。 Ha…ha！ Why have you
let me slip？ I only live once； I too want。。。。 Ech； I am an aesthetic
louse and nothing more；〃 he added suddenly； laughing like a madman。
〃Yes； I am certainly a louse；〃 he went on； clutching at the idea；
gloating over it and playing with it with vindictive pleasure。 〃In the
first place； because I can reason that I am one； and secondly； because
for a month past I have been troubling benevolent Providence；
calling it to witness that not for my own fleshly lusts did I
undertake it； but with a grand and noble object… ha…ha！ Thirdly；
because I aimed at carrying it out as justly as possible； weighing；
measuring and calculating。 Of all the lice I picked out the most
useless one and proposed to take from her only as much as I needed for
the first step； no more nor less （so the rest would have gone to a
monastery； according to her will； ha…ha！）。 And what shows that I am
utterly a louse；〃 he added； grinding his teeth； 〃is that I am
perhaps viler and more loathsome than the louse I killed； and I felt
beforehand that I should tell myself so after killing her。 Can
anything be compared with the horror of that！ The vulgarity！ The
abjectness！ I understand the 'prophet' with his sabre； on his steed：
Allah commands and 'trembling' creation must obey！ The 'prophet' is
right； he is right when he sets a battery across the street and
blows up the innocent and the guilty without deigning to explain！ It's
for you to obey； trembling creation； and not to have desires； for
that's not for you！。。。 I shall never； never forgive the old woman！〃
His hair was soaked with sweat； his quivering lips were parched； his
eyes were fixed on the ceiling。
〃Mother； sister… how I loved them！ Why do I hate them now？ Yes； I
hate them； I feel a physical hatred for them； I can't bear them near
me。。。。 I went up to my mother and kissed her； I remember。。。。 To
embrace her and think if she only knew。。。 shall I tell her then？
That's just what I might do。。。。 She must be the same as I am；〃 he
added； straining himself to think； as it were struggling with
delirium。 〃Ah； how I hate the old woman now！ I feel I should kill
her again if she came to life！ Poor Lizaveta！ Why did she come
in？。。。 It's strange though； why is it I scarcely ever think of her； as
though I hadn't killed her！ Lizaveta！ Sonia！ Poor gentle things；
with gentle eyes。。。。 Dear women！ Why don't they weep？ Why don't they
moan？ They give up everything。。。 their eyes are soft and gentle。。。。
Sonia； Sonia！ Gentle Sonia！〃
He lost consciousness； it seemed strange to him that he didn't
remember how he got into the street。 It was late evening。 The twilight
had fallen and the full moon was shining more and more brightly； but
there was a peculiar breathlessness in the air。 There were crowds of
people in the street； workmen and business people were making their
way home； other people had come out for a walk； there was a smell of
mortar； dust and stagnant water。 Raskolnikov walked along； mournful
and anxious； he was distinctly aware of having come out with a
purpose； of having to do something in a hurry； but what it was he
had forgotten。 Suddenly he stood still and saw a man standing on the
other side of the street； beckoning to him。 He crossed over to him；
but at once the man turned and walked away with his head hanging； as
though he had made no sign to him。 〃Stay； did he really beckon？〃
Raskolnikov wondered； but he tried to overtake him。 When he was within
ten paces he recognised him and was frightened； it was the same man
with stooping shoulders in the long coat。 Raskolnikov followed him
at a distance； his heart was beating； they went down a turning； the
man still did not look round。 〃Does he know I am following him？〃
thought Raskolnikov。 The man went into the gateway of a big house。
Raskolnikov hastened to the gate and looked in to see whether he would
look round and sign to him。 In the courtyard the man did turn round
and again seemed to beckon him。 Raskolnikov at once followed him
into the yard； but the man was gone。 He must have gone up the first
staircase。 Raskolnikov rushed after him。 He heard slow measured
steps two flights above。 The staircase seemed strangely familiar。 He
reached the window on the first floor； the moon shone through the
panes with a melancholy and mysterious light； then he reached the
second floor。 Bah！ this is the flat where the painters were at work。。。
but how was it he did not recognise it at once？ The steps of the man
above had died away。 〃So he must have stopped or hidden somewhere。〃 He
reached the third storey； should he go on？ There was a stillness
that was dreadful。。。。 But he went on。 The sound of his own footsteps
scared and frightened him。 How dark it was！ The man must be hiding
in some corner here。 Ah！ the flat was standing wide open； he hesitated
and went in。 It was very dark and empty in the passage； as though
everything had been removed； he crept on tiptoe into the parlour which
was flooded with moonlight。 Everything there was as before； the
chairs； the looking…glass； the yellow sofa and the pictures in the
frames。 A huge； round； copper…red moon looked in at the windows。 〃It's
the moon that makes it so still； weaving some mystery；〃 thought
Raskolnikov。 He stood and waited； waited a long while； and the more
silent the moonlight； the more violently his heart beat； till it was
painful。 And still the same hush。 Suddenly he heard a momentary
sharp crack like the snapping of a splinter and all was still again。 A
fly flew up suddenly and struck the window pane with a plaintive buzz。
At that moment he noticed in the corner between the window and the
little cupboard something like a cloak hanging on the wall。 〃Why is
that cloak here？〃 he thought； 〃it wasn't there before。。。。〃 He went
up to it quietly and felt that there was some one hiding behind it。 He
cautiously moved the cloak and saw； sitting on a chair in the
corner； the old woman bent double so that he couldn't see her face；
but it was she。 He stood over her。 〃She is afraid；〃 he thought。 He
stealthily took the axe from the noose and struck her one blow； then
another on the skull。 But strange to say she did not stir； as though
she were made of wood。 He was frightened； bent down nearer and tried
to look at her； but she； too； bent her head lower。 He bent right
down to the ground and peeped up into her face from below； he peeped
and turned cold with horror： the old woman was sitting and laughing；
shaking with noiseless laughter； doing her utmost that he should not
hear it。 Suddenly he fancied that the door from the bedroom was opened
a little and that there was laughter and whispering within。 He was
overcome with frenzy and he began hitting the old woman on the head
with all his force； but at every blow of the axe the laughter and
whispering from the bedroom grew louder and the old woman was simply
shaking with mirth。 He was rushing away； but the passage was full of
people； the doors of the flats stood open and on the landing； on the
stairs and everywhere below there were people； rows of heads； all
looking； but huddled together in silence and expectation。 Something
gripped his heart； his legs were rooted to the spot； they would not
move。。。。 He tried to scream and woke up。
He drew a deep breath… but his dream seemed strangely to persist：
his door was flung open and a man whom he had never seen stood in
the doorway watching him intently。