Listen to the AudioBook: Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

PART I

I

At the end of March, in the evening, during a spell of cold, nasty weather, a young man came out of his tiny room which he rented from tenants in S— Lane, and slowly, as though in hesitation, set off towards K— bridge. He had managed to leave his room without attracting the attention of his landlady, who was already expecting him to pay his rent, and without running into his landlord, who was loitering in the passage. The garret was a real closet, more like a cupboard than a room, with a low ceiling and a gloomy aspect, and the light from the window, though the window was high up, was so dim that the occupant could not read a book unless he sat up close to the window, or stood up. The tenant who occupied this closet was a young man named Raskolnikov, a former student of the Faculty of Law, who had left his studies some time ago.

He had lodged in this attic room on the fourth floor of a tall, somewhat dilapidated house, at the very end of the lane, for nearly two years now. The smallness of his lodging was such that he could not use it for any purpose except sleeping, and that in a very cramped state. Even his rough furniture was squeezed into it. His landlady, a stout woman who rented him the room, never went into his room, though she was constantly after him for the rent. His servant, a dark, sullen fellow, who had been in his service when he was still studying, had not been kept on after he gave up his studies.

The young man had the habit of seldom coming out of his room, and when he did go out he always did so with a feeling of disgust. This was partly due to the squalor of the place and partly to some other reason, which it is not necessary to specify here. He had a morbid aversion to the servants and the landlady when they crossed his path, and he avoided them as much as possible.

On this particular evening, however, he was quite unconcerned about running into anyone. He felt very weak, and as if he were only just recovering from some illness. He could not recall precisely how long he had been feeling so unwell.

He did not care much where he was going, and he had no definite intention of going anywhere. He knew, however, that he had no money, and that he had just quarrelled violently with his landlady over the rent. He knew that even if he had gone to see a certain old acquaintance, he would not have been able to get anything out of him.

He had a singular feeling of listlessness and apathy that evening. He was not thinking of anything in particular, but he was feeling extremely wretched. He was not even thinking about the rent.

He walked aimlessly down the street, without seeming to notice the shops, or the passers-by, or the surroundings. He only noticed that the weather was cold and damp, and that the air was thick with a greasy yellow fog.

As he neared the bridge, he sat down on a bench, though it was wet and uncomfortable. He stared vacantly at the river. He thought that he had been sitting there for a long time, but he could not say how long. He was lost in thought, but his thoughts were vague and indistinct.

Suddenly, he started, as if waking from a dream. He remembered something, and a strange feeling came over him. He was thinking about an old pawnbroker woman who lived in a dark corner of the city, and who was known to be a terrible usurer. He remembered that he had an object of value at her place, something that had belonged to his sister.

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