CHAPTER VII
The door was as before opened a tiny crack, and again two sharp andsuspicious eyes stared at him out of the darkness. Then Raskolnikov losthis head and nearly made a great mistake.
Fearing the old woman would be frightened by their being alone, and nothoping that the sight of him would disarm her suspicions, he tookhold of the door and drew it towards him to prevent the old woman fromattempting 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 withit on to the stairs. Seeing that she was standing in the doorway notallowing him to pass, he advanced straight upon her. She stepped backin alarm, tried to say something, but seemed unable to speak and staredwith open eyes at him.
"Good evening, Alyona Ivanovna," he began, trying to speak easily, buthis voice would not obey him, it broke and shook. "I have come... I havebrought something... but we'd better come in... to the light...."
And leaving her, he passed straight into the room uninvited. The oldwoman ran after him; her tongue was unloosed.
"Good heavens! What it is? Who is it? What do you want?"
"Why, Alyona Ivanovna, you know me... Raskolnikov... here, I brought youthe pledge I promised the other day..." And he held out the pledge.
The old woman glanced for a moment at the pledge, but at once stared inthe eyes of her uninvited visitor. She looked intently, maliciously andmistrustfully. A minute passed; he even fancied something like a sneerin her eyes, as though she had already guessed everything. He felt thathe was losing his head, that he was almost frightened, so frightenedthat if she were to look like that and not say a word for another halfminute, he thought he would have run away from her.
"Why do you look at me as though you did not know me?" he said suddenly,also with malice. "Take it if you like, if not I'll go elsewhere, I amin a hurry."
He had not even thought of saying this, but it was suddenly said ofitself. The old woman recovered herself, and her visitor's resolute toneevidently restored her confidence.
"But why, my good sir, all of a minute.... What is it?" she asked,looking at the pledge.
"The silver cigarette case; I spoke of it last time, you know."
She held out her hand.
"But how pale you are, to be sure... and your hands are trembling too?Have you been bathing, or what?"
"Fever," he answered abruptly. "You can't help getting pale... if you'venothing to eat," he added, with difficulty articulating the words.
His strength was failing him again. But his answer sounded like thetruth; the old woman took the pledge.
"What is it?" she asked once more, scanning Raskolnikov intently, andweighing the pledge in her hand.
"A thing... cigarette case.... Silver.... Look at it."
"It does not seem somehow like silver.... How he has wrapped it up!"
Trying to untie the string and turning to the window, to the light (allher windows were shut, in spite of the stifling heat), she lefthim altogether for some seconds and stood with her back to him. Heunbuttoned his coat and freed the axe from the noose, but did not yettake it out altogether, simply holding it in his right hand under thecoat. His hands were fearfully weak, he felt them every moment growingmore numb and more wooden. He was afraid he would let the axe slip andfall.... A sudden giddiness came over him.
"But what has he tied it up like this for?" the old woman cried withvexation and moved towards him.
He had not a minute more to lose. He pulled the axe quite out, swungit with both arms, scarcely conscious of himself, and almost withouteffort, almost mechanically, brought the blunt side down on her head. Heseemed not to use his own strength in this. But as soon as he had oncebrought the axe down, his strength returned to him.
The old woman was as always bareheaded. Her thin, light hair, streakedwith grey, thickly smeared with grease, was plaited in a rat's tail andfastened by a broken horn comb which stood out on the nape of her neck.As she was so short, the blow fell on the very top of her skull. Shecried out, but very faintly, and suddenly sank all of a heap on thefloor, raising her hands to her head. In one hand she still held "thepledge." Then he dealt her another and another blow with the blunt sideand on the same spot. The blood gushed as from an overturned glass, thebody fell back. He stepped back, let it fall, and at once bent over herface; she was dead. Her eyes seemed to be starting out of their sockets,the brow and the whole face were drawn and contorted convulsively.
He laid the axe on the ground near the dead body and felt at once in herpocket (trying to avoid the streaming body)--the same right-hand pocketfrom which she had taken the key on his last visit. He was in fullpossession of his faculties, free from confusion or giddiness, but hishands were still trembling. He remembered afterwards that he had beenparticularly collected and careful, trying all the time not to getsmeared with blood.... He pulled out the keys at once, they were all,as before, in one bunch on a steel ring. He ran at once into the bedroomwith them. It was a very small room with a whole shrine of holy images.Against the other wall stood a big bed, very clean and covered witha silk patchwork wadded quilt. Against a third wall was a chest ofdrawers. Strange to say, so soon as he began to fit the keys into thechest, so soon as he heard their jingling, a convulsive shudder passedover him. He suddenly felt tempted again to give it all up and goaway. But that was only for an instant; it was too late to go back.He positively smiled at himself, when suddenly another terrifying ideaoccurred to his mind. He suddenly fancied that the old woman might bestill alive and might recover her senses. Leaving the keys in the chest,he ran back to the body, snatched up the axe and lifted it once moreover the old woman, but did not bring it down. There was no doubt thatshe was dead. Bending down and examining her again more closely, he sawclearly that the skull was broken and even battered in on one side. Hewas about to feel it with his finger, but drew back his hand and indeedit was evident without that. Meanwhile there was a perfect pool ofblood. All at once he noticed a string on her neck; he tugged at it, butthe string was strong and did not snap and besides, it was soakedwith blood. He tried to pull it out from the front of the dress, butsomething held it and prevented its coming. In his impatience he raisedthe axe again to cut the string from above on the body, but did notdare, and with difficulty, smearing his hand and the axe in the blood,after two minutes' hurried effort, he cut the string and took it offwithout touching the body with the axe; he was not mistaken--it was apurse. On the string were two crosses, one of Cyprus wood and one ofcopper, and an image in silver filigree, and with them a small greasychamois leather purse with a steel rim and ring. The purse was stuffedvery full; Raskolnikov thrust it in his pocket without looking at it,flung the crosses on the old woman's body and rushed back into thebedroom, this time taking the axe with him.
He was in terrible haste, he snatched the keys, and began trying themagain. But he was unsuccessful. They would not fit in the locks. Itwas not so much that his hands were shaking, but that he kept makingmistakes; though he saw for instance that a key was not the right oneand would not fit, still he tried to put it in. Suddenly he rememberedand realised that the big key with the deep notches, which was hangingthere with the small keys could not possibly belong to the chest ofdrawers (on his last visit this had struck him), but to some strong box,and that everything perhaps was hidden in that box. He left the chestof drawers, and at once felt under the bedstead, knowing that oldwomen usually keep boxes under their beds. And so it was; there was agood-sized box under the bed, at least a yard in length, with an archedlid covered with red leather and studded with steel nails. The notchedkey fitted at once and unlocked it. At the top, under a white sheet, wasa coat of red brocade lined with hareskin; under it was a silk dress,then a shawl and it seemed as though there was nothing below butclothes. The first thing he did was to wipe his blood-stained hands onthe red brocade. "It's red, and on red blood will be less noticeable,"the thought passed through his mind; then he suddenly came to himself."Good God, am I going out of my senses?" he thought with
terror.
But no sooner did he touch the clothes than a gold watch slipped fromunder the fur coat. He made haste to turn them all over. There turnedout to be various articles made of gold among the clothes--probablyall pledges, unredeemed or waiting to be redeemed--bracelets, chains,ear-rings, pins and such things. Some were in cases, others simplywrapped in newspaper, carefully and exactly folded, and tied round withtape. Without any delay, he began filling up the pockets of his trousersand overcoat without examining or undoing the parcels and cases; but hehad not time to take many....
He suddenly heard steps in the room where the old woman lay. He stoppedshort and was still as death. But all was quiet, so it must have beenhis fancy. All at once he heard distinctly a faint cry, as thoughsomeone had uttered a low broken moan. Then again dead silence fora minute or two. He sat squatting on his heels by the box and waitedholding his breath. Suddenly he jumped up, seized the axe and ran out ofthe bedroom.
In the middle of the room stood Lizaveta with a big bundle in her arms.She was gazing in stupefaction at her murdered sister, white as a sheetand seeming not to have the strength to cry out. Seeing him run outof the bedroom, she began faintly quivering all over, like a leaf, ashudder ran down her face; she lifted her hand, opened her mouth, butstill did not scream. She began slowly backing away from him into thecorner, staring intently, persistently at him, but still uttered nosound, as though she could not get breath to scream. He rushed at herwith the axe; her mouth twitched piteously, as one sees babies' mouths,when they begin to be frightened, stare intently at what frightens themand are on the point of screaming. And this hapless Lizaveta was sosimple and had been so thoroughly crushed and scared that she did noteven raise a hand to guard her face, though that was the most necessaryand natural action at the moment, for the axe was raised over her face.She only put up her empty left hand, but not to her face, slowly holdingit out before her as though motioning him away. The axe fell with thesharp edge just on the skull and split at one blow all the top of thehead. She fell heavily at once. Raskolnikov completely lost his head,snatching up her bundle, dropped it again and ran into the entry.
Fear gained more and more mastery over him, especially after thissecond, quite unexpected murder. He longed to run away from the placeas fast as possible. And if at that moment he had been capable of seeingand reasoning more correctly, if he had been able to realise all thedifficulties of his position, the hopelessness, the hideousness and theabsurdity of it, if he could have understood how many obstacles and,perhaps, crimes he had still to overcome or to commit, to get out ofthat place and to make his way home, it is very possible that he wouldhave flung up everything, and would have gone to give himself up, andnot from fear, but from simple horror and loathing of what he haddone. The feeling of loathing especially surged up within him and grewstronger every minute. He would not now have gone to the box or eveninto the room for anything in the world.
But a sort of blankness, even dreaminess, had begun by degrees to takepossession of him; at moments he forgot himself, or rather, forgot whatwas of importance, and caught at trifles. Glancing, however, into thekitchen and seeing a bucket half full of water on a bench, he bethoughthim of washing his hands and the axe. His hands were sticky with blood.He dropped the axe with the blade in the water, snatched a piece of soapthat lay in a broken saucer on the window, and began washing his handsin the bucket. When they were clean, he took out the axe, washed theblade and spent a long time, about three minutes, washing the wood wherethere were spots of blood rubbing them with soap. Then he wiped it allwith some linen that was hanging to dry on a line in the kitchen andthen he was a long while attentively examining the axe at the window.There was no trace left on it, only the wood was still damp. Hecarefully hung the axe in the noose under his coat. Then as far as waspossible, in the dim light in the kitchen, he looked over his overcoat,his trousers and his boots. At the first glance there seemed to benothing but stains on the boots. He wetted the rag and rubbed the boots.But he knew he was not looking thoroughly, that there might be somethingquite noticeable that he was overlooking. He stood in the middle of theroom, lost in thought. Dark agonising ideas rose in his mind--the ideathat he was mad and that at that moment he was incapable of reasoning,of protecting himself, that he ought perhaps to be doing somethingutterly different from what he was now doing. "Good God!" he muttered "Imust fly, fly," and he rushed into the entry. But here a shock of terrorawaited him such as he had never known before.
He stood and gazed and could not believe his eyes: the door, the outerdoor from the stairs, at which he had not long before waited and rung,was standing unfastened and at least six inches open. No lock, no bolt,all the time, all that time! The old woman had not shut it after himperhaps as a precaution. But, good God! Why, he had seen Lizavetaafterwards! And how could he, how could he have failed to reflect thatshe must have come in somehow! She could not have come through the wall!
He dashed to the door and fastened the latch.
"But no, the wrong thing again! I must get away, get away...."
He unfastened the latch, opened the door and began listening on thestaircase.
He listened a long time. Somewhere far away, it might be in the gateway,two voices were loudly and shrilly shouting, quarrelling and scolding."What are they about?" He waited patiently. At last all was still, asthough suddenly cut off; they had separated. He was meaning to go out,but suddenly, on the floor below, a door was noisily opened and someonebegan going downstairs humming a tune. "How is it they all make sucha noise?" flashed through his mind. Once more he closed the door andwaited. At last all was still, not a soul stirring. He was just taking astep towards the stairs when he heard fresh footsteps.
The steps sounded very far off, at the very bottom of the stairs, buthe remembered quite clearly and distinctly that from the first sound hebegan for some reason to suspect that this was someone coming _there_,to the fourth floor, to the old woman. Why? Were the sounds somehowpeculiar, significant? The steps were heavy, even and unhurried. Now_he_ had passed the first floor, now he was mounting higher, it wasgrowing more and more distinct! He could hear his heavy breathing. Andnow the third storey had been reached. Coming here! And it seemed tohim all at once that he was turned to stone, that it was like a dreamin which one is being pursued, nearly caught and will be killed, and isrooted to the spot and cannot even move one's arms.
At last when the unknown was mounting to the fourth floor, he suddenlystarted, and succeeded in slipping neatly and quickly back into theflat and closing the door behind him. Then he took the hook and softly,noiselessly, fixed it in the catch. Instinct helped him. When he haddone this, he crouched holding his breath, by the door. The unknownvisitor was by now also at the door. They were now standing opposite oneanother, as he had just before been standing with the old woman, whenthe door divided them and he was listening.
The visitor panted several times. "He must be a big, fat man," thoughtRaskolnikov, squeezing the axe in his hand. It seemed like a dreamindeed. The visitor took hold of the bell and rang it loudly.
As soon as the tin bell tinkled, Raskolnikov seemed to be aware ofsomething moving in the room. For some seconds he listened quiteseriously. The unknown rang again, waited and suddenly tugged violentlyand impatiently at the handle of the door. Raskolnikov gazed in horrorat the hook shaking in its fastening, and in blank terror expected everyminute that the fastening would be pulled out. It certainly did seempossible, so violently was he shaking it. He was tempted to hold thefastening, but _he_ might be aware of it. A giddiness came over himagain. "I shall fall down!" flashed through his mind, but the unknownbegan to speak and he recovered himself at once.
"What's up? Are they asleep or murdered? D-damn them!" he bawled in athick voice, "Hey, Alyona Ivanovna, old witch! Lizaveta Ivanovna, hey,my beauty! open the door! Oh, damn them! Are they asleep or what?"
And again, enraged, he tugged with all his might a dozen times atthe bell. He must certainly be a man of authority and an intimateacquaintance.
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br /> At this moment light hurried steps were heard not far off, on thestairs. Someone else was approaching. Raskolnikov had not heard them atfirst.
"You don't say there's no one at home," the new-comer cried in acheerful, ringing voice, addressing the first visitor, who still went onpulling the bell. "Good evening, Koch."
"From his voice he must be quite young," thought Raskolnikov.
"Who the devil can tell? I've almost broken the lock," answered Koch."But how do you come to know me?"
"Why! The day before yesterday I beat you three times running atbilliards at Gambrinus'."
"Oh!"
"So they are not at home? That's queer. It's awfully stupid though.Where could the old woman have gone? I've come on business."
"Yes; and I have business with her, too."
"Well, what can we do? Go back, I suppose, Aie--aie! And I was hoping toget some money!" cried the young man.
"We must give it up, of course, but what did she fix this time for? Theold witch fixed the time for me to come herself. It's out of my way.And where the devil she can have got to, I can't make out. She sits herefrom year's end to year's end, the old hag; her legs are bad and yethere all of a sudden she is out for a walk!"
"Hadn't we better ask the porter?"
"What?"
"Where she's gone and when she'll be back."
"Hm.... Damn it all!... We might ask.... But you know she never does goanywhere."
And he once more tugged at the door-handle.
"Damn it all. There's nothing to be done, we must go!"
"Stay!" cried the young man suddenly. "Do you see how the door shakes ifyou pull it?"
"Well?"
"That shows it's not locked, but fastened with the hook! Do you hear howthe hook clanks?"
"Well?"
"Why, don't you see? That proves that one of them is at home. If theywere all out, they would have locked the door from the outside with thekey and not with the hook from inside. There, do you hear how the hookis clanking? To fasten the hook on the inside they must be at home,don't you see. So there they are sitting inside and don't open thedoor!"
"Well! And so they must be!" cried Koch, astonished. "What are theyabout in there?" And he began furiously shaking the door.
"Stay!" cried the young man again. "Don't pull at it! There must besomething wrong.... Here, you've been ringing and pulling at the doorand still they don't open! So either they've both fainted or..."
"What?"
"I tell you what. Let's go fetch the porter, let him wake them up."
"All right."
Both were going down.
"Stay. You stop here while I run down for the porter."
"What for?"
"Well, you'd better."
"All right."
"I'm studying the law you see! It's evident, e-vi-dent there's somethingwrong here!" the young man cried hotly, and he ran downstairs.
Koch remained. Once more he softly touched the bell which gave onetinkle, then gently, as though reflecting and looking about him, begantouching the door-handle pulling it and letting it go to make sure oncemore that it was only fastened by the hook. Then puffing and panting hebent down and began looking at the keyhole: but the key was in the lockon the inside and so nothing could be seen.
Raskolnikov stood keeping tight hold of the axe. He was in a sort ofdelirium. He was even making ready to fight when they should come in.While they were knocking and talking together, the idea several timesoccurred to him to end it all at once and shout to them through thedoor. Now and then he was tempted to swear at them, to jeer at them,while they could not open the door! "Only make haste!" was the thoughtthat flashed through his mind.
"But what the devil is he about?..." Time was passing, one minute, andanother--no one came. Koch began to be restless.
"What the devil?" he cried suddenly and in impatience deserting hissentry duty, he, too, went down, hurrying and thumping with his heavyboots on the stairs. The steps died away.
"Good heavens! What am I to do?"
Raskolnikov unfastened the hook, opened the door--there was no sound.Abruptly, without any thought at all, he went out, closing the door asthoroughly as he could, and went downstairs.
He had gone down three flights when he suddenly heard a loud voicebelow--where could he go! There was nowhere to hide. He was just goingback to the flat.
"Hey there! Catch the brute!"
Somebody dashed out of a flat below, shouting, and rather fell than randown the stairs, bawling at the top of his voice.
"Mitka! Mitka! Mitka! Mitka! Mitka! Blast him!"
The shout ended in a shriek; the last sounds came from the yard; all wasstill. But at the same instant several men talking loud and fast begannoisily mounting the stairs. There were three or four of them. Hedistinguished the ringing voice of the young man. "Hey!"
Filled with despair he went straight to meet them, feeling "come whatmust!" If they stopped him--all was lost; if they let him pass--all waslost too; they would remember him. They were approaching; they were onlya flight from him--and suddenly deliverance! A few steps from him on theright, there was an empty flat with the door wide open, the flat on thesecond floor where the painters had been at work, and which, as thoughfor his benefit, they had just left. It was they, no doubt, who had justrun down, shouting. The floor had only just been painted, in the middleof the room stood a pail and a broken pot with paint and brushes. In oneinstant he had whisked in at the open door and hidden behind the walland only in the nick of time; they had already reached the landing.Then they turned and went on up to the fourth floor, talking loudly. Hewaited, went out on tiptoe and ran down the stairs.
No one was on the stairs, nor in the gateway. He passed quickly throughthe gateway and turned to the left in the street.
He knew, he knew perfectly well that at that moment they were at theflat, that they were greatly astonished at finding it unlocked, asthe door had just been fastened, that by now they were looking at thebodies, that before another minute had passed they would guess andcompletely realise that the murderer had just been there, and hadsucceeded in hiding somewhere, slipping by them and escaping. They wouldguess most likely that he had been in the empty flat, while they weregoing upstairs. And meanwhile he dared not quicken his pace much, thoughthe next turning was still nearly a hundred yards away. "Should heslip through some gateway and wait somewhere in an unknown street? No,hopeless! Should he fling away the axe? Should he take a cab? Hopeless,hopeless!"
At last he reached the turning. He turned down it more dead than alive.Here he was half way to safety, and he understood it; it was less riskybecause there was a great crowd of people, and he was lost in it like agrain of sand. But all he had suffered had so weakened him that he couldscarcely move. Perspiration ran down him in drops, his neck was all wet."My word, he has been going it!" someone shouted at him when he came outon the canal bank.
He was only dimly conscious of himself now, and the farther he went theworse it was. He remembered however, that on coming out on to the canalbank, he was alarmed at finding few people there and so being moreconspicuous, and he had thought of turning back. Though he was almostfalling from fatigue, he went a long way round so as to get home fromquite a different direction.
He was not fully conscious when he passed through the gateway of hishouse! He was already on the staircase before he recollected the axe.And yet he had a very grave problem before him, to put it back and toescape observation as far as possible in doing so. He was of courseincapable of reflecting that it might perhaps be far better not torestore the axe at all, but to drop it later on in somebody's yard. Butit all happened fortunately, the door of the porter's room was closedbut not locked, so that it seemed most likely that the porter was athome. But he had so completely lost all power of reflection that hewalked straight to the door and opened it. If the porter had asked him,"What do you want?" he would perhaps have simply handed him the axe. Butagain the porter was not at home, and he succeeded in putting the axeback un
der the bench, and even covering it with the chunk of wood asbefore. He met no one, not a soul, afterwards on the way to his room;the landlady's door was shut. When he was in his room, he flung himselfon the sofa just as he was--he did not sleep, but sank into blankforgetfulness. If anyone had come into his room then, he would havejumped up at once and screamed. Scraps and shreds of thoughts weresimply swarming in his brain, but he could not catch at one, he couldnot rest on one, in spite of all his efforts....
PART II