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- Федор Достоевский
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- Преступление и наказание
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- Стр. 233/453
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“
Don
’
t
disturb
him
!
Let
him
sleep
.
He
can
have
his
dinner
later
.
”
“
Quite
so
,
”
answered
Razumihin
.
Both
withdrew
carefully
and
closed
the
door
.
Another
half
-
hour
passed
.
Raskolnikov
opened
his
eyes
,
turned
on
his
back
again
,
clasping
his
hands
behind
his
head
.
“
Who
is
he
?
Who
is
that
man
who
sprang
out
of
the
earth
?
Where
was
he
,
what
did
he
see
?
He
has
seen
it
all
,
that
’
s
clear
.
Where
was
he
then
?
And
from
where
did
he
see
?
Why
has
he
only
now
sprung
out
of
the
earth
?
And
how
could
he
see
?
Is
it
possible
?
Hm
.
.
.
”
continued
Raskolnikov
,
turning
cold
and
shivering
,
“
and
the
jewel
case
Nikolay
found
behind
the
door
—
was
that
possible
?
A
clue
?
You
miss
an
infinitesimal
line
and
you
can
build
it
into
a
pyramid
of
evidence
!
A
fly
flew
by
and
saw
it
!
Is
it
possible
?
”
He
felt
with
sudden
loathing
how
weak
,
how
physically
weak
he
had
become
.
“
I
ought
to
have
known
it
,
”
he
thought
with
a
bitter
smile
.
“
And
how
dared
I
,
knowing
myself
,
knowing
how
I
should
be
,
take
up
an
axe
and
shed
blood
!
I
ought
to
have
known
beforehand
.
.
.
.
Ah
,
but
I
did
know
!
”
he
whispered
in
despair
.
At
times
he
came
to
a
standstill
at
some
thought
.
“
No
,
those
men
are
not
made
so
.
The
real
Master
to
whom
all
is
permitted
storms
Toulon
,
makes
a
massacre
in
Paris
,
forgets
an
army
in
Egypt
,
wastes
half
a
million
men
in
the
Moscow
expedition
and
gets
off
with
a
jest
at
Vilna
.
And
altars
are
set
up
to
him
after
his
death
,
and
so
all
is
permitted
.
No
,
such
people
,
it
seems
,
are
not
of
flesh
but
of
bronze
!
”
One
sudden
irrelevant
idea
almost
made
him
laugh
.
Napoleon
,
the
pyramids
,
Waterloo
,
and
a
wretched
skinny
old
woman
,
a
pawnbroker
with
a
red
trunk
under
her
bed
—
it
’
s
a
nice
hash
for
Porfiry
Petrovitch
to
digest
!
How
can
they
digest
it
!
It
’
s
too
inartistic
.
“
A
Napoleon
creep
under
an
old
woman
’
s
bed
!
Ugh
,
how
loathsome
!
”
At
moments
he
felt
he
was
raving
.
He
sank
into
a
state
of
feverish
excitement
.
“
The
old
woman
is
of
no
consequence
,
”
he
thought
,
hotly
and
incoherently
.
“
The
old
woman
was
a
mistake
perhaps
,
but
she
is
not
what
matters
!
The
old
woman
was
only
an
illness
.
.
.
.
I
was
in
a
hurry
to
overstep
.
.
.
.
I
didn
’
t
kill
a
human
being
,
but
a
principle
!
I
killed
the
principle
,
but
I
didn
’
t
overstep
,
I
stopped
on
this
side
.
.
.
.
I
was
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
rouble
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
æsthetic
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
!
”
