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- Федор Достоевский
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- Преступление и наказание
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- Стр. 234/453
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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
court
-
yard
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
someone
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
.
Raskolnikov
had
hardly
opened
his
eyes
and
he
instantly
closed
them
again
.
He
lay
on
his
back
without
stirring
.
“
Is
it
still
a
dream
?
”
he
wondered
and
again
raised
his
eyelids
hardly
perceptibly
;
the
stranger
was
standing
in
the
same
place
,
still
watching
him
He
stepped
cautiously
into
the
room
,
carefully
closing
the
door
after
him
,
went
up
to
the
table
,
paused
a
moment
,
still
keeping
his
eyes
on
Raskolnikov
,
and
noiselessly
seated
himself
on
the
chair
by
the
sofa
;
he
put
his
hat
on
the
floor
beside
him
and
leaned
his
hands
on
his
cane
and
his
chin
on
his
hands
.
It
was
evident
that
he
was
prepared
to
wait
indefinitely
.
As
far
as
Raskolnikov
could
make
out
from
his
stolen
glances
,
he
was
a
man
no
longer
young
,
stout
,
with
a
full
,
fair
,
almost
whitish
beard
.
Ten
minutes
passed
.
It
was
still
light
,
but
beginning
to
get
dusk
.
There
was
complete
stillness
in
the
room
.
Not
a
sound
came
from
the
stairs
.
Only
a
big
fly
buzzed
and
fluttered
against
the
window
pane
.
It
was
unbearable
at
last
.
Raskolnikov
suddenly
got
up
and
sat
on
the
sofa
.
“
Come
,
tell
me
what
you
want
.
”
