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- Федор Достоевский
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- Стр. 374/453
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From
his
childhood
the
thought
of
death
and
the
presence
of
death
had
something
oppressive
and
mysteriously
awful
;
and
it
was
long
since
he
had
heard
the
requiem
service
.
And
there
was
something
else
here
as
well
,
too
awful
and
disturbing
.
He
looked
at
the
children
:
they
were
all
kneeling
by
the
coffin
;
Polenka
was
weeping
.
Behind
them
Sonia
prayed
,
softly
and
,
as
it
were
,
timidly
weeping
.
“
These
last
two
days
she
hasn
’
t
said
a
word
to
me
,
she
hasn
’
t
glanced
at
me
,
”
Raskolnikov
thought
suddenly
.
The
sunlight
was
bright
in
the
room
;
the
incense
rose
in
clouds
;
the
priest
read
,
“
Give
rest
,
oh
Lord
.
.
.
.
”
Raskolnikov
stayed
all
through
the
service
.
As
he
blessed
them
and
took
his
leave
,
the
priest
looked
round
strangely
.
After
the
service
,
Raskolnikov
went
up
to
Sonia
.
She
took
both
his
hands
and
let
her
head
sink
on
his
shoulder
.
This
slight
friendly
gesture
bewildered
Raskolnikov
.
It
seemed
strange
to
him
that
there
was
no
trace
of
repugnance
,
no
trace
of
disgust
,
no
tremor
in
her
hand
.
It
was
the
furthest
limit
of
self
-
abnegation
,
at
least
so
he
interpreted
it
.
Sonia
said
nothing
.
Raskolnikov
pressed
her
hand
and
went
out
.
He
felt
very
miserable
.
If
it
had
been
possible
to
escape
to
some
solitude
,
he
would
have
thought
himself
lucky
,
even
if
he
had
to
spend
his
whole
life
there
.
But
although
he
had
almost
always
been
by
himself
of
late
,
he
had
never
been
able
to
feel
alone
.
Sometimes
he
walked
out
of
the
town
on
to
the
high
road
,
once
he
had
even
reached
a
little
wood
,
but
the
lonelier
the
place
was
,
the
more
he
seemed
to
be
aware
of
an
uneasy
presence
near
him
.
It
did
not
frighten
him
,
but
greatly
annoyed
him
,
so
that
he
made
haste
to
return
to
the
town
,
to
mingle
with
the
crowd
,
to
enter
restaurants
and
taverns
,
to
walk
in
busy
thoroughfares
.
There
he
felt
easier
and
even
more
solitary
.
One
day
at
dusk
he
sat
for
an
hour
listening
to
songs
in
a
tavern
and
he
remembered
that
he
positively
enjoyed
it
.
But
at
last
he
had
suddenly
felt
the
same
uneasiness
again
,
as
though
his
conscience
smote
him
.
“
Here
I
sit
listening
to
singing
,
is
that
what
I
ought
to
be
doing
?
”
he
thought
.
Yet
he
felt
at
once
that
that
was
not
the
only
cause
of
his
uneasiness
;
there
was
something
requiring
immediate
decision
,
but
it
was
something
he
could
not
clearly
understand
or
put
into
words
.
It
was
a
hopeless
tangle
.
“
No
,
better
the
struggle
again
!
Better
Porfiry
again
.
.
.
or
Svidrigaïlov
.
.
.
.
Better
some
challenge
again
.
.
.
some
attack
.
Yes
,
yes
!
”
he
thought
.
He
went
out
of
the
tavern
and
rushed
away
almost
at
a
run
.
The
thought
of
Dounia
and
his
mother
suddenly
reduced
him
almost
to
a
panic
.
That
night
he
woke
up
before
morning
among
some
bushes
in
Krestovsky
Island
,
trembling
all
over
with
fever
;
he
walked
home
,
and
it
was
early
morning
when
he
arrived
.
After
some
hours
’
sleep
the
fever
left
him
,
but
he
woke
up
late
,
two
o
’
clock
in
the
afternoon
.
He
remembered
that
Katerina
Ivanovna
’
s
funeral
had
been
fixed
for
that
day
,
and
was
glad
that
he
was
not
present
at
it
.
Nastasya
brought
him
some
food
;
he
ate
and
drank
with
appetite
,
almost
with
greediness
.
His
head
was
fresher
and
he
was
calmer
than
he
had
been
for
the
last
three
days
.
He
even
felt
a
passing
wonder
at
his
previous
attacks
of
panic
.
The
door
opened
and
Razumihin
came
in
.
“
Ah
,
he
’
s
eating
,
then
he
’
s
not
ill
,
”
said
Razumihin
.
He
took
a
chair
and
sat
down
at
the
table
opposite
Raskolnikov
.
He
was
troubled
and
did
not
attempt
to
conceal
it
.
He
spoke
with
evident
annoyance
,
but
without
hurry
or
raising
his
voice
.
He
looked
as
though
he
had
some
special
fixed
determination
.
“
Listen
,
”
he
began
resolutely
.
“
As
far
as
I
am
concerned
,
you
may
all
go
to
hell
,
but
from
what
I
see
,
it
’
s
clear
to
me
that
I
can
’
t
make
head
or
tail
of
it
;
please
don
’
t
think
I
’
ve
come
to
ask
you
questions
.
I
don
’
t
want
to
know
,
hang
it
!
If
you
begin
telling
me
your
secrets
,
I
dare
say
I
shouldn
’
t
stay
to
listen
,
I
should
go
away
cursing
.
I
have
only
come
to
find
out
once
for
all
whether
it
’
s
a
fact
that
you
are
mad
?
There
is
a
conviction
in
the
air
that
you
are
mad
or
very
nearly
so
.
I
admit
I
’
ve
been
disposed
to
that
opinion
myself
,
judging
from
your
stupid
,
repulsive
and
quite
inexplicable
actions
,
and
from
your
recent
behavior
to
your
mother
and
sister
.
Only
a
monster
or
a
madman
could
treat
them
as
you
have
;
so
you
must
be
mad
.
”
