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- Федор Достоевский
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“
Why
does
my
action
strike
them
as
so
horrible
?
”
he
said
to
himself
.
“
Is
it
because
it
was
a
crime
?
What
is
meant
by
crime
?
My
conscience
is
at
rest
.
Of
course
,
it
was
a
legal
crime
,
of
course
,
the
letter
of
the
law
was
broken
and
blood
was
shed
.
Well
,
punish
me
for
the
letter
of
the
law
.
.
.
and
that
’
s
enough
.
Of
course
,
in
that
case
many
of
the
benefactors
of
mankind
who
snatched
power
for
themselves
instead
of
inheriting
it
ought
to
have
been
punished
at
their
first
steps
.
But
those
men
succeeded
and
so
they
were
right
,
and
I
didn
’
t
,
and
so
I
had
no
right
to
have
taken
that
step
.
”
It
was
only
in
that
that
he
recognised
his
criminality
,
only
in
the
fact
that
he
had
been
unsuccessful
and
had
confessed
it
.
He
suffered
too
from
the
question
:
why
had
he
not
killed
himself
?
Why
had
he
stood
looking
at
the
river
and
preferred
to
confess
?
Was
the
desire
to
live
so
strong
and
was
it
so
hard
to
overcome
it
?
Had
not
Svidrigaïlov
overcome
it
,
although
he
was
afraid
of
death
?
In
misery
he
asked
himself
this
question
,
and
could
not
understand
that
,
at
the
very
time
he
had
been
standing
looking
into
the
river
,
he
had
perhaps
been
dimly
conscious
of
the
fundamental
falsity
in
himself
and
his
convictions
.
He
didn
’
t
understand
that
that
consciousness
might
be
the
promise
of
a
future
crisis
,
of
a
new
view
of
life
and
of
his
future
resurrection
.
He
preferred
to
attribute
it
to
the
dead
weight
of
instinct
which
he
could
not
step
over
,
again
through
weakness
and
meanness
.
He
looked
at
his
fellow
prisoners
and
was
amazed
to
see
how
they
all
loved
life
and
prized
it
.
It
seemed
to
him
that
they
loved
and
valued
life
more
in
prison
than
in
freedom
.
What
terrible
agonies
and
privations
some
of
them
,
the
tramps
for
instance
,
had
endured
!
Could
they
care
so
much
for
a
ray
of
sunshine
,
for
the
primeval
forest
,
the
cold
spring
hidden
away
in
some
unseen
spot
,
which
the
tramp
had
marked
three
years
before
,
and
longed
to
see
again
,
as
he
might
to
see
his
sweetheart
,
dreaming
of
the
green
grass
round
it
and
the
bird
singing
in
the
bush
?
As
he
went
on
he
saw
still
more
inexplicable
examples
.
In
prison
,
of
course
,
there
was
a
great
deal
he
did
not
see
and
did
not
want
to
see
;
he
lived
as
it
were
with
downcast
eyes
.
It
was
loathsome
and
unbearable
for
him
to
look
.
But
in
the
end
there
was
much
that
surprised
him
and
he
began
,
as
it
were
involuntarily
,
to
notice
much
that
he
had
not
suspected
before
.
What
surprised
him
most
of
all
was
the
terrible
impossible
gulf
that
lay
between
him
and
all
the
rest
.
They
seemed
to
be
a
different
species
,
and
he
looked
at
them
and
they
at
him
with
distrust
and
hostility
.
He
felt
and
knew
the
reasons
of
his
isolation
,
but
he
would
never
have
admitted
till
then
that
those
reasons
were
so
deep
and
strong
.
There
were
some
Polish
exiles
,
political
prisoners
,
among
them
.
They
simply
looked
down
upon
all
the
rest
as
ignorant
churls
;
but
Raskolnikov
could
not
look
upon
them
like
that
.
He
saw
that
these
ignorant
men
were
in
many
respects
far
wiser
than
the
Poles
.
There
were
some
Russians
who
were
just
as
contemptuous
,
a
former
officer
and
two
seminarists
.
Raskolnikov
saw
their
mistake
as
clearly
.
He
was
disliked
and
avoided
by
everyone
;
they
even
began
to
hate
him
at
last
—
why
,
he
could
not
tell
.
Men
who
had
been
far
more
guilty
despised
and
laughed
at
his
crime
.
“
You
’
re
a
gentleman
,
”
they
used
to
say
.
“
You
shouldn
’
t
hack
about
with
an
axe
;
that
’
s
not
a
gentleman
’
s
work
.
”
The
second
week
in
Lent
,
his
turn
came
to
take
the
sacrament
with
his
gang
.
He
went
to
church
and
prayed
with
the
others
.
A
quarrel
broke
out
one
day
,
he
did
not
know
how
.
All
fell
on
him
at
once
in
a
fury
.
