CRIME　AND　PUNISHMENT
  by　Fyodor　Dostoevsky
  translated　by　Constance　Garnett
  PART　ONE
  Chapter　One
  ON　AN　exceptionally　hot　evening　early　in　July　a　young　man　came　out
  of　the　garret　in　which　he　lodged　in　S。　Place　and　walked　slowly；　as
  though　in　hesitation；　towards　K。　bridge。
  He　had　successfully　avoided　meeting　his　landlady　on　the　staircase。
  His　garret　was　under　the　roof　of　a　high；　five…storied　house　and　was
  more　like　a　cupboard　than　a　room。　The　landlady　who　provided　him　with
  garret；　dinners；　and　attendance；　lived　on　the　floor　below；　and　every
  time　he　went　out　he　was　obliged　to　pass　her　kitchen；　the　door　of　which
  invariably　stood　open。　And　each　time　he　passed；　the　young　man　had　a
  sick；　frightened　feeling；　which　made　him　scowl　and　feel　ashamed。　He
  was　hopelessly　in　debt　to　his　landlady；　and　was　afraid　of　meeting　her。
  This　was　not　because　he　was　cowardly　and　abject；　quite　the　contrary；
  but　for　some　time　past　he　had　been　in　an　overstrained　irritable
  condition；　verging　on　hypochondria。　He　had　become　so　completely
  absorbed　in　himself；　and　isolated　from　his　fellows　that　he　dreaded
  meeting；　not　only　his　landlady；　but　any　one　at　all。　He　was　crushed
  by　poverty；　but　the　anxieties　of　his　position　had　of　late　ceased　to
  weigh　upon　him。　He　had　given　up　attending　to　matters　of　practical
  importance；　he　had　lost　all　desire　to　do　so。　Nothing　that　any　landlady
  could　do　had　a　real　terror　for　him。　But　to　be　stopped　on　the　stairs；
  to　be　forced　to　listen　to　her　trivial；　irrelevant　gossip；　to　pestering
  demands　for　payment；　threats　and　complaints；　and　to　rack　his　brains
  for　excuses；　to　prevaricate；　to　lie…　no；　rather　than　that；　he　would
  creep　down　the　stairs　like　a　cat　and　slip　out　unseen。
  This　evening；　however；　on　coming　out　into　the　street；　he　became
  acutely　aware　of　his　fears。
  〃I　want　to　attempt　a　thing　like　that　and　am　frightened　by　these
  trifles；〃　he　thought；　with　an　odd　smile。　〃Hm。。。　yes；　all　is　in　a　man's
  hands　and　he　lets　it　all　slip　from　cowardice；　that's　an　axiom。　It
  would　be　interesting　to　know　what　it　is　men　are　most　afraid　of。　Taking
  a　new　step；　uttering　a　new　word　is　what　they　fear　most。。。。　But　I　am
  talking　too　much。　It's　because　I　chatter　that　I　do　nothing。　Or　perhaps
  it　is　that　I　chatter　because　I　do　nothing。　I've　learned　to　chatter
  this　last　month；　lying　for　days　together　in　my　den　thinking。。。　of　Jack
  the　Giant…killer。　Why　am　I　going　there　now？　Am　I　capable　of　that？　Is
  that　serious？　It　is　not　serious　at　all。　It's　simply　a　fantasy　to　amuse
  myself；　a　plaything！　Yes；　maybe　it　is　a　plaything。〃
  The　heat　in　the　street　was　terrible：　and　the　airlessness；　the　bustle
  and　the　plaster；　scaffolding；　bricks；　and　dust　all　about　him；　and　that
  special　Petersburg　stench；　so　familiar　to　all　who　are　unable　to　get
  out　of　town　in　summer…　all　worked　painfully　upon　the　young　man's
  already　overwrought　nerves。　The　insufferable　stench　from　the
  pot…houses；　which　are　particularly　numerous　in　that　part　of　the
  town；　and　the　drunken　men　whom　he　met　continually；　although　it　was　a
  working　day；　completed　the　revolting　misery　of　the　picture。　An
  expression　of　the　profoundest　disgust　gleamed　for　a　moment　in　the
  young　man's　refined　face。　He　was；　by　the　way；　exceptionally
  handsome；　above　the　average　in　height；　slim；　well…built；　with
  beautiful　dark　eyes　and　dark　brown　hair。　Soon　he　sank　into　deep
  thought；　or　more　accurately　speaking　into　a　complete　blankness　of
  mind；　he　walked　along　not　observing　what　was　about　him　and　not
  caring　to　observe　it。　From　time　to　time；　he　would　mutter　something；
  from　the　habit　of　talking　to　himself；　to　which　he　had　just
  confessed。　At　these　moments　he　would　become　conscious　that　his　ideas
  were　sometimes　in　a　tangle　and　that　he　was　very　weak；　for　two　days
  he　had　scarcely　tasted　food。
  He　was　so　badly　dressed　that　even　a　man　accustomed　to　shabbiness
  would　have　been　ashamed　to　be　seen　in　the　street　in　such　rags。　In　that
  quarter　of　the　town；　however；　scarcely　any　shortcoming　in　dress
  would　have　created　surprise。　Owing　to　the　proximity　of　the　Hay　Market；
  the　number　of　establishments　of　bad　character；　the　preponderance　of
  the　trading　and　working　class　population　crowded　in　these　streets
  and　alleys　in　the　heart　of　Petersburg；　types　so　various　were　to　be
  seen　in　the　streets　that　no　figure；　however　queer；　would　have　caused
  surprise。　But　there　was　such　accumulated　bitterness　and　contempt　in
  the　young　man's　heart；　that；　in　spite　of　all　the　fastidiousness　of
  youth；　he　minded　his　rags　least　of　all　in　the　street。　It　was　a
  different　matter　when　he　met　with　acquaintances　or　with　former
  fellow　students；　whom；　indeed；　he　disliked　meeting　at　any　time。　And
  yet　when　a　drunken　man　who；　for　some　unknown　reason；　was　being　taken
  somewhere　in　a　huge　waggon　dragged　by　a　heavy　dray　horse；　suddenly
  shouted　at　him　as　he　drove　past：　〃Hey　there；　German　hatter〃　bawling　at
  the　top　of　his　voice　and　pointing　at　him…　the　young　man　stopped
  suddenly　and　clutched　tremulously　at　his　hat。　It　was　a　tall　round
  hat　from　Zimmerman's；　but　completely　worn　out；　rusty　with　age；　all
  torn　and　bespattered；　brimless　and　bent　on　one　side　in　a　most　unseemly
  fashion。　Not　shame；　however；　but　quite　another　feeling　akin　to
  terror　had　overtaken　him。
  〃I　knew　it；〃　he　muttered　in　confusion；　〃I　thought　so！　That's　the
  worst　of　all！　Why；　a　stupid　thing　like　this；　the　most　trivial　detail
  might　spoil　the　whole　plan。　Yes；　my　hat　is　too　noticeable。。。。　It　looks
  absurd　and　that　makes　it　noticeable。。。。　With　my　rags　I　ought　to　wear　a
  cap；　any　sort　of　old　pancake；　but　not　this　grotesque　thing。　Nobody
  wears　such　a　hat；　it　would　be　noticed　a　mile　off；　it　would　be
  remembered。。。。　What　matters　is　that　people　would　remember　it；　and　that
  would　give　them　a　clue。　For　this　business　one　should　be　as　little
  conspicuous　as　possible。。。。　Trifles；　trifles　are　what　matter！　Why；
  it's　just　such　trifles　that　always　ruin　everything。。。。〃
  He　had　not　far　to　go；　he　knew　indeed　how　many　steps　it　was　from
  the　gate　of　his　lodging　house：　exactly　seven　hundred　and　thirty。　He
  had　counted　them　once　when　he　had　been　lost　in　dreams。　At　the　time
  he　had　put　no　faith　in　those　dreams　and　was　only　tantalising　himself
  by　their　hideous　but　daring　recklessness。　Now；　a　month　later；　he　had
  begun　to　look　upon　them　differently；　and；　in　spite　of　the　monologues
  in　which　he　jeered　at　his　own　impotence　and　indecision；　he　had
  involuntarily　come　to　regard　this　〃hideous〃　dream　as　an　exploit　to
  be　attempted；　although　he　still　did　not　realise　this　himself。　He　was
  positively　going　now　for　a　〃rehearsal〃　of　his　project；　and　at　every
  step　his　excitement　grew　more　and　more　violent。
  With　a　sinking　heart　and　a　nervous　tremor；　he　went　up　to　a　huge
  house　which　on　one　side　looked　on　to　the　canal；　and　on　the　other
  into　the　street。　This　house　was　let　out　in　tiny　tenements　and　was
  inhabited　by　working　people　of　all　kinds…　tailors；　locksmiths；
  cooks；　Germans　of　sorts；　girls　picking　up　a　living　as　best　they　could；
  petty　clerks；　&c。　There　was　a　continual　coming　and　going　through　the
  two　gates　and　in　the　two　courtyards　of　the　house。　Three　or　four
  door…keepers　were　employed　on　the　building。　The　young　man　was　very
  glad　to　meet　none　of　them；　and　at　once　slipped　unnoticed　through　the
  door　on　the　right；　and　up　the　staircase。　It　was　a　back　staircase；　dark
  and　narrow；　but　he　was　familiar　with　it　already；　and　knew　his　way；　and
  he　liked　all　these　surroundings：　in　such　darkness　even　the　most
  inquisitive　eyes　were　not　to