community-datasets/crime_and_punish · Datasets at Hugging Face

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the daughter of a reigning prince or some governor or pro-consul in Asia
Minor. She would undoubtedly have been one of those who would endure
martyrdom and would have smiled when they branded her bosom with hot
pincers. And she would have gone to it of herself. And in the fourth or
fifth century she would have walked away into the Egyptian desert and
would have stayed there thirty years living on roots and ecstasies and
visions. She is simply thirsting to face some torture for someone, and
if she can’t get her torture, she’ll throw herself out of a window. I’ve
heard something of a Mr. Razumihin--he’s said to be a sensible fellow;
his surname suggests it, indeed. He’s probably a divinity student. Well,
he’d better look after your sister! I believe I understand her, and I am
proud of it. But at the beginning of an acquaintance, as you know, one
is apt to be more heedless and stupid. One doesn’t see clearly. Hang it
all, why is she so handsome? It’s not my fault. In fact, it began on
my side with a most irresistible physical desire. Avdotya Romanovna is
awfully chaste, incredibly and phenomenally so. Take note, I tell you
this about your sister as a fact. She is almost morbidly chaste, in
spite of her broad intelligence, and it will stand in her way. There
happened to be a girl in the house then, Parasha, a black-eyed
wench, whom I had never seen before--she had just come from another
village--very pretty, but incredibly stupid: she burst into tears,
wailed so that she could be heard all over the place and caused scandal.
One day after dinner Avdotya Romanovna followed me into an avenue in
the garden and with flashing eyes _insisted_ on my leaving poor Parasha
alone. It was almost our first conversation by ourselves. I, of course,
was only too pleased to obey her wishes, tried to appear disconcerted,
embarrassed, in fact played my part not badly. Then came interviews,
mysterious conversations, exhortations, entreaties, supplications, even
tears--would you believe it, even tears? Think what the passion for
propaganda will bring some girls to! I, of course, threw it all on
my destiny, posed as hungering and thirsting for light, and finally
resorted to the most powerful weapon in the subjection of the
female heart, a weapon which never fails one. It’s the well-known
resource--flattery. Nothing in the world is harder than speaking the
truth and nothing easier than flattery. If there’s the hundredth part
of a false note in speaking the truth, it leads to a discord, and that
leads to trouble. But if all, to the last note, is false in flattery, it
is just as agreeable, and is heard not without satisfaction. It may be
a coarse satisfaction, but still a satisfaction. And however coarse the
flattery, at least half will be sure to seem true. That’s so for all
stages of development and classes of society. A vestal virgin might be
seduced by flattery. I can never remember without laughter how I once
seduced a lady who was devoted to her husband, her children, and her
principles. What fun it was and how little trouble! And the lady really
had principles--of her own, anyway. All my tactics lay in simply being
utterly annihilated and prostrate before her purity. I flattered her
shamelessly, and as soon as I succeeded in getting a pressure of
the hand, even a glance from her, I would reproach myself for having
snatched it by force, and would declare that she had resisted, so that
I could never have gained anything but for my being so unprincipled.
I maintained that she was so innocent that she could not foresee my
treachery, and yielded to me unconsciously, unawares, and so on. In
fact, I triumphed, while my lady remained firmly convinced that she was
innocent, chaste, and faithful to all her duties and obligations and
had succumbed quite by accident. And how angry she was with me when I
explained to her at last that it was my sincere conviction that she was
just as eager as I. Poor Marfa Petrovna was awfully weak on the side of
flattery, and if I had only cared to, I might have had all her property
settled on me during her lifetime. (I am drinking an awful lot of wine
now and talking too much.) I hope you won’t be angry if I mention now
that I was beginning to produce the same effect on Avdotya Romanovna.
But I was stupid and impatient and spoiled it all. Avdotya Romanovna had
several times--and one time in particular--been greatly displeased by
the expression of my eyes, would you believe it? There was sometimes a
light in them which frightened her and grew stronger and stronger and
more unguarded till it was hateful to her. No need to go into detail,
but we parted. There I acted stupidly again. I fell to jeering in the
coarsest way at all such propaganda and efforts to convert me; Parasha
came on to the scene again, and not she alone; in fact there was a
tremendous to-do. Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, if you could only see how your
sister’s eyes can flash sometimes! Never mind my being drunk at this
moment and having had a whole glass of wine. I am speaking the truth.
I assure you that this glance has haunted my dreams; the very rustle of
her dress was more than I could stand at last. I really began to think
that I might become epileptic. I could never have believed that I could
be moved to such a frenzy. It was essential, indeed, to be reconciled,
but by then it was impossible. And imagine what I did then! To what
a pitch of stupidity a man can be brought by frenzy! Never undertake
anything in a frenzy, Rodion Romanovitch. I reflected that Avdotya
Romanovna was after all a beggar (ach, excuse me, that’s not the word...
but does it matter if it expresses the meaning?), that she lived by
her work, that she had her mother and you to keep (ach, hang it, you
are frowning again), and I resolved to offer her all my money--thirty
thousand roubles I could have realised then--if she would run away with
me here, to Petersburg. Of course I should have vowed eternal love,
rapture, and so on. Do you know, I was so wild about her at that time
that if she had told me to poison Marfa Petrovna or to cut her throat
and to marry herself, it would have been done at once! But it ended in
the catastrophe of which you know already. You can fancy how frantic I
was when I heard that Marfa Petrovna had got hold of that scoundrelly
attorney, Luzhin, and had almost made a match between them--which would
really have been just the same thing as I was proposing. Wouldn’t it?
Wouldn’t it? I notice that you’ve begun to be very attentive... you
interesting young man....”

Svidrigaïlov struck the table with his fist impatiently. He was flushed.
Raskolnikov saw clearly that the glass or glass and a half of champagne
that he had sipped almost unconsciously was affecting him--and he
resolved to take advantage of the opportunity. He felt very suspicious
of Svidrigaïlov.

the daughter of a reigning prince or some governor or pro-consul in Asia

Minor. She would undoubtedly have been one of those who would endure

martyrdom and would have smiled when they branded her bosom with hot

pincers. And she would have gone to it of herself. And in the fourth or

fifth century she would have walked away into the Egyptian desert and

would have stayed there thirty years living on roots and ecstasies and

visions. She is simply thirsting to face some torture for someone, and

if she can’t get her torture, she’ll throw herself out of a window. I’ve

heard something of a Mr. Razumihin--he’s said to be a sensible fellow;

his surname suggests it, indeed. He’s probably a divinity student. Well,

he’d better look after your sister! I believe I understand her, and I am

proud of it. But at the beginning of an acquaintance, as you know, one

is apt to be more heedless and stupid. One doesn’t see clearly. Hang it

all, why is she so handsome? It’s not my fault. In fact, it began on

my side with a most irresistible physical desire. Avdotya Romanovna is

awfully chaste, incredibly and phenomenally so. Take note, I tell you

this about your sister as a fact. She is almost morbidly chaste, in

spite of her broad intelligence, and it will stand in her way. There

happened to be a girl in the house then, Parasha, a black-eyed

wench, whom I had never seen before--she had just come from another

village--very pretty, but incredibly stupid: she burst into tears,

wailed so that she could be heard all over the place and caused scandal.

One day after dinner Avdotya Romanovna followed me into an avenue in

the garden and with flashing eyes _insisted_ on my leaving poor Parasha

alone. It was almost our first conversation by ourselves. I, of course,

was only too pleased to obey her wishes, tried to appear disconcerted,

embarrassed, in fact played my part not badly. Then came interviews,

mysterious conversations, exhortations, entreaties, supplications, even

tears--would you believe it, even tears? Think what the passion for

propaganda will bring some girls to! I, of course, threw it all on

my destiny, posed as hungering and thirsting for light, and finally

resorted to the most powerful weapon in the subjection of the

female heart, a weapon which never fails one. It’s the well-known

resource--flattery. Nothing in the world is harder than speaking the

truth and nothing easier than flattery. If there’s the hundredth part

of a false note in speaking the truth, it leads to a discord, and that

leads to trouble. But if all, to the last note, is false in flattery, it

is just as agreeable, and is heard not without satisfaction. It may be

a coarse satisfaction, but still a satisfaction. And however coarse the

flattery, at least half will be sure to seem true. That’s so for all

stages of development and classes of society. A vestal virgin might be

seduced by flattery. I can never remember without laughter how I once

seduced a lady who was devoted to her husband, her children, and her

principles. What fun it was and how little trouble! And the lady really

had principles--of her own, anyway. All my tactics lay in simply being

utterly annihilated and prostrate before her purity. I flattered her

shamelessly, and as soon as I succeeded in getting a pressure of

the hand, even a glance from her, I would reproach myself for having

snatched it by force, and would declare that she had resisted, so that

I could never have gained anything but for my being so unprincipled.

I maintained that she was so innocent that she could not foresee my

treachery, and yielded to me unconsciously, unawares, and so on. In

fact, I triumphed, while my lady remained firmly convinced that she was

innocent, chaste, and faithful to all her duties and obligations and

had succumbed quite by accident. And how angry she was with me when I

explained to her at last that it was my sincere conviction that she was

just as eager as I. Poor Marfa Petrovna was awfully weak on the side of

flattery, and if I had only cared to, I might have had all her property

settled on me during her lifetime. (I am drinking an awful lot of wine

now and talking too much.) I hope you won’t be angry if I mention now

that I was beginning to produce the same effect on Avdotya Romanovna.

But I was stupid and impatient and spoiled it all. Avdotya Romanovna had

several times--and one time in particular--been greatly displeased by

the expression of my eyes, would you believe it? There was sometimes a

light in them which frightened her and grew stronger and stronger and

more unguarded till it was hateful to her. No need to go into detail,

but we parted. There I acted stupidly again. I fell to jeering in the

coarsest way at all such propaganda and efforts to convert me; Parasha

came on to the scene again, and not she alone; in fact there was a

tremendous to-do. Ah, Rodion Romanovitch, if you could only see how your

sister’s eyes can flash sometimes! Never mind my being drunk at this

moment and having had a whole glass of wine. I am speaking the truth.

I assure you that this glance has haunted my dreams; the very rustle of

her dress was more than I could stand at last. I really began to think

that I might become epileptic. I could never have believed that I could

be moved to such a frenzy. It was essential, indeed, to be reconciled,

but by then it was impossible. And imagine what I did then! To what

a pitch of stupidity a man can be brought by frenzy! Never undertake

anything in a frenzy, Rodion Romanovitch. I reflected that Avdotya

Romanovna was after all a beggar (ach, excuse me, that’s not the word...

but does it matter if it expresses the meaning?), that she lived by

her work, that she had her mother and you to keep (ach, hang it, you

are frowning again), and I resolved to offer her all my money--thirty

thousand roubles I could have realised then--if she would run away with

me here, to Petersburg. Of course I should have vowed eternal love,

rapture, and so on. Do you know, I was so wild about her at that time

that if she had told me to poison Marfa Petrovna or to cut her throat

and to marry herself, it would have been done at once! But it ended in

the catastrophe of which you know already. You can fancy how frantic I

was when I heard that Marfa Petrovna had got hold of that scoundrelly

attorney, Luzhin, and had almost made a match between them--which would

really have been just the same thing as I was proposing. Wouldn’t it?

Wouldn’t it? I notice that you’ve begun to be very attentive... you

interesting young man....”

Svidrigaïlov struck the table with his fist impatiently. He was flushed.

Raskolnikov saw clearly that the glass or glass and a half of champagne

that he had sipped almost unconsciously was affecting him--and he

resolved to take advantage of the opportunity. He felt very suspicious

of Svidrigaïlov.