community-datasets/crime_and_punish · Datasets at Hugging Face

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flushed crimson and the tears started, but she didn’t want to show it.
We were left alone, she suddenly flung herself on my neck (for the first
time of her own accord), put her little arms round me, kissed me, and
vowed that she would be an obedient, faithful, and good wife, would make
me happy, would devote all her life, every minute of her life, would
sacrifice everything, everything, and that all she asks in return is
my _respect_, and that she wants ‘nothing, nothing more from me, no
presents.’ You’ll admit that to hear such a confession, alone, from an
angel of sixteen in a muslin frock, with little curls, with a flush
of maiden shyness in her cheeks and tears of enthusiasm in her eyes is
rather fascinating! Isn’t it fascinating? It’s worth paying for, isn’t
it? Well... listen, we’ll go to see my betrothed, only not just now!”

“The fact is this monstrous difference in age and development excites
your sensuality! Will you really make such a marriage?”

“Why, of course. Everyone thinks of himself, and he lives most gaily who
knows best how to deceive himself. Ha-ha! But why are you so keen about
virtue? Have mercy on me, my good friend. I am a sinful man. Ha-ha-ha!”

“But you have provided for the children of Katerina Ivanovna. Though...
though you had your own reasons.... I understand it all now.”

“I am always fond of children, very fond of them,” laughed Svidrigaïlov.
“I can tell you one curious instance of it. The first day I came here I
visited various haunts, after seven years I simply rushed at them. You
probably notice that I am not in a hurry to renew acquaintance with my
old friends. I shall do without them as long as I can. Do you know, when
I was with Marfa Petrovna in the country, I was haunted by the thought
of these places where anyone who knows his way about can find a great
deal. Yes, upon my soul! The peasants have vodka, the educated young
people, shut out from activity, waste themselves in impossible dreams
and visions and are crippled by theories; Jews have sprung up and are
amassing money, and all the rest give themselves up to debauchery. From
the first hour the town reeked of its familiar odours. I chanced to be
in a frightful den--I like my dens dirty--it was a dance, so called, and
there was a _cancan_ such as I never saw in my day. Yes, there you
have progress. All of a sudden I saw a little girl of thirteen, nicely
dressed, dancing with a specialist in that line, with another one
_vis-à-vis_. Her mother was sitting on a chair by the wall. You can’t
fancy what a _cancan_ that was! The girl was ashamed, blushed, at
last felt insulted, and began to cry. Her partner seized her and began
whirling her round and performing before her; everyone laughed and--I
like your public, even the _cancan_ public--they laughed and shouted,
‘Serves her right--serves her right! Shouldn’t bring children!’ Well,
it’s not my business whether that consoling reflection was logical or
not. I at once fixed on my plan, sat down by the mother, and began by
saying that I too was a stranger and that people here were ill-bred and
that they couldn’t distinguish decent folks and treat them with respect,
gave her to understand that I had plenty of money, offered to take them
home in my carriage. I took them home and got to know them. They were
lodging in a miserable little hole and had only just arrived from the
country. She told me that she and her daughter could only regard my
acquaintance as an honour. I found out that they had nothing of their
own and had come to town upon some legal business. I proffered my
services and money. I learnt that they had gone to the dancing saloon
by mistake, believing that it was a genuine dancing class. I offered to
assist in the young girl’s education in French and dancing. My offer was
accepted with enthusiasm as an honour--and we are still friendly.... If
you like, we’ll go and see them, only not just now.”

“Stop! Enough of your vile, nasty anecdotes, depraved vile, sensual
man!”

“Schiller, you are a regular Schiller! _O la vertu va-t-elle se nicher?_
But you know I shall tell you these things on purpose, for the pleasure
of hearing your outcries!”

“I dare say. I can see I am ridiculous myself,” muttered Raskolnikov
angrily.

Svidrigaïlov laughed heartily; finally he called Philip, paid his bill,
and began getting up.

“I say, but I am drunk, _assez causé_,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“I should rather think it must be a pleasure!” cried Raskolnikov,
getting up. “No doubt it is a pleasure for a worn-out profligate to
describe such adventures with a monstrous project of the same sort in
his mind--especially under such circumstances and to such a man as
me.... It’s stimulating!”

“Well, if you come to that,” Svidrigaïlov answered, scrutinising
Raskolnikov with some surprise, “if you come to that, you are a thorough
cynic yourself. You’ve plenty to make you so, anyway. You can understand
a great deal... and you can do a great deal too. But enough. I sincerely
regret not having had more talk with you, but I shan’t lose sight of
you.... Only wait a bit.”

Svidrigaïlov walked out of the restaurant. Raskolnikov walked out after
him. Svidrigaïlov was not however very drunk, the wine had affected him
for a moment, but it was passing off every minute. He was preoccupied
with something of importance and was frowning. He was apparently excited
and uneasy in anticipation of something. His manner to Raskolnikov had
changed during the last few minutes, and he was ruder and more sneering
every moment. Raskolnikov noticed all this, and he too was uneasy. He
became very suspicious of Svidrigaïlov and resolved to follow him.

They came out on to the pavement.

flushed crimson and the tears started, but she didn’t want to show it.

We were left alone, she suddenly flung herself on my neck (for the first

time of her own accord), put her little arms round me, kissed me, and

vowed that she would be an obedient, faithful, and good wife, would make

me happy, would devote all her life, every minute of her life, would

sacrifice everything, everything, and that all she asks in return is

my _respect_, and that she wants ‘nothing, nothing more from me, no

presents.’ You’ll admit that to hear such a confession, alone, from an

angel of sixteen in a muslin frock, with little curls, with a flush

of maiden shyness in her cheeks and tears of enthusiasm in her eyes is

rather fascinating! Isn’t it fascinating? It’s worth paying for, isn’t

it? Well... listen, we’ll go to see my betrothed, only not just now!”

“The fact is this monstrous difference in age and development excites

your sensuality! Will you really make such a marriage?”

“Why, of course. Everyone thinks of himself, and he lives most gaily who

knows best how to deceive himself. Ha-ha! But why are you so keen about

virtue? Have mercy on me, my good friend. I am a sinful man. Ha-ha-ha!”

“But you have provided for the children of Katerina Ivanovna. Though...

though you had your own reasons.... I understand it all now.”

“I am always fond of children, very fond of them,” laughed Svidrigaïlov.

“I can tell you one curious instance of it. The first day I came here I

visited various haunts, after seven years I simply rushed at them. You

probably notice that I am not in a hurry to renew acquaintance with my

old friends. I shall do without them as long as I can. Do you know, when

I was with Marfa Petrovna in the country, I was haunted by the thought

of these places where anyone who knows his way about can find a great

deal. Yes, upon my soul! The peasants have vodka, the educated young

people, shut out from activity, waste themselves in impossible dreams

and visions and are crippled by theories; Jews have sprung up and are

amassing money, and all the rest give themselves up to debauchery. From

the first hour the town reeked of its familiar odours. I chanced to be

in a frightful den--I like my dens dirty--it was a dance, so called, and

there was a _cancan_ such as I never saw in my day. Yes, there you

have progress. All of a sudden I saw a little girl of thirteen, nicely

dressed, dancing with a specialist in that line, with another one

_vis-à-vis_. Her mother was sitting on a chair by the wall. You can’t

fancy what a _cancan_ that was! The girl was ashamed, blushed, at

last felt insulted, and began to cry. Her partner seized her and began

whirling her round and performing before her; everyone laughed and--I

like your public, even the _cancan_ public--they laughed and shouted,

‘Serves her right--serves her right! Shouldn’t bring children!’ Well,

it’s not my business whether that consoling reflection was logical or

not. I at once fixed on my plan, sat down by the mother, and began by

saying that I too was a stranger and that people here were ill-bred and

that they couldn’t distinguish decent folks and treat them with respect,

gave her to understand that I had plenty of money, offered to take them

home in my carriage. I took them home and got to know them. They were

lodging in a miserable little hole and had only just arrived from the

country. She told me that she and her daughter could only regard my

acquaintance as an honour. I found out that they had nothing of their

own and had come to town upon some legal business. I proffered my

services and money. I learnt that they had gone to the dancing saloon

by mistake, believing that it was a genuine dancing class. I offered to

assist in the young girl’s education in French and dancing. My offer was

accepted with enthusiasm as an honour--and we are still friendly.... If

you like, we’ll go and see them, only not just now.”

“Stop! Enough of your vile, nasty anecdotes, depraved vile, sensual

man!”

“Schiller, you are a regular Schiller! _O la vertu va-t-elle se nicher?_

But you know I shall tell you these things on purpose, for the pleasure

of hearing your outcries!”

“I dare say. I can see I am ridiculous myself,” muttered Raskolnikov

angrily.

Svidrigaïlov laughed heartily; finally he called Philip, paid his bill,

and began getting up.

“I say, but I am drunk, _assez causé_,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“I should rather think it must be a pleasure!” cried Raskolnikov,

getting up. “No doubt it is a pleasure for a worn-out profligate to

describe such adventures with a monstrous project of the same sort in

his mind--especially under such circumstances and to such a man as

me.... It’s stimulating!”

“Well, if you come to that,” Svidrigaïlov answered, scrutinising

Raskolnikov with some surprise, “if you come to that, you are a thorough

cynic yourself. You’ve plenty to make you so, anyway. You can understand

a great deal... and you can do a great deal too. But enough. I sincerely

regret not having had more talk with you, but I shan’t lose sight of

you.... Only wait a bit.”

Svidrigaïlov walked out of the restaurant. Raskolnikov walked out after

him. Svidrigaïlov was not however very drunk, the wine had affected him

for a moment, but it was passing off every minute. He was preoccupied

with something of importance and was frowning. He was apparently excited

and uneasy in anticipation of something. His manner to Raskolnikov had

changed during the last few minutes, and he was ruder and more sneering

every moment. Raskolnikov noticed all this, and he too was uneasy. He

became very suspicious of Svidrigaïlov and resolved to follow him.

They came out on to the pavement.