community-datasets/crime_and_punish · Datasets at Hugging Face

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their shoulders.

“Get in, get in!” shouted one of them, a young thick-necked peasant with
a fleshy face red as a carrot. “I’ll take you all, get in!”

But at once there was an outbreak of laughter and exclamations in the
crowd.

“Take us all with a beast like that!”

“Why, Mikolka, are you crazy to put a nag like that in such a cart?”

“And this mare is twenty if she is a day, mates!”

“Get in, I’ll take you all,” Mikolka shouted again, leaping first into
the cart, seizing the reins and standing straight up in front. “The bay
has gone with Matvey,” he shouted from the cart--“and this brute, mates,
is just breaking my heart, I feel as if I could kill her. She’s just
eating her head off. Get in, I tell you! I’ll make her gallop! She’ll
gallop!” and he picked up the whip, preparing himself with relish to
flog the little mare.

“Get in! Come along!” The crowd laughed. “D’you hear, she’ll gallop!”

“Gallop indeed! She has not had a gallop in her for the last ten years!”

“She’ll jog along!”

“Don’t you mind her, mates, bring a whip each of you, get ready!”

“All right! Give it to her!”

They all clambered into Mikolka’s cart, laughing and making jokes. Six
men got in and there was still room for more. They hauled in a fat,
rosy-cheeked woman. She was dressed in red cotton, in a pointed, beaded
headdress and thick leather shoes; she was cracking nuts and laughing.
The crowd round them was laughing too and indeed, how could they help
laughing? That wretched nag was to drag all the cartload of them at a
gallop! Two young fellows in the cart were just getting whips ready to
help Mikolka. With the cry of “now,” the mare tugged with all her might,
but far from galloping, could scarcely move forward; she struggled with
her legs, gasping and shrinking from the blows of the three whips which
were showered upon her like hail. The laughter in the cart and in the
crowd was redoubled, but Mikolka flew into a rage and furiously thrashed
the mare, as though he supposed she really could gallop.

“Let me get in, too, mates,” shouted a young man in the crowd whose
appetite was aroused.

“Get in, all get in,” cried Mikolka, “she will draw you all. I’ll beat
her to death!” And he thrashed and thrashed at the mare, beside himself
with fury.

“Father, father,” he cried, “father, what are they doing? Father, they
are beating the poor horse!”

“Come along, come along!” said his father. “They are drunken and
foolish, they are in fun; come away, don’t look!” and he tried to draw
him away, but he tore himself away from his hand, and, beside himself
with horror, ran to the horse. The poor beast was in a bad way. She was
gasping, standing still, then tugging again and almost falling.

“Beat her to death,” cried Mikolka, “it’s come to that. I’ll do for
her!”

“What are you about, are you a Christian, you devil?” shouted an old man
in the crowd.

“Did anyone ever see the like? A wretched nag like that pulling such a
cartload,” said another.

“You’ll kill her,” shouted the third.

“Don’t meddle! It’s my property, I’ll do what I choose. Get in, more of
you! Get in, all of you! I will have her go at a gallop!...”

All at once laughter broke into a roar and covered everything: the mare,
roused by the shower of blows, began feebly kicking. Even the old man
could not help smiling. To think of a wretched little beast like that
trying to kick!

Two lads in the crowd snatched up whips and ran to the mare to beat her
about the ribs. One ran each side.

“Hit her in the face, in the eyes, in the eyes,” cried Mikolka.

“Give us a song, mates,” shouted someone in the cart and everyone in the
cart joined in a riotous song, jingling a tambourine and whistling. The
woman went on cracking nuts and laughing.

... He ran beside the mare, ran in front of her, saw her being whipped
across the eyes, right in the eyes! He was crying, he felt choking, his
tears were streaming. One of the men gave him a cut with the whip across
the face, he did not feel it. Wringing his hands and screaming, he
rushed up to the grey-headed old man with the grey beard, who was
shaking his head in disapproval. One woman seized him by the hand and
would have taken him away, but he tore himself from her and ran back to
the mare. She was almost at the last gasp, but began kicking once more.

“I’ll teach you to kick,” Mikolka shouted ferociously. He threw down

their shoulders.

“Get in, get in!” shouted one of them, a young thick-necked peasant with

a fleshy face red as a carrot. “I’ll take you all, get in!”

But at once there was an outbreak of laughter and exclamations in the

crowd.

“Take us all with a beast like that!”

“Why, Mikolka, are you crazy to put a nag like that in such a cart?”

“And this mare is twenty if she is a day, mates!”

“Get in, I’ll take you all,” Mikolka shouted again, leaping first into

the cart, seizing the reins and standing straight up in front. “The bay

has gone with Matvey,” he shouted from the cart--“and this brute, mates,

is just breaking my heart, I feel as if I could kill her. She’s just

eating her head off. Get in, I tell you! I’ll make her gallop! She’ll

gallop!” and he picked up the whip, preparing himself with relish to

flog the little mare.

“Get in! Come along!” The crowd laughed. “D’you hear, she’ll gallop!”

“Gallop indeed! She has not had a gallop in her for the last ten years!”

“She’ll jog along!”

“Don’t you mind her, mates, bring a whip each of you, get ready!”

“All right! Give it to her!”

They all clambered into Mikolka’s cart, laughing and making jokes. Six

men got in and there was still room for more. They hauled in a fat,

rosy-cheeked woman. She was dressed in red cotton, in a pointed, beaded

headdress and thick leather shoes; she was cracking nuts and laughing.

The crowd round them was laughing too and indeed, how could they help

laughing? That wretched nag was to drag all the cartload of them at a

gallop! Two young fellows in the cart were just getting whips ready to

help Mikolka. With the cry of “now,” the mare tugged with all her might,

but far from galloping, could scarcely move forward; she struggled with

her legs, gasping and shrinking from the blows of the three whips which

were showered upon her like hail. The laughter in the cart and in the

crowd was redoubled, but Mikolka flew into a rage and furiously thrashed

the mare, as though he supposed she really could gallop.

“Let me get in, too, mates,” shouted a young man in the crowd whose

appetite was aroused.

“Get in, all get in,” cried Mikolka, “she will draw you all. I’ll beat

her to death!” And he thrashed and thrashed at the mare, beside himself

with fury.

“Father, father,” he cried, “father, what are they doing? Father, they

are beating the poor horse!”

“Come along, come along!” said his father. “They are drunken and

foolish, they are in fun; come away, don’t look!” and he tried to draw

him away, but he tore himself away from his hand, and, beside himself

with horror, ran to the horse. The poor beast was in a bad way. She was

gasping, standing still, then tugging again and almost falling.

“Beat her to death,” cried Mikolka, “it’s come to that. I’ll do for

her!”

“What are you about, are you a Christian, you devil?” shouted an old man

in the crowd.

“Did anyone ever see the like? A wretched nag like that pulling such a

cartload,” said another.

“You’ll kill her,” shouted the third.

“Don’t meddle! It’s my property, I’ll do what I choose. Get in, more of

you! Get in, all of you! I will have her go at a gallop!...”

All at once laughter broke into a roar and covered everything: the mare,

roused by the shower of blows, began feebly kicking. Even the old man

could not help smiling. To think of a wretched little beast like that

trying to kick!

Two lads in the crowd snatched up whips and ran to the mare to beat her

about the ribs. One ran each side.

“Hit her in the face, in the eyes, in the eyes,” cried Mikolka.

“Give us a song, mates,” shouted someone in the cart and everyone in the

cart joined in a riotous song, jingling a tambourine and whistling. The

woman went on cracking nuts and laughing.

... He ran beside the mare, ran in front of her, saw her being whipped

across the eyes, right in the eyes! He was crying, he felt choking, his

tears were streaming. One of the men gave him a cut with the whip across

the face, he did not feel it. Wringing his hands and screaming, he

rushed up to the grey-headed old man with the grey beard, who was

shaking his head in disapproval. One woman seized him by the hand and

would have taken him away, but he tore himself from her and ran back to

the mare. She was almost at the last gasp, but began kicking once more.

“I’ll teach you to kick,” Mikolka shouted ferociously. He threw down