community-datasets/crime_and_punish · Datasets at Hugging Face

line stringlengths 2 76
He rose to his feet, looked round in wonder as though surprised at
finding himself in this place, and went towards the bridge. He was pale,
his eyes glowed, he was exhausted in every limb, but he seemed suddenly
to breathe more easily. He felt he had cast off that fearful burden that
had so long been weighing upon him, and all at once there was a sense
of relief and peace in his soul. “Lord,” he prayed, “show me my path--I
renounce that accursed... dream of mine.”

Crossing the bridge, he gazed quietly and calmly at the Neva, at the
glowing red sun setting in the glowing sky. In spite of his weakness he
was not conscious of fatigue. It was as though an abscess that had been
forming for a month past in his heart had suddenly broken. Freedom,
freedom! He was free from that spell, that sorcery, that obsession!

Later on, when he recalled that time and all that happened to him during
those days, minute by minute, point by point, he was superstitiously
impressed by one circumstance, which, though in itself not very
exceptional, always seemed to him afterwards the predestined
turning-point of his fate. He could never understand and explain to
himself why, when he was tired and worn out, when it would have been
more convenient for him to go home by the shortest and most direct way,
he had returned by the Hay Market where he had no need to go. It was
obviously and quite unnecessarily out of his way, though not much so. It
is true that it happened to him dozens of times to return home without
noticing what streets he passed through. But why, he was always asking
himself, why had such an important, such a decisive and at the same time
such an absolutely chance meeting happened in the Hay Market (where he
had moreover no reason to go) at the very hour, the very minute of his
life when he was just in the very mood and in the very circumstances
in which that meeting was able to exert the gravest and most decisive
influence on his whole destiny? As though it had been lying in wait for
him on purpose!

It was about nine o’clock when he crossed the Hay Market. At the tables
and the barrows, at the booths and the shops, all the market people were
closing their establishments or clearing away and packing up their
wares and, like their customers, were going home. Rag pickers and
costermongers of all kinds were crowding round the taverns in the dirty
and stinking courtyards of the Hay Market. Raskolnikov particularly
liked this place and the neighbouring alleys, when he wandered aimlessly
in the streets. Here his rags did not attract contemptuous attention,
and one could walk about in any attire without scandalising people. At
the corner of an alley a huckster and his wife had two tables set out
with tapes, thread, cotton handkerchiefs, etc. They, too, had got up to
go home, but were lingering in conversation with a friend, who had just
come up to them. This friend was Lizaveta Ivanovna, or, as everyone
called her, Lizaveta, the younger sister of the old pawnbroker, Alyona
Ivanovna, whom Raskolnikov had visited the previous day to pawn his
watch and make his _experiment_.... He already knew all about Lizaveta
and she knew him a little too. She was a single woman of about
thirty-five, tall, clumsy, timid, submissive and almost idiotic. She was
a complete slave and went in fear and trembling of her sister, who
made her work day and night, and even beat her. She was standing with
a bundle before the huckster and his wife, listening earnestly and
doubtfully. They were talking of something with special warmth. The
moment Raskolnikov caught sight of her, he was overcome by a strange
sensation as it were of intense astonishment, though there was nothing
astonishing about this meeting.

“You could make up your mind for yourself, Lizaveta Ivanovna,” the
huckster was saying aloud. “Come round to-morrow about seven. They will
be here too.”

“To-morrow?” said Lizaveta slowly and thoughtfully, as though unable to
make up her mind.

“Upon my word, what a fright you are in of Alyona Ivanovna,” gabbled
the huckster’s wife, a lively little woman. “I look at you, you are like
some little babe. And she is not your own sister either--nothing but a
step-sister and what a hand she keeps over you!”

“But this time don’t say a word to Alyona Ivanovna,” her husband
interrupted; “that’s my advice, but come round to us without asking.
It will be worth your while. Later on your sister herself may have a
notion.”

“Am I to come?”

“About seven o’clock to-morrow. And they will be here. You will be able
to decide for yourself.”

“And we’ll have a cup of tea,” added his wife.

“All right, I’ll come,” said Lizaveta, still pondering, and she began
slowly moving away.

Raskolnikov had just passed and heard no more. He passed softly,
unnoticed, trying not to miss a word. His first amazement was followed
by a thrill of horror, like a shiver running down his spine. He had
learnt, he had suddenly quite unexpectedly learnt, that the next day at
seven o’clock Lizaveta, the old woman’s sister and only companion, would
be away from home and that therefore at seven o’clock precisely the old
woman _would be left alone_.

He was only a few steps from his lodging. He went in like a man
condemned to death. He thought of nothing and was incapable of thinking;
but he felt suddenly in his whole being that he had no more freedom
of thought, no will, and that everything was suddenly and irrevocably
decided.

He rose to his feet, looked round in wonder as though surprised at

finding himself in this place, and went towards the bridge. He was pale,

his eyes glowed, he was exhausted in every limb, but he seemed suddenly

to breathe more easily. He felt he had cast off that fearful burden that

had so long been weighing upon him, and all at once there was a sense

of relief and peace in his soul. “Lord,” he prayed, “show me my path--I

renounce that accursed... dream of mine.”

Crossing the bridge, he gazed quietly and calmly at the Neva, at the

glowing red sun setting in the glowing sky. In spite of his weakness he

was not conscious of fatigue. It was as though an abscess that had been

forming for a month past in his heart had suddenly broken. Freedom,

freedom! He was free from that spell, that sorcery, that obsession!

Later on, when he recalled that time and all that happened to him during

those days, minute by minute, point by point, he was superstitiously

impressed by one circumstance, which, though in itself not very

exceptional, always seemed to him afterwards the predestined

turning-point of his fate. He could never understand and explain to

himself why, when he was tired and worn out, when it would have been

more convenient for him to go home by the shortest and most direct way,

he had returned by the Hay Market where he had no need to go. It was

obviously and quite unnecessarily out of his way, though not much so. It

is true that it happened to him dozens of times to return home without

noticing what streets he passed through. But why, he was always asking

himself, why had such an important, such a decisive and at the same time

such an absolutely chance meeting happened in the Hay Market (where he

had moreover no reason to go) at the very hour, the very minute of his

life when he was just in the very mood and in the very circumstances

in which that meeting was able to exert the gravest and most decisive

influence on his whole destiny? As though it had been lying in wait for

him on purpose!

It was about nine o’clock when he crossed the Hay Market. At the tables

and the barrows, at the booths and the shops, all the market people were

closing their establishments or clearing away and packing up their

wares and, like their customers, were going home. Rag pickers and

costermongers of all kinds were crowding round the taverns in the dirty

and stinking courtyards of the Hay Market. Raskolnikov particularly

liked this place and the neighbouring alleys, when he wandered aimlessly

in the streets. Here his rags did not attract contemptuous attention,

and one could walk about in any attire without scandalising people. At

the corner of an alley a huckster and his wife had two tables set out

with tapes, thread, cotton handkerchiefs, etc. They, too, had got up to

go home, but were lingering in conversation with a friend, who had just

come up to them. This friend was Lizaveta Ivanovna, or, as everyone

called her, Lizaveta, the younger sister of the old pawnbroker, Alyona

Ivanovna, whom Raskolnikov had visited the previous day to pawn his

watch and make his _experiment_.... He already knew all about Lizaveta

and she knew him a little too. She was a single woman of about

thirty-five, tall, clumsy, timid, submissive and almost idiotic. She was

a complete slave and went in fear and trembling of her sister, who

made her work day and night, and even beat her. She was standing with

a bundle before the huckster and his wife, listening earnestly and

doubtfully. They were talking of something with special warmth. The

moment Raskolnikov caught sight of her, he was overcome by a strange

sensation as it were of intense astonishment, though there was nothing

astonishing about this meeting.

“You could make up your mind for yourself, Lizaveta Ivanovna,” the

huckster was saying aloud. “Come round to-morrow about seven. They will

be here too.”

“To-morrow?” said Lizaveta slowly and thoughtfully, as though unable to

make up her mind.

“Upon my word, what a fright you are in of Alyona Ivanovna,” gabbled

the huckster’s wife, a lively little woman. “I look at you, you are like

some little babe. And she is not your own sister either--nothing but a

step-sister and what a hand she keeps over you!”

“But this time don’t say a word to Alyona Ivanovna,” her husband

interrupted; “that’s my advice, but come round to us without asking.

It will be worth your while. Later on your sister herself may have a

notion.”

“Am I to come?”

“About seven o’clock to-morrow. And they will be here. You will be able

to decide for yourself.”

“And we’ll have a cup of tea,” added his wife.

“All right, I’ll come,” said Lizaveta, still pondering, and she began

slowly moving away.

Raskolnikov had just passed and heard no more. He passed softly,

unnoticed, trying not to miss a word. His first amazement was followed

by a thrill of horror, like a shiver running down his spine. He had

learnt, he had suddenly quite unexpectedly learnt, that the next day at

seven o’clock Lizaveta, the old woman’s sister and only companion, would

be away from home and that therefore at seven o’clock precisely the old

woman _would be left alone_.

He was only a few steps from his lodging. He went in like a man

condemned to death. He thought of nothing and was incapable of thinking;

but he felt suddenly in his whole being that he had no more freedom

of thought, no will, and that everything was suddenly and irrevocably

decided.