community-datasets/crime_and_punish · Datasets at Hugging Face

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a single instant all that time could believe in the carrying out of his
plans.

And, indeed, if it had ever happened that everything to the least point
could have been considered and finally settled, and no uncertainty of
any kind had remained, he would, it seems, have renounced it all
as something absurd, monstrous and impossible. But a whole mass of
unsettled points and uncertainties remained. As for getting the axe,
that trifling business cost him no anxiety, for nothing could be easier.
Nastasya was continually out of the house, especially in the evenings;
she would run in to the neighbours or to a shop, and always left the
door ajar. It was the one thing the landlady was always scolding her
about. And so, when the time came, he would only have to go quietly into
the kitchen and to take the axe, and an hour later (when everything
was over) go in and put it back again. But these were doubtful points.
Supposing he returned an hour later to put it back, and Nastasya had
come back and was on the spot. He would of course have to go by and wait
till she went out again. But supposing she were in the meantime to miss
the axe, look for it, make an outcry--that would mean suspicion or at
least grounds for suspicion.

But those were all trifles which he had not even begun to consider, and
indeed he had no time. He was thinking of the chief point, and put off
trifling details, until _he could believe in it all_. But that seemed
utterly unattainable. So it seemed to himself at least. He could not
imagine, for instance, that he would sometime leave off thinking, get
up and simply go there.... Even his late experiment (i.e. his visit with
the object of a final survey of the place) was simply an attempt at
an experiment, far from being the real thing, as though one should say
“come, let us go and try it--why dream about it!”--and at once he
had broken down and had run away cursing, in a frenzy with himself.
Meanwhile it would seem, as regards the moral question, that his
analysis was complete; his casuistry had become keen as a razor, and he
could not find rational objections in himself. But in the last resort
he simply ceased to believe in himself, and doggedly, slavishly sought
arguments in all directions, fumbling for them, as though someone were
forcing and drawing him to it.

At first--long before indeed--he had been much occupied with one
question; why almost all crimes are so badly concealed and so easily
detected, and why almost all criminals leave such obvious traces? He
had come gradually to many different and curious conclusions, and in his
opinion the chief reason lay not so much in the material impossibility
of concealing the crime, as in the criminal himself. Almost every
criminal is subject to a failure of will and reasoning power by a
childish and phenomenal heedlessness, at the very instant when prudence
and caution are most essential. It was his conviction that this eclipse
of reason and failure of will power attacked a man like a disease,
developed gradually and reached its highest point just before the
perpetration of the crime, continued with equal violence at the moment
of the crime and for longer or shorter time after, according to the
individual case, and then passed off like any other disease. The
question whether the disease gives rise to the crime, or whether the
crime from its own peculiar nature is always accompanied by something of
the nature of disease, he did not yet feel able to decide.

When he reached these conclusions, he decided that in his own case there
could not be such a morbid reaction, that his reason and will would
remain unimpaired at the time of carrying out his design, for the
simple reason that his design was “not a crime....” We will omit all the
process by means of which he arrived at this last conclusion; we have
run too far ahead already.... We may add only that the practical, purely
material difficulties of the affair occupied a secondary position in his
mind. “One has but to keep all one’s will-power and reason to deal
with them, and they will all be overcome at the time when once one has
familiarised oneself with the minutest details of the business....” But
this preparation had never been begun. His final decisions were what he
came to trust least, and when the hour struck, it all came to pass quite
differently, as it were accidentally and unexpectedly.

One trifling circumstance upset his calculations, before he had even
left the staircase. When he reached the landlady’s kitchen, the door
of which was open as usual, he glanced cautiously in to see whether, in
Nastasya’s absence, the landlady herself was there, or if not, whether
the door to her own room was closed, so that she might not peep out when
he went in for the axe. But what was his amazement when he suddenly
saw that Nastasya was not only at home in the kitchen, but was occupied
there, taking linen out of a basket and hanging it on a line. Seeing
him, she left off hanging the clothes, turned to him and stared at him
all the time he was passing. He turned away his eyes, and walked past as
though he noticed nothing. But it was the end of everything; he had not
the axe! He was overwhelmed.

“What made me think,” he reflected, as he went under the gateway, “what
made me think that she would be sure not to be at home at that moment!
Why, why, why did I assume this so certainly?”

He was crushed and even humiliated. He could have laughed at himself in
his anger.... A dull animal rage boiled within him.

He stood hesitating in the gateway. To go into the street, to go a walk
for appearance’ sake was revolting; to go back to his room, even more
revolting. “And what a chance I have lost for ever!” he muttered,
standing aimlessly in the gateway, just opposite the porter’s little
dark room, which was also open. Suddenly he started. From the porter’s
room, two paces away from him, something shining under the bench to the
right caught his eye.... He looked about him--nobody. He approached the
room on tiptoe, went down two steps into it and in a faint voice called
the porter. “Yes, not at home! Somewhere near though, in the yard, for
the door is wide open.” He dashed to the axe (it was an axe) and pulled

a single instant all that time could believe in the carrying out of his

plans.

And, indeed, if it had ever happened that everything to the least point

could have been considered and finally settled, and no uncertainty of

any kind had remained, he would, it seems, have renounced it all

as something absurd, monstrous and impossible. But a whole mass of

unsettled points and uncertainties remained. As for getting the axe,

that trifling business cost him no anxiety, for nothing could be easier.

Nastasya was continually out of the house, especially in the evenings;

she would run in to the neighbours or to a shop, and always left the

door ajar. It was the one thing the landlady was always scolding her

about. And so, when the time came, he would only have to go quietly into

the kitchen and to take the axe, and an hour later (when everything

was over) go in and put it back again. But these were doubtful points.

Supposing he returned an hour later to put it back, and Nastasya had

come back and was on the spot. He would of course have to go by and wait

till she went out again. But supposing she were in the meantime to miss

the axe, look for it, make an outcry--that would mean suspicion or at

least grounds for suspicion.

But those were all trifles which he had not even begun to consider, and

indeed he had no time. He was thinking of the chief point, and put off

trifling details, until _he could believe in it all_. But that seemed

utterly unattainable. So it seemed to himself at least. He could not

imagine, for instance, that he would sometime leave off thinking, get

up and simply go there.... Even his late experiment (i.e. his visit with

the object of a final survey of the place) was simply an attempt at

an experiment, far from being the real thing, as though one should say

“come, let us go and try it--why dream about it!”--and at once he

had broken down and had run away cursing, in a frenzy with himself.

Meanwhile it would seem, as regards the moral question, that his

analysis was complete; his casuistry had become keen as a razor, and he

could not find rational objections in himself. But in the last resort

he simply ceased to believe in himself, and doggedly, slavishly sought

arguments in all directions, fumbling for them, as though someone were

forcing and drawing him to it.

At first--long before indeed--he had been much occupied with one

question; why almost all crimes are so badly concealed and so easily

detected, and why almost all criminals leave such obvious traces? He

had come gradually to many different and curious conclusions, and in his

opinion the chief reason lay not so much in the material impossibility

of concealing the crime, as in the criminal himself. Almost every

criminal is subject to a failure of will and reasoning power by a

childish and phenomenal heedlessness, at the very instant when prudence

and caution are most essential. It was his conviction that this eclipse

of reason and failure of will power attacked a man like a disease,

developed gradually and reached its highest point just before the

perpetration of the crime, continued with equal violence at the moment

of the crime and for longer or shorter time after, according to the

individual case, and then passed off like any other disease. The

question whether the disease gives rise to the crime, or whether the

crime from its own peculiar nature is always accompanied by something of

the nature of disease, he did not yet feel able to decide.

When he reached these conclusions, he decided that in his own case there

could not be such a morbid reaction, that his reason and will would

remain unimpaired at the time of carrying out his design, for the

simple reason that his design was “not a crime....” We will omit all the

process by means of which he arrived at this last conclusion; we have

run too far ahead already.... We may add only that the practical, purely

material difficulties of the affair occupied a secondary position in his

mind. “One has but to keep all one’s will-power and reason to deal

with them, and they will all be overcome at the time when once one has

familiarised oneself with the minutest details of the business....” But

this preparation had never been begun. His final decisions were what he

came to trust least, and when the hour struck, it all came to pass quite

differently, as it were accidentally and unexpectedly.

One trifling circumstance upset his calculations, before he had even

left the staircase. When he reached the landlady’s kitchen, the door

of which was open as usual, he glanced cautiously in to see whether, in

Nastasya’s absence, the landlady herself was there, or if not, whether

the door to her own room was closed, so that she might not peep out when

he went in for the axe. But what was his amazement when he suddenly

saw that Nastasya was not only at home in the kitchen, but was occupied

there, taking linen out of a basket and hanging it on a line. Seeing

him, she left off hanging the clothes, turned to him and stared at him

all the time he was passing. He turned away his eyes, and walked past as

though he noticed nothing. But it was the end of everything; he had not

the axe! He was overwhelmed.

“What made me think,” he reflected, as he went under the gateway, “what

made me think that she would be sure not to be at home at that moment!

Why, why, why did I assume this so certainly?”

He was crushed and even humiliated. He could have laughed at himself in

his anger.... A dull animal rage boiled within him.

He stood hesitating in the gateway. To go into the street, to go a walk

for appearance’ sake was revolting; to go back to his room, even more

revolting. “And what a chance I have lost for ever!” he muttered,

standing aimlessly in the gateway, just opposite the porter’s little

dark room, which was also open. Suddenly he started. From the porter’s

room, two paces away from him, something shining under the bench to the

right caught his eye.... He looked about him--nobody. He approached the

room on tiptoe, went down two steps into it and in a faint voice called

the porter. “Yes, not at home! Somewhere near though, in the yard, for

the door is wide open.” He dashed to the axe (it was an axe) and pulled