community-datasets/crime_and_punish · Datasets at Hugging Face

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it out from under the bench, where it lay between two chunks of wood;
at once, before going out, he made it fast in the noose, he thrust both
hands into his pockets and went out of the room; no one had noticed him!
“When reason fails, the devil helps!” he thought with a strange grin.
This chance raised his spirits extraordinarily.

He walked along quietly and sedately, without hurry, to avoid awakening
suspicion. He scarcely looked at the passers-by, tried to escape looking
at their faces at all, and to be as little noticeable as possible.
Suddenly he thought of his hat. “Good heavens! I had the money the day
before yesterday and did not get a cap to wear instead!” A curse rose
from the bottom of his soul.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye into a shop, he saw by a clock on
the wall that it was ten minutes past seven. He had to make haste and at
the same time to go someway round, so as to approach the house from the
other side....

When he had happened to imagine all this beforehand, he had sometimes
thought that he would be very much afraid. But he was not very much
afraid now, was not afraid at all, indeed. His mind was even occupied
by irrelevant matters, but by nothing for long. As he passed the Yusupov
garden, he was deeply absorbed in considering the building of great
fountains, and of their refreshing effect on the atmosphere in all
the squares. By degrees he passed to the conviction that if the summer
garden were extended to the field of Mars, and perhaps joined to the
garden of the Mihailovsky Palace, it would be a splendid thing and a
great benefit to the town. Then he was interested by the question why
in all great towns men are not simply driven by necessity, but in some
peculiar way inclined to live in those parts of the town where there
are no gardens nor fountains; where there is most dirt and smell and all
sorts of nastiness. Then his own walks through the Hay Market came back
to his mind, and for a moment he waked up to reality. “What nonsense!”
he thought, “better think of nothing at all!”

“So probably men led to execution clutch mentally at every object that
meets them on the way,” flashed through his mind, but simply flashed,
like lightning; he made haste to dismiss this thought.... And by now
he was near; here was the house, here was the gate. Suddenly a clock
somewhere struck once. “What! can it be half-past seven? Impossible, it
must be fast!”

Luckily for him, everything went well again at the gates. At that very
moment, as though expressly for his benefit, a huge waggon of hay had
just driven in at the gate, completely screening him as he passed under
the gateway, and the waggon had scarcely had time to drive through into
the yard, before he had slipped in a flash to the right. On the other
side of the waggon he could hear shouting and quarrelling; but no one
noticed him and no one met him. Many windows looking into that huge
quadrangular yard were open at that moment, but he did not raise his
head--he had not the strength to. The staircase leading to the old
woman’s room was close by, just on the right of the gateway. He was
already on the stairs....

Drawing a breath, pressing his hand against his throbbing heart, and
once more feeling for the axe and setting it straight, he began softly
and cautiously ascending the stairs, listening every minute. But the
stairs, too, were quite deserted; all the doors were shut; he met no
one. One flat indeed on the first floor was wide open and painters were
at work in it, but they did not glance at him. He stood still, thought
a minute and went on. “Of course it would be better if they had not been
here, but... it’s two storeys above them.”

And there was the fourth storey, here was the door, here was the
flat opposite, the empty one. The flat underneath the old woman’s was
apparently empty also; the visiting card nailed on the door had been
torn off--they had gone away!... He was out of breath. For one instant
the thought floated through his mind “Shall I go back?” But he made no
answer and began listening at the old woman’s door, a dead silence. Then
he listened again on the staircase, listened long and intently...
then looked about him for the last time, pulled himself together, drew
himself up, and once more tried the axe in the noose. “Am I very pale?”
he wondered. “Am I not evidently agitated? She is mistrustful.... Had I
better wait a little longer... till my heart leaves off thumping?”

But his heart did not leave off. On the contrary, as though to spite
him, it throbbed more and more violently. He could stand it no longer,
he slowly put out his hand to the bell and rang. Half a minute later he
rang again, more loudly.

No answer. To go on ringing was useless and out of place. The old woman
was, of course, at home, but she was suspicious and alone. He had some
knowledge of her habits... and once more he put his ear to the door.
Either his senses were peculiarly keen (which it is difficult to
suppose), or the sound was really very distinct. Anyway, he suddenly
heard something like the cautious touch of a hand on the lock and the
rustle of a skirt at the very door. Someone was standing stealthily
close to the lock and just as he was doing on the outside was secretly
listening within, and seemed to have her ear to the door.... He moved
a little on purpose and muttered something aloud that he might not have
the appearance of hiding, then rang a third time, but quietly, soberly,
and without impatience, Recalling it afterwards, that moment stood out
in his mind vividly, distinctly, for ever; he could not make out how he
had had such cunning, for his mind was as it were clouded at moments and
he was almost unconscious of his body.... An instant later he heard the
latch unfastened.



CHAPTER VII

it out from under the bench, where it lay between two chunks of wood;

at once, before going out, he made it fast in the noose, he thrust both

hands into his pockets and went out of the room; no one had noticed him!

“When reason fails, the devil helps!” he thought with a strange grin.

This chance raised his spirits extraordinarily.

He walked along quietly and sedately, without hurry, to avoid awakening

suspicion. He scarcely looked at the passers-by, tried to escape looking

at their faces at all, and to be as little noticeable as possible.

Suddenly he thought of his hat. “Good heavens! I had the money the day

before yesterday and did not get a cap to wear instead!” A curse rose

from the bottom of his soul.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye into a shop, he saw by a clock on

the wall that it was ten minutes past seven. He had to make haste and at

the same time to go someway round, so as to approach the house from the

other side....

When he had happened to imagine all this beforehand, he had sometimes

thought that he would be very much afraid. But he was not very much

afraid now, was not afraid at all, indeed. His mind was even occupied

by irrelevant matters, but by nothing for long. As he passed the Yusupov

garden, he was deeply absorbed in considering the building of great

fountains, and of their refreshing effect on the atmosphere in all

the squares. By degrees he passed to the conviction that if the summer

garden were extended to the field of Mars, and perhaps joined to the

garden of the Mihailovsky Palace, it would be a splendid thing and a

great benefit to the town. Then he was interested by the question why

in all great towns men are not simply driven by necessity, but in some

peculiar way inclined to live in those parts of the town where there

are no gardens nor fountains; where there is most dirt and smell and all

sorts of nastiness. Then his own walks through the Hay Market came back

to his mind, and for a moment he waked up to reality. “What nonsense!”

he thought, “better think of nothing at all!”

“So probably men led to execution clutch mentally at every object that

meets them on the way,” flashed through his mind, but simply flashed,

like lightning; he made haste to dismiss this thought.... And by now

he was near; here was the house, here was the gate. Suddenly a clock

somewhere struck once. “What! can it be half-past seven? Impossible, it

must be fast!”

Luckily for him, everything went well again at the gates. At that very

moment, as though expressly for his benefit, a huge waggon of hay had

just driven in at the gate, completely screening him as he passed under

the gateway, and the waggon had scarcely had time to drive through into

the yard, before he had slipped in a flash to the right. On the other

side of the waggon he could hear shouting and quarrelling; but no one

noticed him and no one met him. Many windows looking into that huge

quadrangular yard were open at that moment, but he did not raise his

head--he had not the strength to. The staircase leading to the old

woman’s room was close by, just on the right of the gateway. He was

already on the stairs....

Drawing a breath, pressing his hand against his throbbing heart, and

once more feeling for the axe and setting it straight, he began softly

and cautiously ascending the stairs, listening every minute. But the

stairs, too, were quite deserted; all the doors were shut; he met no

one. One flat indeed on the first floor was wide open and painters were

at work in it, but they did not glance at him. He stood still, thought

a minute and went on. “Of course it would be better if they had not been

here, but... it’s two storeys above them.”

And there was the fourth storey, here was the door, here was the

flat opposite, the empty one. The flat underneath the old woman’s was

apparently empty also; the visiting card nailed on the door had been

torn off--they had gone away!... He was out of breath. For one instant

the thought floated through his mind “Shall I go back?” But he made no

answer and began listening at the old woman’s door, a dead silence. Then

he listened again on the staircase, listened long and intently...

then looked about him for the last time, pulled himself together, drew

himself up, and once more tried the axe in the noose. “Am I very pale?”

he wondered. “Am I not evidently agitated? She is mistrustful.... Had I

better wait a little longer... till my heart leaves off thumping?”

But his heart did not leave off. On the contrary, as though to spite

him, it throbbed more and more violently. He could stand it no longer,

he slowly put out his hand to the bell and rang. Half a minute later he

rang again, more loudly.

No answer. To go on ringing was useless and out of place. The old woman

was, of course, at home, but she was suspicious and alone. He had some

knowledge of her habits... and once more he put his ear to the door.

Either his senses were peculiarly keen (which it is difficult to

suppose), or the sound was really very distinct. Anyway, he suddenly

heard something like the cautious touch of a hand on the lock and the

rustle of a skirt at the very door. Someone was standing stealthily

close to the lock and just as he was doing on the outside was secretly

listening within, and seemed to have her ear to the door.... He moved

a little on purpose and muttered something aloud that he might not have

the appearance of hiding, then rang a third time, but quietly, soberly,

and without impatience, Recalling it afterwards, that moment stood out

in his mind vividly, distinctly, for ever; he could not make out how he

had had such cunning, for his mind was as it were clouded at moments and

he was almost unconscious of his body.... An instant later he heard the

latch unfastened.

CHAPTER VII