community-datasets/crime_and_punish · Datasets at Hugging Face

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PART II



CHAPTER I

So he lay a very long while. Now and then he seemed to wake up, and at
such moments he noticed that it was far into the night, but it did not
occur to him to get up. At last he noticed that it was beginning to get
light. He was lying on his back, still dazed from his recent oblivion.
Fearful, despairing cries rose shrilly from the street, sounds which he
heard every night, indeed, under his window after two o’clock. They woke
him up now.

“Ah! the drunken men are coming out of the taverns,” he thought, “it’s
past two o’clock,” and at once he leaped up, as though someone had
pulled him from the sofa.

“What! Past two o’clock!”

He sat down on the sofa--and instantly recollected everything! All at
once, in one flash, he recollected everything.

For the first moment he thought he was going mad. A dreadful chill came
over him; but the chill was from the fever that had begun long before in
his sleep. Now he was suddenly taken with violent shivering, so that his
teeth chattered and all his limbs were shaking. He opened the door and
began listening--everything in the house was asleep. With amazement he
gazed at himself and everything in the room around him, wondering how he
could have come in the night before without fastening the door, and have
flung himself on the sofa without undressing, without even taking his
hat off. It had fallen off and was lying on the floor near his pillow.

“If anyone had come in, what would he have thought? That I’m drunk
but...”

He rushed to the window. There was light enough, and he began hurriedly
looking himself all over from head to foot, all his clothes; were there
no traces? But there was no doing it like that; shivering with cold, he
began taking off everything and looking over again. He turned everything
over to the last threads and rags, and mistrusting himself, went through
his search three times.

But there seemed to be nothing, no trace, except in one place, where
some thick drops of congealed blood were clinging to the frayed edge
of his trousers. He picked up a big claspknife and cut off the frayed
threads. There seemed to be nothing more.

Suddenly he remembered that the purse and the things he had taken out of
the old woman’s box were still in his pockets! He had not thought till
then of taking them out and hiding them! He had not even thought of them
while he was examining his clothes! What next? Instantly he rushed
to take them out and fling them on the table. When he had pulled out
everything, and turned the pocket inside out to be sure there was
nothing left, he carried the whole heap to the corner. The paper had
come off the bottom of the wall and hung there in tatters. He began
stuffing all the things into the hole under the paper: “They’re in! All
out of sight, and the purse too!” he thought gleefully, getting up and
gazing blankly at the hole which bulged out more than ever. Suddenly
he shuddered all over with horror; “My God!” he whispered in despair:
“what’s the matter with me? Is that hidden? Is that the way to hide
things?”

He had not reckoned on having trinkets to hide. He had only thought of
money, and so had not prepared a hiding-place.

“But now, now, what am I glad of?” he thought, “Is that hiding things?
My reason’s deserting me--simply!”

He sat down on the sofa in exhaustion and was at once shaken by another
unbearable fit of shivering. Mechanically he drew from a chair beside
him his old student’s winter coat, which was still warm though almost in
rags, covered himself up with it and once more sank into drowsiness and
delirium. He lost consciousness.

Not more than five minutes had passed when he jumped up a second time,
and at once pounced in a frenzy on his clothes again.

“How could I go to sleep again with nothing done? Yes, yes; I have not
taken the loop off the armhole! I forgot it, forgot a thing like that!
Such a piece of evidence!”

He pulled off the noose, hurriedly cut it to pieces and threw the bits
among his linen under the pillow.

“Pieces of torn linen couldn’t rouse suspicion, whatever happened; I
think not, I think not, any way!” he repeated, standing in the middle
of the room, and with painful concentration he fell to gazing about
him again, at the floor and everywhere, trying to make sure he had not
forgotten anything. The conviction that all his faculties, even memory,
and the simplest power of reflection were failing him, began to be an
insufferable torture.

“Surely it isn’t beginning already! Surely it isn’t my punishment coming
upon me? It is!”

PART II

CHAPTER I

So he lay a very long while. Now and then he seemed to wake up, and at

such moments he noticed that it was far into the night, but it did not

occur to him to get up. At last he noticed that it was beginning to get

light. He was lying on his back, still dazed from his recent oblivion.

Fearful, despairing cries rose shrilly from the street, sounds which he

heard every night, indeed, under his window after two o’clock. They woke

him up now.

“Ah! the drunken men are coming out of the taverns,” he thought, “it’s

past two o’clock,” and at once he leaped up, as though someone had

pulled him from the sofa.

“What! Past two o’clock!”

He sat down on the sofa--and instantly recollected everything! All at

once, in one flash, he recollected everything.

For the first moment he thought he was going mad. A dreadful chill came

over him; but the chill was from the fever that had begun long before in

his sleep. Now he was suddenly taken with violent shivering, so that his

teeth chattered and all his limbs were shaking. He opened the door and

began listening--everything in the house was asleep. With amazement he

gazed at himself and everything in the room around him, wondering how he

could have come in the night before without fastening the door, and have

flung himself on the sofa without undressing, without even taking his

hat off. It had fallen off and was lying on the floor near his pillow.

“If anyone had come in, what would he have thought? That I’m drunk

but...”

He rushed to the window. There was light enough, and he began hurriedly

looking himself all over from head to foot, all his clothes; were there

no traces? But there was no doing it like that; shivering with cold, he

began taking off everything and looking over again. He turned everything

over to the last threads and rags, and mistrusting himself, went through

his search three times.

But there seemed to be nothing, no trace, except in one place, where

some thick drops of congealed blood were clinging to the frayed edge

of his trousers. He picked up a big claspknife and cut off the frayed

threads. There seemed to be nothing more.

Suddenly he remembered that the purse and the things he had taken out of

the old woman’s box were still in his pockets! He had not thought till

then of taking them out and hiding them! He had not even thought of them

while he was examining his clothes! What next? Instantly he rushed

to take them out and fling them on the table. When he had pulled out

everything, and turned the pocket inside out to be sure there was

nothing left, he carried the whole heap to the corner. The paper had

come off the bottom of the wall and hung there in tatters. He began

stuffing all the things into the hole under the paper: “They’re in! All

out of sight, and the purse too!” he thought gleefully, getting up and

gazing blankly at the hole which bulged out more than ever. Suddenly

he shuddered all over with horror; “My God!” he whispered in despair:

“what’s the matter with me? Is that hidden? Is that the way to hide

things?”

He had not reckoned on having trinkets to hide. He had only thought of

money, and so had not prepared a hiding-place.

“But now, now, what am I glad of?” he thought, “Is that hiding things?

My reason’s deserting me--simply!”

He sat down on the sofa in exhaustion and was at once shaken by another

unbearable fit of shivering. Mechanically he drew from a chair beside

him his old student’s winter coat, which was still warm though almost in

rags, covered himself up with it and once more sank into drowsiness and

delirium. He lost consciousness.

Not more than five minutes had passed when he jumped up a second time,

and at once pounced in a frenzy on his clothes again.

“How could I go to sleep again with nothing done? Yes, yes; I have not

taken the loop off the armhole! I forgot it, forgot a thing like that!

Such a piece of evidence!”

He pulled off the noose, hurriedly cut it to pieces and threw the bits

among his linen under the pillow.

“Pieces of torn linen couldn’t rouse suspicion, whatever happened; I

think not, I think not, any way!” he repeated, standing in the middle

of the room, and with painful concentration he fell to gazing about

him again, at the floor and everywhere, trying to make sure he had not

forgotten anything. The conviction that all his faculties, even memory,

and the simplest power of reflection were failing him, began to be an

insufferable torture.

“Surely it isn’t beginning already! Surely it isn’t my punishment coming

upon me? It is!”