Текст книги "Crime and Punishment"

Автор книги: Fyodor Dostoevsky

Соавторы: Fyodor Dostoevsky
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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 44 страниц)

Sonya hastened to convey at once Pyotr Petrovich's apology to her, trying to speak loudly enough for everyone to hear, and choosing the most respectful expressions, which she even invented and embellished a bit on Pyotr Petrovich's behalf. She added that Pyotr Petrovich had asked her to say especially that as soon as he could, he would come at once to talk over certain mattersprivately, and to discuss what could be done and undertaken in the future, and so on and so forth.

Sonya knew that this would calm and appease Katerina Ivanovna, that it would flatter her, and, above all—would satisfy her pride. She sat down next to Raskolnikov, having hastily bowed to him and looked curiously at him in passing. For the rest of the time, however, she somehow avoided looking at him or speaking to him. She even seemed absentminded, though she kept peering into Katerina Ivanovna's face in order to please her. Neither she nor Katerina Ivanovna was wearing mourning, for lack of dresses. Sonya had on something brown, of a darkish shade; Katerina Ivanovna was wearing her only dress, a dark cotton one with stripes. The news about Pyotr Petrovich went over swimmingly. Having listened to Sonya with an air of importance, Katerina Ivanovna, with the same importance, inquired after Pyotr Petrovich's health. Then, immediately and almost aloud, she whisperedto Raskolnikov that it would indeed be strange for such a respected and solid man as Pyotr Petrovich to find himself in such “extraordinary company,” in spite of all his devotion to her family and his old friendship with her papa.

“That is why I am so especially grateful to you, Rodion Romanych, for not scorning my bread and salt, even in such circumstances,” she added, almost aloud. <sup>[117]117
  Bread and salt, literal or metaphorical, is a symbol of hospitality in Russia.


[Закрыть]</sup> “However, I'm sure that only your special friendship with my poor late husband prompted you to keep your word.”

Then once again, with pride and dignity, she surveyed her guests, and suddenly, with special solicitude, inquired loudly of the old man across the table: “Wouldn't he care for some more stew, and had he tried the Lisbon wine?” The old man did not reply and for a long time could not understand what he was being asked, though his neighbors even began nudging him for the fun of it. He only looked around open-mouthed, which fueled the general merriment even more.

“What a dolt! Look, look! Why did they bring him? As for Pyotr Petrovich, I've always been confident of him,” Katerina Ivanovna continued to Raskolnikov, “and he certainly bears no resemblance...” (she addressed Amalia Ivanovna sharply and loudly, and with an extremely stern look, under which even Amalia Ivanovna quailed) “no resemblance to those frippery skirt-swishers of yours, whom my papa wouldn't even have taken as cooks into his kitchen, and as for my late husband, he, of course, would have been doing them an honor by receiving them, and then only out of his inexhaustible kindness.”

“Yes, ma'am, he liked his drink; he liked it, that he did, ma'am!” the retired supply officer suddenly exclaimed, emptying his twelfth glass of vodka.

“My late husband indeed had that weakness, and everyone knows it,” Katerina Ivanovna simply fastened on him all at once, “but he was a kind and noble man, who loved and respected his family; the only bad thing was that in his kindness he trusted too much in all sorts of depraved people, and God alone knows who he didn't drink with, even people who weren't worth his shoe sole! Imagine, Rodion Romanovich, they found a gingerbread rooster in his pocket: he was walking around dead drunk, yet he remembered the children.”

“A roo-ooster? Did you say a roo-ooster?” cried the supply gentleman.

Katerina Ivanovna did not deign to answer him. She lapsed into thought about something and sighed.

“You no doubt think, as everyone else does, that I was too strict with him,” she went on, addressing Raskolnikov. “But it wasn't so! He respected me, he respected me very, very much! He was a man of good soul! And I oftentimes felt so sorry for him! He used to sit and look at me from the corner, and I'd feel such pity for him, I'd have liked to be nice to him, but then I'd think to myself: 'I'll be nice to him, and he'll just get drunk again.' It was only by strictness that it was possible to restrain him at all.”

“Yes, ma'am, it did go on, the hair-pulling, that it did, more than once, ma'am,” the supply man bellowed again, and poured another glass of vodka into himself.

“Not just hair-pulling but even the broom would be a useful treatment for some fools. I'm not talking about my late husband now,” Katerina Ivanovna snapped at the supply man.

The flushed spots on her cheeks glowed brighter and brighter; her chest was heaving. Another minute and she would be ready to start a scene. Many were chuckling; evidently many found it enjoyable. They began nudging the supply man and whispering something to him. Obviously they wanted to set them at each other.

“And ma-a-ay I ask on what account, ma'am,” the supply man began, “that is, on whose noble account... you have just been so good as to...but, no! Nonsense! A widow! A widow-woman! I forgive...I pass!” and he knocked back some more vodka.

Raskolnikov sat and listened silently and with loathing. And he ate only out of politeness, barely touching the food that Katerina Ivanovna was constantly putting on his plate, and then only to avoid offending her. He kept a close eye on Sonya. But Sonya was becoming more and more anxious and preoccupied; she, too, anticipated that the memorial meal was not going to end peaceably, and watched with fear Katerina Ivanovna's mounting irritation. She knew, incidentally, that she herself, Sonya, was the main reason that the two visiting ladies had treated Katerina Ivanovna's invitation so contemptuously. She had heard from Amalia Ivanovna herself that the mother was even offended at the invitation and had posed the question: “How could she possibly place her daughter next to that girl?”Sonya had a feeling that this had somehow already become known to Katerina Ivanovna; and an offense to her, Sonya, meant more to Katerina Ivanovna than an offense to herself personally, or to her children, or to her papa; in short, it was a mortal offense, and Sonya knew that now Katerina Ivanovna would not rest “until she had proved to those skirt-swishers that they were both...” and so on and so forth. As if on purpose, someone sent Sonya a plate from the other end of the table with two hearts on it pierced by an arrow, molded in black bread. Katerina Ivanovna flared up and at once loudly remarked across the table that whoever had sent it was, of course, “a drunken ass.” Amalia Ivanovna, who also anticipated something bad, and furthermore was insulted to the bottom of her soul by Katerina Ivanovna's haughtiness, in order to divert the unpleasant mood of the company, and at the same time raise herself in the general esteem, suddenly, out of the blue, began telling of how an acquaintance of hers, “Karl from the pharmacy,” had taken a cab one night, and the driver “vanted to kill him, and Karl he pegged him fery, fery much not to kill him, and he vept and clasped his hands, and he vas sheared, and from fear vas pierced his heart.” Katerina Ivanovna, though she smiled, immediately observed that Amalia Ivanovna ought not to tell anecdotes in Russian. The woman became even more offended, and replied that her “fater aus Berlin vas a fery, fery important mann and vent mit his hands into the pockets.” The easily amused Katerina Ivanovna could not help herself and burst into a terrible fit of laughter, so that Amalia Ivanovna began to lose all patience and could barely contain herself.

“What a barn owl!” Katerina Ivanovna whispered again to Raskolnikov, almost cheerfully. “She meant to say he kept his hands in his pockets, but it came out that he picked people's pockets, hem, hem!

And have you noticed, Rodion Romanovich, once and for all, that all these Petersburg foreigners—that is, Germans mainly, wherever they come from—are all stupider than we are! You must agree, one simply cannot talk about how 'Karl from the pharmacy from fear vas pierced his heart,' and how he (the young snot!) 'clasped his hands, and vept, and pegged fery much' instead of just tying the driver up! Ah, the dunderhead! And yet she thinks it's very touching and doesn't suspect how stupid she is! In my opinion, this drunken supply man is a good deal smarter; at least one can see he's a boozer and has drunk up the last of his wits; but these people are all so well-behaved, so serious...Look at her sitting there with her eyes popping out. She's angry! She's angry! Ha, ha, ha! Hem, hem, hem!”

Having cheered up, Katerina Ivanovna immediately got carried away with various details, and suddenly began to talk of how, with the aid of the obtained pension, she would certainly start an institute for noble girls in her native town of T–. This was something Katerina Ivanovna herself had not yet spoken of with Raskolnikov, and she was immediately carried away with the most tempting details. All at once, no one knew how, she was holding in her hands that same “certificate of merit” which Raskolnikov had heard about from the late Marmeladov, when he was explaining to him in the tavern that Katerina Ivanovna, his spouse, on her graduation from the institute, had danced with a shawl “before the governor and other personages.” This certificate of merit was now obviously meant to serve as evidence of Katerina Ivanovna's right to start an institute of her own; but above all it had been kept ready with the purpose of finally confounding “those two frippery skirt-swishers” in case they should come to the memorial meal, and proving clearly to them that Katerina Ivanovna was from a most noble, “one might even say aristocratic, house, a colonel's daughter, and certainly better than the sort of adventuresses who have been multiplying in such quantity lately.” The certificate of merit was immediately handed around among the drunken guests, which Katerina Ivanovna did not prevent, because it did indeed mention en toutes lettres <sup>[118]118
  "In black and white" (French).


[Закрыть]</sup> that she was the daughter of a court councillor and chevalier of an order, and therefore indeed almost a colonel's daughter. Burning with excitement, Katerina Ivanovna immediately expanded on all the details of this wonderful and peaceful future life in T–, the school-masters she would invite to give lessons in her institute, the venerable old Frenchman, Mangot, who had taught French to Katerina Ivanovna herself at the institute, and was now living out his old age in T–, and who would certainly come to her on quite suitable terms. Finally, it came to Sonya as well, “who would go to T–together with Katerina Ivanovna and help her there in everything.” Here someone suddenly snorted at the other end of the table. Though Katerina Ivanovna at once made a pretense of scornfully ignoring the laughter that arose at the end of the table, she deliberately raised her voice at once and began talking animatedly about Sofya Semyonovna's undoubted abilities to serve as her assistant, about “her meekness, patience, self-denial, nobility, and education,” and she patted Sonya on the cheek and, rising a little, warmly kissed her twice. Sonya flushed, and Katerina Ivanovna suddenly burst into tears, immediately observing of herself that “she was a nervous fool, and much too upset, and that it was time to end, and since the meal was over, why not serve tea.” At the same moment, Amalia Ivanovna, now utterly offended because she had not taken the least part in the entire conversation and no one would even listen to her, suddenly risked a last attempt and, with concealed anguish, ventured to offer Katerina Ivanovna an extremely sensible and profound observation about the necessity, in the future institute, of paying special attention to the girls' clean linen (die Wàsche)and “of making sure dere iss vun such good lady” (die Dame)“who should look vell after the linen,” and second, “that all the young girls mussn't sneak any novel by night to read.” Katerina Ivanovna, who was really upset and very tired, and was already thoroughly sick of the memorial meal, immediately “snapped” at Amalia Ivanovna that she was “pouring out drivel” and understood nothing; that it was for the head matron to worry about die Wàsche,not the directress of a noble institute; and as far as reading novels was concerned, that was all simply indecencies and she begged her to keep quiet. Amalia Ivanovna flushed and, getting angry, remarked that she was only “vishing vell” and that she “fery much vished vell,” but that “for a long time she vasn't the geld paid for the apartment.” Katerina Ivanovna “put her down” at once, declaring that she was lying when she said she “vished her vell,” because just yesterday, while the dead man was still laid out on the table, <sup>[119]119
  It was customary in Russia for a corpse to be laid out on a table until it was put in the coffin.


[Закрыть]</sup> she had been tormenting her about the apartment. To this Amalia Ivanovna responded, quite consistently, that she had “infited those ladies, but the ladies didn't come, because those been noble ladies, and to a not noble lady they cannot come.” Katerina Ivanovna immediately “underscored” for her that since she was a slut, she was no judge of true nobility. This was too much for Amalia Ivanovna, and she declared at once that her “fater aus Berlin vas fery, fery important mann and vent mitt both hands into the pockets and alvays made like that: poof! poof!” and for a more lifelike portrayal of her fater, Amalia Ivanovna jumped up from her chair, thrust both hands into her pockets, puffed out her cheeks, and began producing some sounds vaguely resembling “poof, poof with her mouth, to the accompaniment of loud guffaws from all the tenants, who, anticipating a skirmish, deliberately encouraged Amalia Ivanovna with their approval. Now this Katerina Ivanovna could not tolerate, and she immediately “rapped out” for all to hear that Amalia Ivanovna perhaps never even had a fater; that Amalia Ivanovna was simply a drunken Petersburg Finn and must have lived somewhere formerly as a kitchen maid, if not something worse. Amalia Ivanovna turned red as a lobster and started shrieking that it was maybe Katerina Ivanovna who “hat no fater at all, but that she hat a fater aus Berlin, and he vore a frock coat this long and made poof, poof, poof all the time!” Katerina Ivanovna observed contemptuously that her origins were known to all, and that it was stated in print on that same certificate of merit that her father was a colonel, and that Amalia Ivanovna's father (if she had any father) must have been some Petersburg Finn who sold milk; but most likely there was no father at all, because to this day it was unknown whether Amalia Ivanovna's patronymic was Ivanovna or Ludwigovna. At this, Amalia Ivanovna became utterly enraged and, banging her fist on the table, began shrieking that she was Amal-Ivan, not Ludwigovna, that her fater's name “vas Johann, and he vas Burgomeister,” and that Katerina Ivanovna's fater “vas never vonce Burgomeister.” Katerina Ivanovna rose from her chair and sternly, in an ostensibly calm voice (though she was all pale and her chest was heaving deeply), remarked to her that if she ever dared “to place her wretched little fater on the same level with her dear papa, she, Katerina Ivanovna, would tear her bonnet off and trample it under her feet.” Having heard this, Amalia Ivanovna started running around the room, shouting with all her might that she was the landlady and that Katerina Ivanovna must “in vun minute facate the apartment”; then for some reason she rushed to gather up the silver spoons from the table. A row and an uproar ensued; the children started to cry. Sonya rushed and tried to hold Katerina Ivanovna back; but when Amalia Ivanovna suddenly shouted something about a yellow pass, Katerina Ivanovna pushed Sonya away and made for Amalia Ivanovna in order to carry out at once her threat concerning the bonnet. At that moment the door opened, and Pyotr Petrovich Luzhin appeared on the threshold of the room. He stood and with stern, attentive eyes surveyed the whole company. Katerina Ivanovna rushed to him.

III

“Pyotr petrovich!” she exclaimed, “you protect us at least! Bring home to this stupid creature that she dare not treat a noble lady in misfortune this way, that there are courts for such things...I'll go to the governor-general himself...She'll answer...Remember my father's bread and salt; protect the orphans.”

“Excuse me, madam...Excuse me, excuse me, madam,” Pyotr Petrovich brushed her aside. “As you are aware, I did not have the honor of knowing your father...excuse me, madam!” (Someone guffawed loudly.) “And I have no intention of participating in your ceaseless strife with Amalia Ivanovna...I have come for my own purposes...and wish to speak at once with your stepdaughter, Sofya...Ivanovna...I believe? Allow me to pass, ma'am.”

And edging past Katerina Ivanovna, Pyotr Petrovich made his way to the opposite corner, where Sonya was.

Katerina Ivanovna simply stood there as if thunderstruck. She could not understand how Pyotr Petrovich could disavow her dear papa's bread and salt. Having once invented this bread and salt, she now believed in it religiously. She was also struck by Pyotr Petrovich's tone—businesslike, dry, even full of some contemptuous threat. And everyone else somehow gradually became hushed at his appearance. Besides the fact that this “businesslike and serious” man was so sharply out of harmony with the whole company, besides that, one could see that he had come for something important, that probably only some extraordinary reason could have drawn him into such company, and that, therefore, something was about to happen, there was going to be something. Raskolnikov, who was standing next to Sonya, stepped aside to let him pass; Pyotr Petrovich seemed to take no notice of him. A minute later, Lebezyatnikov also appeared on the threshold; he did not come into the room, but stood there with some special curiosity, almost astonishment; he listened carefully, but it seemed that for a long time there was something he could not understand.

“Excuse me for possibly interrupting you, but the matter is rather important,” Pyotr Petrovich remarked somehow generally, not addressing anyone in particular. “I'm even glad to have the public here. Amalia Ivanovna, I humbly ask you, in your quality as landlady, to pay attention to my forthcoming conversation with Sofya Ivanovna. Sofya Ivanovna,” he continued, turning directly to Sonya, who was extremely surprised and already frightened beforehand, “a state bank note belonging to me, in the amount of one hundred roubles, disappeared from my table in the room of my friend, Andrei Semyonovich Lebezyatnikov, immediately following your visit. If, in one way or another, you know and can point out to us its present whereabouts, I assure you on my word of honor, and I call all of you as witnesses, that the matter will end right here. Otherwise, I shall be forced to take quite serious measures, in which case...you will have only yourself to blame, miss!”

Complete silence fell over the room. Even the crying children became quiet. Sonya stood deathly pale, looking at Luzhin, unable to make any reply. It was as if she still did not understand. Several seconds passed.

“Well, miss, what is it to be?” Luzhin asked, looking at her fixedly.

“I don't know...I don't know anything . . .” Sonya finally said in a weak voice.

“No? You don't know?” Luzhin asked again, and paused for another few seconds. “Think, mademoiselle,” he began sternly, but still as if admonishing her, “consider well; I am willing to give you more time for reflection. Kindly realize, mademoiselle, that if I were not so sure, then naturally, with my experience, I would not risk accusing you so directly; for I myself, in a certain sense, am answerable for such a direct and public accusation, if it is false, or even merely mistaken. I am aware of that. This morning, for my own purposes, I cashed several five percent notes for the nominal value of three thousand roubles. I have a record of the transaction in my wallet. On returning home—Andrei Semyonovich is my witness here—I began counting the money and, having counted out two thousand three hundred roubles, I put them away in my wallet, and put the wallet into the side pocket of my frock coat. There were about five hundred left on the table, in bank notes, among them three notes for a hundred roubles each. At that moment you arrived (summoned by me)—and all the while you were with me, you were extremely embarrassed, so that you even got up and for some reason hastened to leave three times in the middle of the conversation, though our conversation was not yet finished. Andrei Semyonovich can witness to all that. Probably, mademoiselle, you yourself will not refuse to state and corroborate that I summoned you, through Andrei Semyonovich, for the sole purpose of discussing with you the orphaned and helpless situation of your relative, Katerina Ivanovna (whom I have been unable to join for the memorial meal), and how useful it would be to organize something like a subscription, a lottery, or what have you, for her benefit. You thanked me and even shed a few tears (I am telling everything as it happened, first, to remind you of it, and second, to show you that not the slightest detail has erased itself from my memory). Then I took from the table a ten-rouble bank note and handed it to you, in my own name, for the sake of your relative's interests and in view of a first contribution. Andrei Semyonovich saw all this. Then I accompanied you to the door—still with the same embarrassment on your part—after which, remaining alone with Andrei Semyonovich and talking with him for about ten minutes, Andrei Semyonovich left, and I turned again to the table with the money lying on it, intending to count it and set it aside, as I had meant to do earlier. To my surprise, from among the other hundred-rouble bills, one was missing. Now, kindly consider: I really can in no way suspect Andrei Semyonovich, miss; I'm even ashamed of the suggestion. That I made a mistake in counting is also not possible, because I had finished all my accounts a moment before you came, and found the result correct. You can only agree that, recalling your embarrassment, your haste to leave, and the fact that you kept your hands on the table for some time; considering, finally, your social position and its attendant habits, I was forced,with horror, so to speak, and even against my will, to arrive at a suspicion—a cruel one, of course, but—a justified one, miss! I will also add and repeat that, in spite of all my obviouscertainty, I am aware that there is still some risk present for me in this accusation of mine. But, as you see, I did not take it idly; I rose up, and let me tell you why: solely, miss, solely on account of your blackest ingratitude! What? I invite you in the interests of your most destitute relative, I offer you a feasible donation of ten roubles, and right then and there you repay all that with such an act! No, miss, that is not nice! You must be taught a lesson, miss. Consider, then; moreover, I beg you as a true friend (for you could have no better friend at this moment) to come to your senses! Otherwise, I shall be implacable! Well then, miss?”

“I took nothing from you,” Sonya whispered in terror. “You gave me ten roubles—here, take it.” Sonya pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, found the knot, untied it, took out the ten-rouble bill, and held her hand out to Luzhin.

“And the other hundred roubles you simply do not admit?” he said reproachfully and insistently, without taking the bill.

Sonya looked around. They were all staring at her with such terrible, stern, mocking, hateful faces. She glanced at Raskolnikov...he was standing by the wall, arms folded, looking at her with fiery eyes.

“Oh, Lord!” escaped from Sonya.

“Amalia Ivanovna, we shall have to inform the police, and therefore I humbly ask you to send meanwhile for the caretaker,” Luzhin said softly and even tenderly.

“Gott der Barmberzige! <sup>[120]120
  "Oh, merciful God!" (German).


[Закрыть]</sup> I just known she vas shtealing!” Amalia Ivanovna clasped her hands.

“You just knew?” Luzhin picked up. “Then you had at least some grounds for such conclusions before this. I beg you, most respected Amalia Ivanovna, to remember your words, which in any case have been spoken in front of witnesses.”

Loud talk suddenly arose on all sides. Everyone stirred.

“Wha-a-at!” Katerina Ivanovna suddenly cried, having come to her senses, and, as if tearing herself loose, she rushed at Luzhin. “What! You accuse her of stealing? Sonya? Ah, scoundrels, scoundrels!” And rushing to Sonya, she embraced her with her withered arms, as in a vise.

“Sonya! How dared you take ten roubles from him! Oh, foolish girl! Give it to me! Give me the ten roubles at once—there!”

And snatching the bill from Sonya, Katerina Ivanovna crumpled it in her hand, drew back, and hurled it violently straight into Luzhin's face. The ball of paper hit him in the eye and bounced onto the floor. Amalia Ivanovna rushed to pick up the money. Pyotr Petrovich became angry.

“Restrain this madwoman!” he shouted.

At that moment several more faces appeared in the doorway beside Lebezyatnikov; the two visiting ladies were among those peeking in.

“What! Mad? Mad, am I? Fool!” shrieked Katerina Ivanovna. “You, you're a fool, a pettifogger, a base man! Sonya, Sonya take his money? Sonya a thief? Why, she'd sooner give you money, fool!” And Katerina Ivanovna laughed hysterically. “Have you ever seen such a fool?” she was rushing in all directions, pointing out Luzhin to them all. “What! And you, too?” she noticed the landlady. “You're in it, too, you sausage-maker! You, too, claim that she 'vas shtealing,' you vile Prussian chicken-leg in a crinoline! Ah, you! ... you! But she hasn't even left the room; as soon as she came from seeing you, you scoundrel, she sat down at once just beside Rodion Romanovich! ... Search her! Since she hasn't gone anywhere, it means the money must still be on her! Search, then, goahead and search! Only if you don't find anything, then, excuse me, my dear, but you'll answer for it! To the sovereign, the sovereign, I'll run to the merciful tsar himself, I'll throw myself at his feet, now, today! I'm an orphan! They'll let me in! You think they won't let me in? Lies! I'll get there! I will! Was it her meekness you were counting on? Were you hoping for that? But I'm perky enough myself, brother! You won't pull it off! Search, then! Search, search, go ahead and search!”

And Katerina Ivanovna, in a frenzy, tugged at Luzhin, pulling him towards Sonya.

“I'm prepared to, and I'll answer for it... but calm yourself, madam, calm yourself! I see only too well how perky you are! ... But it...it...you see, ma'am,” Luzhin muttered, “the police ought to be present. . . though, anyway, there are more than enough witnesses as it is...I'm prepared to...But in any case it's embarrassing for a man...by reason of his sex...If Amalia Ivanovna were to help...though, anyway, it's not how things are done...You see, ma'am?”

“Anyone you like! Let anyone you like search her!” cried Katerina Ivanovna. “Sonya, turn your pockets out for them! There, there! Look, monster, this one's empty, the handkerchief was in it, the pocket's empty, see? Here, here's the other one! See, see?”

And Katerina Ivanovna did not so much turn as yank the pockets inside out, one after the other. But from the second, the right-hand pocket, a piece of paper suddenly flew out and, describing a parabola in the air, fell at Luzhin's feet. Everyone saw it; many cried out. Pyotr Petrovich bent down, picked up the paper from the floor with two fingers, held it aloft for everyone to see, and unfolded it. It was a hundred-rouble bill, folded in eight. Pyotr Petrovich made a circle with his hand, showing the bill all around.

“Thief! Out from the apartment! Politz! Politz!” screamed Amalia Ivanovna. “They should to Tsiberia be chased! Out!”

Exclamations came flying from all sides. Raskolnikov was silent, not taking his eyes off Sonya, but from time to time shifting them quickly to Luzhin. Sonya stood where she was, as if unconscious; she was almost not even surprised. Color suddenly rushed to her cheeks; she uttered a short cry and covered her face with her hands.

“No, it wasn't me! I didn't take it! I don't know anything!” she cried in a heart-rending wail, and rushed to Katerina Ivanovna, who seized her and pressed her hard to herself, as if wishing to shield her from everyone with her own breast.

“Sonya! Sonya! I don't believe them! You see I don't believe them!” Katerina Ivanovna cried (in spite of all the obviousness), rocking her in her arms like a child, giving her countless kisses, catching her hands and simply devouring them with kisses. “As if you could take anything! What stupid people they all are! Oh, Lord! You're stupid, stupid,” she cried, addressing them all, “you still don't know what a heart she has, what a girl she is! As if she would take anything! Why, she'd strip off her last dress and sell it, and go barefoot, and give everything to you if you needed it—that's how she is! She got a yellow pass because my children were perishing from hunger, she sold herself for us! ...  Ah, husband, husband! Ah, my poor, dead husband! Do you see? Do you see? Here's your memorial meal! Lord! But defend her! Why are you all standing there! Rodion Romanovich! Why don't you take her part? Do you believe it, too? None of you is worth her little finger, none of you, none, none, none! Lord, defend us finally!”

The cries of the poor, consumptive, bereaved Katerina Ivanovna seemed to produce a strong effect on the public. There was so much pathos, so much suffering in her withered, consumptive face, contorted by pain, in her withered lips flecked with blood, in her hoarsely crying voice, in her sobbing, so much like a child's, in her trusting, childlike, and at the same time desperate plea for defense, that they all seemed moved to pity the unfortunate woman. Pyotr Petrovich, at least, was immediately moved to pity.