III
‘Pyotr Petrovich!’ she shouted. ‘You defend me, at least!
Make this stupid creature understand that this is no way to treat a noble lady in distress, that the law exists for a reason . . . I’m going straight to the Governor General . . .
She’ll answer for this . . . In memory of my father’s bread and salt, protect the orphans.’ ‘Excuse me, ma’am . . . Do, please, excuse me,’ said Pyotr Petrovich dismissively, ‘but, as you well know, I never once had the honour of meeting your papa . . . Excuse me, ma’am’ – someone gave a roar of laughter – ‘but I have not the slightest intention of participating in your endless disputes with Amalia Ivanovna . . . I’m here for my own purposes . . . I should like to have words with your stepdaughter, Sofya . . . Ivanovna . . . if I’m not mistaken?
Kindly let me pass, ma’am . . .’ And Pyotr Petrovich, edging past Katerina Ivanovna, made for the opposite corner, towards Sonya.
Katerina Ivanovna remained rooted to the spot, as if thunder-struck. She was simply unable to understand how Pyotr Petrovich could renounce her papa’s bread and salt.
Having once invented this bread and salt, she now held it as a sacred truth. She was also shocked by Pyotr Petrovich’s tone: business-like, dry and filled with a kind of contemptuous menace. In fact, everyone gradually went quiet at his appearance. Leaving aside the fact that this ‘business-like and serious’ man looked utterly out of place in such a crowd, it was obvious that something important had brought him here, that only something out of the ordinary could explain his appearance in such a setting, and that, therefore, something was just about to happen.
Raskolnikov, who was standing next to Sonya, made way
for him; Pyotr Petrovich seemed not to notice him at all. A minute later Lebezyatnikov also appeared on the threshold.
He didn’t enter the room, but paused in an attitude of great curiosity, almost surprise. He was listening, but seemed unable to grasp something. ‘Forgive me if I am interrupting, but I’m here on rather important business,’ Pyotr Petrovich remarked, as if to nobody in particular. ‘In fact, I’m glad there’s an audience.
Amalia Ivanovna, I humbly ask you, in your capacity as landlady, to pay attention to my ensuing conversation with Sofya Ivanovna. Sofya Ivanovna,’ he continued, directly addressing a thoroughly astonished and already frightened Sonya, ‘immediately after your visit, in the room of my friend, Andrei Semyonovich Lebezyatnikov, a government banknote to the value of one hundred roubles disappeared from my desk. If, for any reason, you happen to know and can tell us where the note may be found, then I give you my word of honour, taking everyone here as my witness, that there the matter shall end. But should this not be the case, I shall be obliged to resort to the most serious measures, and then . . . you’ll have no one to blame but yourself!’ Complete silence reigned in the room. Even the crying children fell quiet. Deathly pale, Sonya looked at Luzhin and could say nothing in reply. It was as if she hadn’t understood yet. Several seconds passed. ‘Well, miss, what do you have to say?’ asked Luzhin, staring straight at her. ‘I don’t know . . . I don’t know anything . . . ,’ Sonya eventually replied in a faint voice. ‘You don’t? You don’t know?’ Luzhin repeated and paused for a few seconds more. ‘Think it through, mademoiselle,’ he began sternly, though as if he were still trying to persuade her. ‘I’m prepared to grant you more time for deliberation. Please understand that if I were not so sure, then, of course, with all my experience, I should hardly risk accusing you so directly; for such a direct and public
accusation, if false or even merely erroneous, is one for which I, in a certain sense, must answer. I am only too aware of that, miss. This morning, for my own purposes, I cashed several five per cent bonds for the nominal value of three thousand roubles. I have kept a record of the transaction in my wallet. Arriving home – Andrei Semyonovich is my witness – I began counting the money and, having counted out two thousand three hundred roubles, I put them in my wallet, and my wallet in the side- pocket of my frock coat. About five hundred roubles were left on the table, in notes, among which were three notes of one hundred roubles each. At that moment you appeared (at my summons) and spent the entire duration of your visit in a state of such extreme embarrassment that on no less than three occasions, right in the middle of our conversation, you stood up and, for some reason, were in a hurry to leave, even though we were still talking. Andrei Semyonovich can vouch for it all. I expect, mademoiselle, that you yourself will not refuse to confirm and publicly state that the only reason Andrei Semyonovich invited you on my behalf was in order that I might discuss with you the wretched and helpless plight of your relative, Katerina Ivanovna (whose banquet I was unable to attend), and how useful it would be to organize a collection or a lottery or something of the sort. You thanked me and were even moved to tears (I am relating everything as it happened, in order firstly to remind you, and secondly to show you that my memory has not smoothed out the slightest detail).
Next, I took a ten-rouble banknote from the table and gave it to you, as a personal gift to help your mother, by way of an initial contribution. Andrei Semyonovich saw everything.
Next, I showed you out – the embarrassment, on your side, had not lessened – after which, remaining alone with Andrei Semyonovich and talking with him for about ten minutes, Andrei Semyonovich went out, while I turned my attention back to the table and the money lying thereupon,
with the aim of counting it and then putting it – as I had been planning to do – to one side. To my astonishment one of the hundred-rouble notes was missing. Kindly consider: for me to suspect Andrei Semyonovich is quite out of the question; I am ashamed of the very idea. Nor could I have made a mistake in my calculations, since I had finished counting only a minute before your arrival and found the total to be correct. You will agree that, recalling your embarrassment, your impatience to leave and the fact that your hands had, for a certain amount of time, rested on the table, and taking into consideration, when all’s said and done, your social status and the habits it entails, I, however horrified and even reluctant, was, as it were,compelled to alight on a suspicion that may be harsh, yet is also just! Let me add and repeat that, for all myself-evident certainty, I understand that by making this accusation I am, nevertheless, running a certain risk. But as you can see, I could not let it go. I reacted, and I will tell you why: solely, miss, on account of your rank ingratitude! I mean, really! I am the one who invites you over for the benefit of your impoverished relative, I am the one who offers you alms, insofar as my means permit, of ten roubles, and look how you set about repaying me! No, miss, this is no way to behave! You must be taught a lesson. Consider this well, and while you do – I’m asking you as a true friend now (for what better friend could you have at this moment?) – bethink yourself! Or else I shall be quite implacable! Well then?’ ‘I’ve taken nothing from you,’ Sonya whispered in horror. ‘You gave me ten roubles – here, have them back.’ Sonya took a handkerchief from her pocket, located a small knot in it, untied it, extracted a ten-rouble note and held it out to Luzhin. ‘So you won’t admit to the other hundred?’ he insisted reproachfully, not taking the note.
Sonya looked around. Everyone was staring at her with such dreadful, stern, mocking, hateful expressions. She glanced over at Raskolnikov . . . He was standing by the wall, arms folded, staring at her with eyes of fire. ‘O Lord!’ broke from Sonya. ‘Amalia Ivanovna, we shall have to inform the police, so may I humbly ask you, in the meantime, to send for the caretaker?’ said Luzhin in a soft, even affectionate voice.
28 ‘Gott der Barmherzige!I knew she shtole!’ cried Amalia Ivanovna, throwing up her hands. ‘You knew?’ echoed Luzhin. ‘Then even before you must have had grounds to think so. May I request, most esteemed Amalia Ivanovna, that you remember these words, uttered, moreover, before witnesses?’ A loud hum suddenly started up on all sides. Everyone stirred. ‘Wha-a-at?’ cried Katerina Ivanovna, coming to her senses and rushing at Luzhin with a sudden burst. ‘What’s that? You’re accusing her of stealing? Her? Sonya? Oh, scoundrels! Scoundrels!’ And rushing over to Sonya, she hugged her, vice-like, in her withered arms. ‘Sonya! How dare you take ten roubles from him? Oh, silly girl! Give it here! Give me those ten roubles right now – there!’ Snatching the note from Sonya, Katerina Ivanovna scrunched it up and flung it hard in Luzhin’s face. The pellet hit him in the eye and bounced off onto the floor.
Amalia Ivanovna rushed to pick up the money. Pyotr
Petrovich flew into a rage. ‘Restrain this madwoman!’ he yelled.
In the doorway, at that moment, some other people appeared alongside Lebezyatnikov; among those looking in were the two ladies from the provinces. ‘What? I’m the mad one am I? Idiot!’ screeched Katerina Ivanovna. ‘Yes you, you loathsome shyster! As if Sonya
would take his money! Her? A thief? She’d sooner give away her own money to you, you idiot!’ – and she laughed hysterically. ‘Ever seen such an idiot?’ she shouted, rushing from one corner of the room to the next, pointing at Luzhin. ‘What? You too?’ – she’d spotted the landlady – ‘You’re at it 29 too, are you, you sausage-maker?You poxy Prussian drumstick wrapped in crinoline, claiming “she shtole”!
Look at you all! She’s been in the room all along – she came back from yours, you scoundrel, and sat straight down next to Rodion Romanovich! . . . Search her! Seeing as she’s never been out of the room, the money must still be on her!
Go on, search her! Search her! Only if nothing turns up, then I’m terribly sorry, my dear, but you’ll have to answer for it! I’ll go running to His Majesty, His Majesty, to the Tsar himself, Most Merciful, I’ll throw myself at his feet, right now, today! I’ve no one left! I’ll be seen! You think I won’t? Rubbish! I’ll be seen! I will! You were counting on her meekness, I suppose? Weren’t you? But I’m plucky enough for two! You’ll get burnt, my friend! Search her! Go on, then, search her!!’ In her frenzy, Katerina Ivanovna kept grabbing at Luzhin, dragging him over to Sonya. ‘I’m ready to do so and to answer for it . . . but calm down, madam, calm down! Your pluckiness is all too apparent! . . . I mean . . . really . . . whatever next?’ muttered Luzhin. ‘This is a matter for the police . . .
Although, I suppose there are more than enough witnesses here already . . . I’m ready, madam . . . Though in any case this is rather awkward for a man . . . on account of one’s sex . . . If Amalia Ivanovna were to assist . . . although this is hardly the way to do things . . . Whatever next, ma’am?’ ‘Whoever you like! Whoever wants to can search her!’ shouted Katerina Ivanovna. ‘Sonya, turn your pockets out for them! There, there! Look, you monster, it’s empty! The
handkerchief was there and now it’s empty. See? And here’s the other pocket! See! See!’ Katerina Ivanovna did not so much turn the two pockets inside out as pull them out, one after the other. Suddenly, a note dropped out of the second, right-hand pocket and, tracing a curve in the air, fell at Luzhin’s feet. Everyone saw it; most shrieked. Pyotr Petrovich bent down, picked the note up with two fingers from the floor, held it up for all to see and unfolded it. It was a one-hundred rouble banknote, folded to an eighth of its size. With a sweep of his arm, Pyotr Petrovich showed everyone the note. ‘Thief! Out of my premise, now! Police, police!’ shrieked Amalia Ivanovna. ‘Siberia! Exile! Out!’ Shouts went up on all sides. Raskolnikov was silent, keeping his gaze fixed on Sonya with only the occasional rapid glance at Luzhin. Sonya was still standing in the same spot, as if dazed: she was barely even surprised.
Suddenly the colour rushed to her face. She gave a cry and hid herself in her hands. ‘No, it’s not me! I didn’t take it! I don’t know!’ she cried in a heart-rending howl and threw herself on Katerina Ivanovna, who grabbed her and hugged her tight, as if wishing to protect her from everyone with her bosom. ‘Sonya! Sonya! I don’t believe it! You see, I don’t!’ shouted Katerina Ivanovna (against all the evidence), rocking her vigorously in her arms, like a baby, kissing her time and again, catching her hands and almost biting them with her kisses. ‘As if you’d take it! How stupid these people are! Good Lord! You’re stupid, stupid!’ she cried, addressing everyone, ‘and you haven’t a clue, not a clue, what sort of a heart this is, what sort of a girl this is! As if she’d take it! She’d sooner throw off her last dress, sell it, go barefoot and give away everything to you, if you needed it – that’s the kind of girl she is! She only took the yellow ticket because my children – mine – were going hungry. It was for us that she sold herself! . . . Ah, husband, dear
departed! See this? See this? Some funeral banquet you’ve had! Lord! Well, defend her then! What are you all waiting for? Rodion Romanovich! Why aren’t you, of all people, standing up for her? So you believe it too, do you? You’re not worth her little finger – none of you, none of you! Lord!
Defend her, for goodness’ sake!’ The wailing of poor, consumptive, orphaned Katerina Ivanovna seemed to have a powerful effect on her listeners.
There was so much pitiful suffering in her pain-racked, withered, consumptive face, in her dried-up, blood-caked lips, in her hoarse shouting and wailing sobs so like a child’s, in her trusting and childish yet desperate plea for protection, that everyone seemed to take pity on the unfortunate woman. Pyotr Petrovich, at any rate, instantly took pity. ‘Madam! Madam!’ he exclaimed in an imposing voice. ‘This fact does not concern you! No one could dare accuse you of plotting or colluding, especially when it was you who made the discovery by turning out her pockets: so you can hardly have entertained any suspicions. I am more than ready to feel pity if, as it were, beggary was the cause of Sofya Semyonovna’s action. But why, mademoiselle, did you not wish to admit it? For fear of disgrace? Of taking the first step? Or perhaps you were simply flustered? That’s understandable, quite understandable, miss . . . But still, why did you have to sink to such propensities? Gentlemen!’ he said to all those present. ‘Gentlemen! Feeling pity and, as it were, sympathy, I am, I dare say, ready to forgive even now, notwithstanding the personal insults I have received.
And may your current shame, mademoiselle, be a lesson to you for the future,’ he added, turning to Sonya, ‘and for my part, I shall let everything else go and end on that note.
Enough!’ Pyotr Petrovich cast a sidelong glance at Raskolnikov.
Their eyes met. Raskolnikov’s burning gaze was ready to incinerate him. Katerina Ivanovna, meanwhile, no longer
seemed to be hearing anything: she kept hugging and kissing Sonya, as if she were mad. The children also wrapped their little arms round Sonya from every side, while Polechka – though she had not fully understood what was going on – seemed to be drowning in her tears, convulsing with sobs and burying her pretty little face, all swollen from crying, in Sonya’s shoulder. ‘Despicable!’ somebody suddenly boomed in the doorway.
Pyotr Petrovich looked round sharply. ‘How despicable!’ Lebezyatnikov repeated, staring straight into his eyes.
Pyotr Petrovich even seemed to flinch. Everyone noticed. (And recalled it later.) Lebezyatnikov stepped into the room. ‘And you had the nerve to put me down as a witness?’ he said, walking up to Pyotr Petrovich. ‘What’s the meaning of this, Andrei Semyonovich? What on earth are you talking about?’ mumbled Luzhin. ‘The meaning of this is that you . . . are a slanderer, that’s my meaning!’ said Lebezyatnikov hotly, fixing him sternly with his purblind eyes. He was dreadfully cross.
Raskolnikov simply sank his eyes into him, as if hanging on his every word and weighing them all up. Silence set in again. Pyotr Petrovich was almost flustered, especially at first. ‘If you mean me . . . ,’ he began with a stutter. ‘But what’s wrong with you? Are you in your right mind?’ ‘I am indeed, sir, it’s you who . . . Oh, you swindler! How despicable! I heard everything. I deliberately waited until I’d understood everything, because, I admit, it’s not entirely logical even now . . . . But why you did all this – that is beyond me.’ ‘What did I do exactly? Stop talking in these silly riddles of yours! Or maybe you’ve been at the vodka?’ ‘If anyone’s been drinking it’s you, you despicable man! I never touch vodka. It doesn’t agree with my convictions!
Can you imagine: it was him, him, who gave this one- hundred rouble note to Sofya Semyonovna with his own hands – I saw it. I witnessed it. I’ll take the oath! Him!
Him!’ repeated Lebezyatnikov, addressing all and sundry. ‘Have you gone completely crazy, you daft child?’ shrieked Luzhin. ‘Here she is right in front of you. Here she is confirming, in front of everyone, that apart from the ten roubles she never received anything from me. So how on earth am I supposed to have given it to her?’ ‘I saw it! I saw it!’ Lebezyatnikov kept shouting. ‘And although it’s against my convictions, I am ready, right now, to stand in court and take any oath you care to mention, because I saw you slipping it to her on the sly! Only I thought – fool that I am – that you did so as a kindness. In the doorway, saying goodbye, when she turned round and you were squeezing her hand in yours, with the other hand, the left one, you slipped the note into her pocket. I saw! I
saw!’ Luzhin turned white. ‘A pack of lies!’ he cried with insolent defiance. ‘How could you have spotted a note if you were standing by the window? You imagined it . . . with those purblind eyes of yours. You’re raving!’ ‘No, I didn’t imagine it! And though I was standing far away I saw everything, everything, and even though it really is difficult to see a banknote clearly from the window – you’re right about that – I, on account of a particular circumstance, knew for a fact that the note was worth a hundred roubles, because, when you were giving Sofya Semyonovna the ten-rouble note – I saw this myself – you also took a hundred-rouble note from the table (I saw this because I was standing near you at the time, and since a certain thought immediately occurred to me I did not forget that you had it in your hand). You folded it and held it, clenched in your fist, the whole time. I’d have forgotten about it again except that when you started getting up you
transferred it from your right hand to your left and very nearly dropped it; at that point I remembered again, because the very same thought occurred to me again, namely, that you wanted, without my noticing, to do her a kindness. You can imagine how closely I started watching – well, then I saw you slipping it into her pocket. I saw! I saw! I’ll take the oath!’ Lebezyatnikov was almost choking. Shouts went up on all sides, most of them signalling surprise; others had a more menacing tone. Everyone crowded around Pyotr Petrovich.
Katerina Ivanovna rushed to Lebezyatnikov. ‘Andrei Semyonovich! I was wrong about you! Protect her! She’s got no one else! She’s an orphan! You’ve been sent by God! Andrei Semyonovich, dear kind Andrei Semyonovich, father!’ Katerina Ivanovna, scarcely aware of what she was doing, fell to her knees before him. ‘Madness!’ howled Luzhin, raging with fury. ‘Sheer madness, sir. “Forgot, remembered, forgot” – what are you talking about? So I planted it on purpose, did I? Why? To what end? What can I have in common with this . . . ?’ ‘Why? Well, that’s beyond me, too, but what I’ve told you is an honest-to-goodness fact! I’m so far from being wrong – you foul, criminal man – that I remember the exact question that immediately occurred to me, at the very moment I was thanking you and shaking your hand. Why precisely did you put it in her pocket by stealth? What I mean is, why precisely by stealth? Surely not just because you wanted to conceal it from me, knowing of my convictions to the contrary and my rejection of private charity, which never gets to the root of the problem? So I decided you really were ashamed to give her such a princely sum in front of me, and besides, I thought, perhaps he wanted to surprise her when she suddenly found all of one hundred roubles in her pocket. (Certain do-gooders take great pleasure in making a point of their kindnesses.)
Then I had another thought: you wanted to test her – would she come and thank you when she found it? Then: that you wished to avoid being thanked and – how does it go? – for 30 the right hand – or is it left? – not to knowwhat the . . . well, something like that . . . Anyway, all manner of thoughts occurred to me then, so I resolved to think it all through later, but in any case I deemed it tactless to let on to you that I knew your secret. But on the other hand, something else immediately occurred to me yet again: that Sofya Semyonovna might well lose the money before she even knew it was there; which was why I decided to come here, to summon her and inform her that someone had put a hundred roubles in her pocket. In passing, I called in on the Kobylyatnikov ladies first, to drop offThe General 31 Conclusion of the Positive Method,recommending Piderit’s article in particular (and Wagner’s, too, come to mention it); then I arrived here and just look what I found!
I mean, honestly, how, how could I have come up with all these ideas and arguments if I really hadn’t seen you put a hundred roubles in her pocket?’ When Andrei Semyonovich reached the end of his long- winded argument, concluded in so logical a fashion, he was dreadfully tired and the sweat was pouring off him. Alas, he wasn’t even able to express himself decently in Russian (though it was the only language he knew); all the stuffing had suddenly been knocked out of him, and he even looked thinner after his feat of advocacy. Nevertheless, his speech had an extraordinary effect. He spoke so fearlessly and with such conviction that everyone clearly believed him.
Pyotr Petrovich realized he was in trouble. ‘What do I care about idiotic questions that may or may not have occurred to you?’ he cried. ‘What kind of proof is that? You might have dreamt it all up in your sleep for all I know! In fact, sir, you’re lying! You’re lying and slandering because you’re angry with me about something, and I even
know what it is you’re so cross about: that I wouldn’t agree to your free-thinking, godless proposals for society!’ But this ploy did not help Pyotr Petrovich. On the contrary, grumbling could be heard on all sides. ‘Nice try!’ shouted Lebezyatnikov. ‘Liar! Call the police!
I’ll take an oath! But what I can’t understand is: why take the risk of sinking so low? Oh, you pathetic wretch!’ ‘I can explain why he took such a risk and, if need be, I’ll take an oath!’ uttered Raskolnikov at last in a firm voice, and stepped forward.
He seemed calm and certain. Somehow everyone realized, just by looking at him, that he really did know what had happened and that the climax was fast approaching. ‘It all makes perfect sense to me now,’ Raskolnikov went on, addressing Lebezyatnikov directly. ‘I suspected foul play right from the start. I suspected it in view of certain particular circumstances known only to me, which I will now explain to everyone: they’re the key to it all! And now, Andrei Semyonovich, your priceless testimony has cleared everything up for me once and for all. I ask everyone, everyone to listen closely: this gentleman’ (he pointed at Luzhin) ‘recently became engaged to a girl, and specifically to my sister, Avdotya Romanovna Raskolnikova. But on arriving in Petersburg he picked an argument with me at our very first meeting, the day before yesterday, and I threw him out, as two witnesses will confirm. This man is terribly angry . . . Two days ago I still didn’t know he was lodging here with you, Andrei Semyonovich, and that, therefore, on the very same day of our argument, that is, the day before yesterday, he witnessed how I, as a friend of the late Mr Marmeladov, gave some money to his spouse, Katerina Ivanovna, for the funeral. He immediately dashed off a note to my mother to inform her that I had given all the money away not to Katerina Ivanovna, but to Sofya Semyonovna; not only that, he referred, in the most odious
terms to . . . to Sofya Semyonovna’s character, or rather, he alluded to the character of my relationship to Sofya Semyonovna. All this, you’ll understand, was intended to set my mother and sister against me, by giving them to understand that I was squandering the money they’d sent me, their very last roubles, in the most disgraceful fashion.
Yesterday evening, before my mother and sister, and in his presence, I established the truth of the matter, proving that I gave the money to Katerina Ivanovna for the funeral, and not to Sofya Semyonovna, and that the day before yesterday I hadn’t even met Sofya Semyonovna and had never even seen her. I also added that he, Pyotr Petrovich Luzhin, for all his qualities, was not worth the little finger of Sofya Semyonovna, whom he spoke of so disapprovingly.
As for his question – would I sit Sofya Semyonovna next to my sister? – I replied that I’d already done so, earlier the same day. Angered by the fact that his slanders failed to set my mother and sister against me, he started saying the most outrageous, unforgivable things to them. That was the last straw and he was thrown out for good. All of this happened yesterday evening. Now, please listen closely: imagine for a moment that he’d succeeded just now in proving that Sofya Semyonovna was a thief, then, first of all, he would have proved to my sister and mother that his suspicions were not without foundation; that he had had every reason to be angry at my placing my sister on a level with Sofya Semyonovna; that in attacking me he had thereby defended and protected my sister’s – and his fiancée’s – honour. In short, he might even have managed to set my family against me again, while hoping, needless to say, to get back in their good books. I haven’t even mentioned the fact that he had scores to settle with me personally, because he has grounds to assume that Sofya Semyonovna’s honour and happiness are very dear to me.
That’s what he was after! That’s how I understand this business! And that’s all there is to it!’
Thus, more or less, did Raskolnikov end his speech, one frequently interrupted by the cries of the public, which, nevertheless, listened very attentively. Despite these interruptions, he spoke tersely, calmly, precisely, clearly, firmly. The terseness of his voice, the conviction in his tone and the severity of his expression had an extraordinary effect on everyone. ‘Yes, that’s it. That’s it!’ Lebezyatnikov ecstatically confirmed. ‘That must be right, because the moment Sofya Semyonovna entered our room he specifically asked me: “Is he here? Did you see him among Katerina Ivanovna’s guests?” He called me over to the window to ask me that, in a hushed voice. So for him it was crucial that you should be here! That’s it! That’s exactly it!’ Luzhin said nothing, smiling contemptuously. But he was very pale. He looked as if he were trying to think up some ruse to save his skin. He might have been only too pleased to drop everything and leave, but right now that was more or less impossible. It meant openly acknowledging that the charges levelled against him were fair and that he had indeed slandered Sofya Semyonovna. And anyway, the public, which was tipsy enough already, was far too restless. The quartermaster, though a little confused about everything, shouted loudest of all and proposed some highly unpleasant measures for dealing with Luzhin. But not everyone was drunk; people had been pouring in from every room. The three Poles were terribly excited and kept 32 shouting ‘Panie łajdak!’at him and muttering various threats in Polish. Sonya was straining to catch every word, but she, too, seemed to be struggling to understand it all, as though she were waking from a faint. Never once did she take her eyes off Raskolnikov, sensing that only he could protect her. Katerina Ivanovna’s breathing was heavy and hoarse; she seemed utterly exhausted. And no one looked more stupid than Amalia Ivanovna, standing there
with her mouth open and understanding precisely nothing.
All she knew was that Pyotr Petrovich was in a fix.
Raskolnikov wanted to speak again, but he wasn’t able to finish: everyone was shouting and crowding round Luzhin with curses and threats. But Pyotr Petrovich held his nerve.
Seeing that he had lost his case against Sonya hands down, he resorted to insolence. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen, excuse me. Don’t crowd around.
Let me through!’ he said, making his way through the throng. ‘And kindly desist from your threats. It’ll get you nowhere, I assure you – I’m no shrinking violet, while you, gentlemen, shall have to answer for use of violence to cover up a criminal case. The thief has been amply exposed and I will prosecute. Judges are not so blind . . . or so drunk, and they won’t believe two notorious atheists, disturbers of the peace and free-thinkers, who accuse me for no better reason than personal revenge, which they, in their idiocy, admit themselves . . . Now if you’ll excuse me!’ ‘I want no trace of you in my room. Kindly move out this minute – it’s over between us! When I think of the tears I sweated, explaining everything to him . . . for an entire fortnight!’ ‘Andrei Semyonovich, I told you myself that I was moving out, and you wouldn’t let me leave. Now I shall merely add that you are an idiot, sir. May you succeed in curing your mind and your purblind eyes. Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen!’ He squeezed past, but the quartermaster was reluctant to let him out just like that, with nothing but curses: he grabbed a glass from the table and hurled it with all his strength at Pyotr Petrovich; but the glass hit Amalia Ivanovna instead. She squealed and the quartermaster, losing his balance from the effort of throwing, collapsed beneath the table. Pyotr Petrovich went to his room and was gone in half an hour. Sonya, timid by nature, had always known that nobody could be destroyed more easily
than her and that anyone could insult her with virtual impunity. But still, right until that moment, it seemed to her that disaster could somehow be avoided – by being careful, meek and obedient to all. Her disappointment was overwhelming. Of course, she could endure anything – even this – with patience and barely a murmur. But the first minute was just too painful. She had come out victorious and vindicated, yet, once the initial fright and shock had passed, once she’d understood and grasped everything clearly, an excruciating sense of helplessness and hurt pressed on her heart. She became hysterical. Eventually, she could bear it no longer, rushed from the room and ran off home. Luzhin had walked out just moments before. After being hit by the glass, to the riotous amusement of those present, Amalia Ivanovna had also had enough of being sober at someone else’s party. Shrieking, as if possessed, she rushed over to Katerina Ivanovna, holding her responsible for everything: ‘Out of my premise! Now! Quick!’ Saying this, she began grabbing whichever of Katerina Ivanovna’s things came to hand and throwing them on the floor. Katerina Ivanovna, more dead than alive, barely conscious, gasping and pale, leapt from her bed (onto which she’d fallen in exhaustion) and threw herself on Amalia Ivanovna. But the struggle was far too uneven and she was brushed away like a feather. ‘What? As if godless slanders weren’t enough, this animal’s started attacking me too! On the day of my husband’s funeral I’m thrown out of our apartment, despite my bread and salt, out onto the streets, with the orphans!
And where will I go?’ the poor woman howled, sobbing and gasping. ‘Lord!’ she suddenly shouted, eyes flashing. ‘Is there really no justice? Who will you protect, if not us orphans? Well, we’ll see! There is judgement and justice on this earth – I’ll find them! Just you wait, you godless animal! Polechka, you stay with the children, I’ll be back.
Wait for me – on the streets if you have to! We’ll see if there’s justice on this earth!’ Wrapping that same greendrap de dames shawl around her head – the one the late Marmeladov had mentioned in the drinking den – Katerina Ivanovna squeezed through the drunk and disorderly throng of tenants still crowding the room and ran out, weeping and wailing, into the street, with the vague intention of finding justice somewhere, right now, come what may. Terrified, Polechka shrank into the corner with the children, sat on the trunk and there, hugging the two little ones and shaking all over, began waiting for her mother’s return. Amalia Ivanovna stormed around the room, screeching and whining, hurling onto the floor whatever came her way and making a great din as she did so. The tenants became ever more rowdy: some drew what conclusions they could about these events; some argued and swore; others began singing . . . ‘Time for me, too!’ thought Raskolnikov. ‘Well, Sofya Semyonovna, let’s see what you say now!’ And he set off to visit Sonya.
