Crime and Punishment (56 page)

And, on the verge of tears (which did nothing to stem her relentless, unceasing patter), she pointed at the whimpering children. Raskolnikov wanted to convince her to go back and even said, as a sop to her vanity, that it was unseemly for her to walk the streets like an organ-grinder, seeing as she was preparing to be headmistress of a boarding school for girls of the nobility . . .

‘A boarding school? Ha-ha-ha! That would be nice!' cried Katerina Ivanovna, her laughter immediately yielding to a fit of coughing. ‘No, Rodion Romanovich, that dream is gone! Everyone's abandoned us! . . . And as for that lousy general . . . Do you know, Rodion Romanych, I threw an inkpot at him – there was one on the table, in the lobby, next to the sheet you have to sign, so I signed, threw it and ran off. Oh, the scum! But never mind. From now on I'm going to feed this lot myself – I won't bow down to anyone! We've put her through enough misery!' (She pointed at Sonya.) ‘Polechka, how much have you all collected? Show me! What? Just two copecks? Oh, the beasts! They never give anything, just run after us with their tongues hanging out! Now what's this halfwit got to laugh about?' (She pointed at a man in the crowd.) ‘Kolya's dimness is to blame for all this – he's hard
work, that boy! Yes, Polechka? Speak to me in French,
parlez-moi français
. I taught you, didn't I? I'm sure you remember a few phrases! . . . Otherwise who's to know you're from a noble family, that you're well-brought-up children and nothing like other organ-grinders? This isn't some puppet show we're performing, you know, some
Petrushka
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or other! We'll sing something noble – a
romance
 . . . Oh yes – so what are we going to sing? You keep interrupting me and we . . . You see, Rodion Romanovich, the reason we stopped here was to choose what to sing – something even Kolya can dance to . . . because, as you can well imagine, we haven't prepared any of this. We need to agree on what we're doing, practise till everything's perfect, then head off to Nevsky Prospect, where the public is far more discerning and we'll be noticed right away. Lenya knows “Little Farm”
40
 . . . “Little Farm” and nothing else – they're all at it! We should be singing something far nobler . . . Any ideas, Polya? You, at least, should help me out! My memory's gone, clean gone, or else I'd remember! We can hardly sing “The Hussar Leaning on His Sabre” can we? Oh, let's sing that French song “
Cinq sous
”!
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I taught you, didn't I? The main thing is it's in French, so they'll see straight away that you're gentry children and that will be so much more touching . . . Or even “
Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre
”, as it's perfect for children and is sung as a lullaby in every aristocratic household.

Marlborough s'en va-t-en guerre
,

Ne sait quand reviendra . . .'
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she began singing . . . ‘Actually, no – let's have “
Cinq sous
!” Come on, Kolya, hands on hips, look lively, and Lenya, you spin round the other way, while Polechka and I sing along and clap!

Cinq sous, cinq sous,

Pour monter notre ménage
 . . .
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Cuh-cuh-cuh!' (Once again, the coughs came thick and fast.) ‘Straighten that dress, Polechka, your shoulders are showing,' she observed between coughs, out of breath. ‘Now more than ever you have to look decent and dainty, so that everyone can see you're gentry. Didn't I say that your bodice should have been cut a bit longer and made from two widths? It was you, Sonya, who kept saying, “Shorter,
shorter,” and now look, the child's a disgrace . . . But what are you all crying about again? Such stupid children! Come on then, Kolya, I'm waiting – oh, what an insufferable boy!

Cinq sous, cinq sous
 . . .

Not another soldier! Well, what do you want?'

A policeman really was squeezing through the crowd. But at the very same time a respectable-looking civil servant of about fifty, wearing uniform, a greatcoat and a decoration around his neck (which particularly pleased Katerina Ivanovna and impressed the policeman), came up and silently handed a green, three-rouble banknote to Katerina Ivanovna. His face expressed sincere compassion. Katerina Ivanovna accepted it and made a courteous, even ceremonious, bow.

‘I thank you, kind sir,' she began loftily. ‘The reasons prompting us to . . . Now take the money, Polechka. See, there are noble, generous souls, ready, at a moment's notice, to help a poor gentlewoman in distress. You see before you, kind sir, well-born orphans with, one might say, the most aristocratic connections . . . Meanwhile, that poxy general just sat there eating hazel grouse . . . and stamping his feet at me for having disturbed him . . . “Your Excellency,” I say, “protect the orphans,” I say, “knowing the late Semyon Zakharych so very well and bearing in mind the fact that his own daughter was slandered so viciously by that scoundrel, that scum of the earth, on the very day of his death . . .” Not that soldier again! Protect us!' she screamed at the civil servant. ‘Why does he have to keep pestering me? We only came here to get away from another one, on Meshchanskaya Street . . . Mind your own business, you stupid man!'

‘But this is forbidden in public, ma'am. Please cease this disgraceful behaviour.'

‘You're the disgrace! I'm no different from an organ-grinder, so mind your business!'

‘Organ-grinders need a licence, since you mention it, but you're making a public nuisance of yourself. Where are you lodging, ma'am?'

‘A licence!' yelled Katerina Ivanovna. ‘I buried my husband today and you talk about licences!'

‘Madam, madam, please calm down,' the civil servant began. ‘Let's go – I'll accompany you . . . It's unseemly here, with all this crowd . . . You're not well . . .'

‘Kind sir, you know nothing!' shouted Katerina Ivanovna. ‘We're off to Nevsky – Sonya, Sonya! Where has she got to? Crying as well! What's wrong with you all? . . . Kolya, Lenya, where are you off to?' she suddenly cried in alarm. ‘Oh, stupid children! Kolya, Lenya, where on earth are they going?'

What had happened was that Kolya and Lenya, frightened out of their wits by the crowd and the whims of their crazy mother, and seeing that a soldier was just about to take them off somewhere, suddenly, as if with one mind, grabbed each other by the hand and took to their heels. Poor Katerina Ivanovna set off after them, yelling and weeping. It was a ghastly, pitiful thing to see her running, weeping, gasping. Sonya and Polechka rushed after her.

‘Bring them back, Sonya! Bring them back! Oh, stupid, ungrateful children! . . . Polya, catch them! . . . It was for you that I . . .'

At full tilt, she stumbled and fell.

‘She's badly hurt – she's bleeding! O Lord!' cried Sonya, bending over her.

Everyone came running, everyone crowded round. Raskolnikov and Lebezyatnikov were among the first to arrive; the civil servant also hurried over, followed by the policeman, grumbling ‘My oh my!' and gesturing as if to say – what a nuisance this is going to be.

‘Out of the way! Out of the way!' he shouted at the crowd.

‘She's dying!' cried a voice.

‘She's mad!' came another.

‘God save us!' said one woman, crossing herself. ‘Did they catch the little mites? Well I never – here they come, the eldest has caught 'em . . . All very peculiar!'

But when Katerina Ivanovna was properly examined, it transpired that she hadn't hurt herself against the stones, as Sonya thought; the blood that was staining the road purple was gushing up from her chest.

‘I've seen this before, gentlemen,' the civil servant muttered to Raskolnikov and Lebezyatnikov. ‘It's consumption. The blood just gushes up and chokes you. I saw it happen to a woman I know, a relative, just recently – about a pint of it . . . just like that . . . Still, what should we do now? She'll die any minute.'

‘This way, this way, to my room!' Sonya pleaded. ‘I live right here! . . . That building there, the second one along . . . To my place – quick! Quick!' she begged everyone, rushing from one person to another. ‘Send for a doctor . . . O Lord!'

Thanks to the civil servant, this was quickly arranged, and even the policeman helped carry Katerina Ivanovna. She was brought into Sonya's room more dead than alive and placed on the bed. The bleeding continued, but it seemed as if she were beginning to come round. Sonya was immediately followed into her room by Raskolnikov, Lebezyatnikov, the civil servant and the policeman, the latter having first dispersed the crowd, from which a few accompanied them right to the door. Kolya and Lenya, trembling and crying, were led in by Polechka. The Kapernaumovs came over too: there was Kapernaumov himself, lame and crooked, a strange-looking man with unruly, bristly hair and whiskers; his wife, with her permanently frightened look; and several of their children, with faces frozen in perpetual surprise and mouths hanging open. Amidst all these another person suddenly appeared – Svidrigailov. Raskolnikov looked at him in astonishment, wondering how he'd got there and unable to recall his face in the crowd.

There was talk of doctors and priests. The civil servant, while whispering to Raskolnikov that there was little need for a doctor now, instructed that one be sent for. Kapernaumov himself hurried off to fetch him.

Meanwhile, Katerina Ivanovna got her breath back and for a time the bleeding abated. She fixed her sick, though steady and piercing gaze on pale, trembling Sonya, who was wiping beads of sweat from Katerina Ivanovna's brow; eventually, she asked to be lifted up. They sat her up on the bed, supporting her on both sides.

‘And the children?' she asked in a weak voice. ‘Did you bring them, Polya? Oh, stupid ones! . . . Why did you have to run away? . . . Ahh!'

Her parched lips were still covered in blood. She cast her eyes around her:

‘So this is how you live, Sonya! The first time I've ever been here . . . Now of all times . . .'

Her eyes were full of pain as she looked at her:

‘We've sucked you dry, Sonya . . . Polya, Lenya, Kolya, come here . . . So, Sonya, here they all are, take them . . . from my hands to yours . . . You'll get no more from me! . . . The dance is over! Ahh! . . . Lower me back down. Let me die in peace, at least . . .'

They lowered her onto the pillow again.

‘What's that? A priest? Don't bother . . . As if you've got money for that! . . . There's no sins on me! . . . God should forgive me without all
that . . . He knows how I've suffered! . . . And if he won't forgive me – fine!'

A restless delirium was steadily gaining hold of her. Now and then she would startle, cast her eyes around and briefly recognize everyone; but awareness instantly gave way to delirium. Her breathing was hoarse and laboured; a kind of gurgle seemed to come from her throat.

‘“Your Excellency!” I say to him,' she yelled, stopping for breath after every word. ‘That Amalia Ludwigovna . . . Ah! Lenya, Kolya! Arms on hips, look lively,
glissé glissé
,
pas de basque
!
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Beat those little feet . . . Look graceful, child!

Du hast Diamanten und Perlen . . .

Then what? Now there's a song . . .

Du hast die schönsten Augen,

Mädchen
,
was willst du mehr
?
45

How could I forget?
Was willst du mehr?
, indeed! Whatever next? . . . Oh yes, and this:

In the midday heat, in a vale in Dagestan . . .
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Ah, how I loved that song . . . I simply adored it, Polechka! . . . Your father, you know . . . sang it when he was courting . . . Oh, days! . . . Now there's a song for us! But then what? Then what . . . ? I've forgotten again . . . Well, remind me!' She was terribly agitated and kept trying to lift herself up. Eventually, in a dreadful, hoarse, breaking voice she began to sing, shrieking and gasping at every word, and looking ever more frightened:

‘In the midday heat . . . in a vale . . . in Dagestan!

With lead in my breast!

Your Excellency!' she suddenly howled with lacerating force, drenched in tears. ‘Protect the orphans! Remember the late Semyon Zakharych's bread and salt! . . . The aristocratic Semyon Zakharych, one might even say! . . . Ahh!' she said with a start, regaining her senses and
casting her eyes over everyone with a sort of horror, before suddenly recognizing Sonya. ‘Sonya, Sonya!' she said, meekly and tenderly, as if astonished to see her before her. ‘Sonya, darling, you're here too?'

They lifted her up again.

‘Enough! . . . It's time! . . . Goodbye, poor creature! . . . This nag's been ridden too hard! . . . She's had it!' she cried in despair and hatred, and her head fell back heavily onto the pillow.

She fell unconscious once more, but only briefly. Her pale, yellow, shrivelled face fell right back, her mouth opened wide, and a spasm stretched out her legs. She gave a deep, deep sigh and died.

Sonya fell on her corpse, wrapped her arms around her and froze, pressing her head tight against the dead woman's shrivelled bosom. Polechka fell at her mother's feet and kissed them, sobbing uncontrollably. Kolya and Lenya, still unsure of what exactly had happened, but sensing something quite dreadful, grabbed one another's little shoulders with both hands and, staring into each other's eyes, suddenly opened their mouths together and began to scream. Both were still in their outfits: one wearing a turban, the other a skullcap with an ostrich feather.