Dowd Siobhan - The London Eye Mystery 32 page money. She stared at the gold eye-glass which Pyotr Petrovitch held
in his left hand and at the massive and extremely handsome ring with a
yellow stone on his middle finger. But suddenly she looked away and, not
knowing where to turn, ended by staring Pyotr Petrovitch again straight
in the face. After a pause of still greater dignity he continued.
"I chanced yesterday in passing to exchange a couple of words with
Katerina Ivanovna, poor woman. That was sufficient to enable me to
ascertain that she is in a position--preternatural, if one may so
express it."
"Yes... preternatural..." Sonia hurriedly assented.
"Or it would be simpler and more comprehensible to say, ill."
"Yes, simpler and more comprehen... yes, ill."
"Quite so. So then from a feeling of humanity and so to speak
compassion, I should be glad to be of service to her in any way,
foreseeing her unfortunate position. I believe the whole of this
poverty-stricken family depends now entirely on you?"
"Allow me to ask," Sonia rose to her feet, "did you say something to her
yesterday of the possibility of a pension? Because she told me you had
undertaken to get her one. Was that true?"
"Not in the slightest, and indeed it's an absurdity! I merely hinted at
her obtaining temporary assistance as the widow of an official who had
died in the service--if only she has patronage... but apparently your
late parent had not served his full term and had not indeed been in the
service at all of late. In fact, if there could be any hope, it would be
very ephemeral, because there would be no claim for assistance in
that case, far from it.... And she is dreaming of a pension already,
he-he-he!... A go-ahead lady!"
"Yes, she is. For she is credulous and good-hearted, and she believes
everything from the goodness of her heart and... and... and she is like
that... yes... You must excuse her," said Sonia, and again she got up to
go.
"But you haven't heard what I have to say."
"No, I haven't heard," muttered Sonia.
"Then sit down." She was terribly confused; she sat down again a third
time.
"Seeing her position with her unfortunate little ones, I should be glad,
as I have said before, so far as lies in my power, to be of service,
that is, so far as is in my power, not more. One might for instance get
up a subscription for her, or a lottery, something of the sort, such as
is always arranged in such cases by friends or even outsiders desirous
of assisting people. It was of that I intended to speak to you; it might
be done."
"Yes, yes... God will repay you for it," faltered Sonia, gazing intently
at Pyotr Petrovitch.
"It might be, but we will talk of it later. We might begin it to-day, we
will talk it over this evening and lay the foundation so to speak. Come
to me at seven o'clock. Mr. Lebeziatnikov, I hope, will assist us. But
there is one circumstance of which I ought to warn you beforehand and
for which I venture to trouble you, Sofya Semyonovna, to come here. In
my opinion money cannot be, indeed it's unsafe to put it into Katerina
Ivanovna's own hands. The dinner to-day is a proof of that. Though she
has not, so to speak, a crust of bread for to-morrow and... well, boots
or shoes, or anything; she has bought to-day Jamaica rum, and even,
I believe, Madeira and... and coffee. I saw it as I passed through.
To-morrow it will all fall upon you again, they won't have a crust of
bread. It's absurd, really, and so, to my thinking, a subscription ought
to be raised so that the unhappy widow should not know of the money, but
only you, for instance. Am I right?"
"I don't know... this is only to-day, once in her life.... She was
so anxious to do honour, to celebrate the memory.... And she is very
sensible... but just as you think and I shall be very, very... they will
all be... and God will reward... and the orphans..."
Sonia burst into tears.
"Very well, then, keep it in mind; and now will you accept for the
benefit of your relation the small sum that I am able to spare, from me
personally. I am very anxious that my name should not be mentioned in
connection with it. Here... having so to speak anxieties of my own, I
cannot do more..."
And Pyotr Petrovitch held out to Sonia a ten-rouble note carefully
unfolded. Sonia took it, flushed crimson, jumped up, muttered something
and began taking leave. Pyotr Petrovitch accompanied her ceremoniously
to the door. She got out of the room at last, agitated and distressed,
and returned to Katerina Ivanovna, overwhelmed with confusion.
All this time Lebeziatnikov had stood at the window or walked about the
room, anxious not to interrupt the conversation; when Sonia had gone he
walked up to Pyotr Petrovitch and solemnly held out his hand.
"I heard and _saw_ everything," he said, laying stress on the last verb.
"That is honourable, I mean to say, it's humane! You wanted to avoid
gratitude, I saw! And although I cannot, I confess, in principle
sympathise with private charity, for it not only fails to eradicate the
evil but even promotes it, yet I must admit that I saw your action with
pleasure--yes, yes, I like it."
"That's all nonsense," muttered Pyotr Petrovitch, somewhat disconcerted,
looking carefully at Lebeziatnikov.
"No, it's not nonsense! A man who has suffered distress and annoyance as
you did yesterday and who yet can sympathise with the misery of others,
such a man... even though he is making a social mistake--is still
deserving of respect! I did not expect it indeed of you, Pyotr
Petrovitch, especially as according to your ideas... oh, what a drawback
your ideas are to you! How distressed you are for instance by your
ill-luck yesterday," cried the simple-hearted Lebeziatnikov, who felt
a return of affection for Pyotr Petrovitch. "And, what do you want with
marriage, with _legal_ marriage, my dear, noble Pyotr Petrovitch? Why do
you cling to this _legality_ of marriage? Well, you may beat me if you
like, but I am glad, positively glad it hasn't come off, that you are
free, that you are not quite lost for humanity.... you see, I've spoken
my mind!"
"Because I don't want in your free marriage to be made a fool of and
to bring up another man's children, that's why I want legal marriage,"
Luzhin replied in order to make some answer.
He seemed preoccupied by something.
"Children? You referred to children," Lebeziatnikov started off like
a warhorse at the trumpet call. "Children are a social question and a
question of first importance, I agree; but the question of children has
another solution. Some refuse to have children altogether, because they
suggest the institution of the family. We'll speak of children later,
but now as to the question of honour, I confess that's my weak point.
That horrid, military, Pushkin expression is unthinkable in the
dictionary of the future. What does it mean indeed? It's nonsense,
there will be no deception in a free marriage! That is only the natural
consequence of a legal marriage, so to say, its corrective, a protest.
So that indeed it's not humiliating... and if I ever, to suppose an
absurdity, were to be legally married, I should be positively glad of
it. I should say to my wife: 'My dear, hitherto I have loved you, now
I respect you, for you've shown you can protest!' You laugh! That's
because you are of incapable of getting away from prejudices. Confound
it all! I understand now where the unpleasantness is of being deceived
in a legal marriage, but it's simply a despicable consequence of a
despicable position in which both are humiliated. When the deception is
open, as in a free marriage, then it does not exist, it's unthinkable.
Your wife will only prove how she respects you by considering you
incapable of opposing her happiness and avenging yourself on her for
her new husband. Damn it all! I sometimes dream if I were to be married,
pfoo! I mean if I were to marry, legally or not, it's just the same,
I should present my wife with a lover if she had not found one for
herself. 'My dear,' I should say, 'I love you, but even more than that I
desire you to respect me. See!' Am I not right?"
Pyotr Petrovitch sniggered as he listened, but without much merriment.
He hardly heard it indeed. He was preoccupied with something else and
even Lebeziatnikov at last noticed it. Pyotr Petrovitch seemed excited
and rubbed his hands. Lebeziatnikov remembered all this and reflected
upon it afterwards.
CHAPTER II
It would be difficult to explain exactly what could have originated the
idea of that senseless dinner in Katerina Ivanovna's disordered brain.
Nearly ten of the twenty roubles, given by Raskolnikov for Marmeladov's
funeral, were wasted upon it. Possibly Katerina Ivanovna felt obliged to
honour the memory of the deceased "suitably," that all the lodgers,
and still more Amalia Ivanovna, might know "that he was in no way their
inferior, and perhaps very much their superior," and that no one had the
right "to turn up his nose at him." Perhaps the chief element was that
peculiar "poor man's pride," which compels many poor people to spend
their last savings on some traditional social ceremony, simply in order
to do "like other people," and not to "be looked down upon." It is very
probable, too, that Katerina Ivanovna longed on this occasion, at
the moment when she seemed to be abandoned by everyone, to show those
"wretched contemptible lodgers" that she knew "how to do things, how
to entertain" and that she had been brought up "in a genteel, she might
almost say aristocratic colonel's family" and had not been meant for
sweeping floors and washing the children's rags at night. Even the
poorest and most broken-spirited people are sometimes liable to these
paroxysms of pride and vanity which take the form of an irresistible
nervous craving. And Katerina Ivanovna was not broken-spirited; she
might have been killed by circumstance, but her spirit could not have
been broken, that is, she could not have been intimidated, her will
could not be crushed. Moreover Sonia had said with good reason that her
mind was unhinged. She could not be said to be insane, but for a year
past she had been so harassed that her mind might well be overstrained.
The later stages of consumption are apt, doctors tell us, to affect the
intellect.
There was no great variety of wines, nor was there Madeira; but wine
there was. There was vodka, rum and Lisbon wine, all of the poorest
quality but in sufficient quantity. Besides the traditional rice and
honey, there were three or four dishes, one of which consisted of
pancakes, all prepared in Amalia Ivanovna's kitchen. Two samovars were
boiling, that tea and punch might be offered after dinner. Katerina
Ivanovna had herself seen to purchasing the provisions, with the help
of one of the lodgers, an unfortunate little Pole who had somehow been
stranded at Madame Lippevechsel's. He promptly put himself at Katerina
Ivanovna's disposal and had been all that morning and all the day before
running about as fast as his legs could carry him, and very anxious
that everyone should be aware of it. For every trifle he ran to Katerina
Ivanovna, even hunting her out at the bazaar, at every instant called
her "_Pani_." She was heartily sick of him before the end, though
she had declared at first that she could not have got on without this
"serviceable and magnanimous man." It was one of Katerina Ivanovna's
characteristics to paint everyone she met in the most glowing colours.
Her praises were so exaggerated as sometimes to be embarrassing; she
would invent various circumstances to the credit of her new acquaintance
and quite genuinely believe in their reality. Then all of a sudden she
would be disillusioned and would rudely and contemptuously repulse the
person she had only a few hours before been literally adoring. She
was naturally of a gay, lively and peace-loving disposition, but from
continual failures and misfortunes she had come to desire so _keenly_
that all should live in peace and joy and should not _dare_ to break the
peace, that the slightest jar, the smallest disaster reduced her almost
to frenzy, and she would pass in an instant from the brightest hopes and
fancies to cursing her fate and raving, and knocking her head against
the wall.
Amalia Ivanovna, too, suddenly acquired extraordinary importance in
Katerina Ivanovna's eyes and was treated by her with extraordinary
respect, probably only because Amalia Ivanovna had thrown herself heart
and soul into the preparations. She had undertaken to lay the table,
to provide the linen, crockery, etc., and to cook the dishes in her
kitchen, and Katerina Ivanovna had left it all in her hands and gone
herself to the cemetery. Everything had been well done. Even the
table-cloth was nearly clean; the crockery, knives, forks and glasses
were, of course, of all shapes and patterns, lent by different lodgers,
but the table was properly laid at the time fixed, and Amalia Ivanovna,
feeling she had done her work well, had put on a black silk dress and
a cap with new mourning ribbons and met the returning party with some
pride. This pride, though justifiable, displeased Katerina Ivanovna for
some reason: "as though the table could not have been laid except by
Amalia Ivanovna!" She disliked the cap with new ribbons, too. "Could she
be stuck up, the stupid German, because she was mistress of the house,
and had consented as a favour to help her poor lodgers! As a favour!
Fancy that! Katerina Ivanovna's father who had been a colonel and almost
a governor had sometimes had the table set for forty persons, and then
anyone like Amalia Ivanovna, or rather Ludwigovna, would not have been
allowed into the kitchen."
Katerina Ivanovna, however, put off expressing her feelings for the
time and contented herself with treating her coldly, though she decided
inwardly that she would certainly have to put Amalia Ivanovna down
and set her in her proper place, for goodness only knew what she was
fancying herself. Katerina Ivanovna was irritated too by the fact that
hardly any of the lodgers invited had come to the funeral, except
the Pole who had just managed to run into the cemetery, while to the
memorial dinner the poorest and most insignificant of them had turned
up, the wretched creatures, many of them not quite sober. The older
and more respectable of them all, as if by common consent, stayed away.
Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin, for instance, who might be said to be the most
respectable of all the lodgers, did not appear, though Katerina Ivanovna
had the evening before told all the world, that is Amalia Ivanovna,
Polenka, Sonia and the Pole, that he was the most generous,
noble-hearted man with a large property and vast connections, who had
been a friend of her first husband's, and a guest in her father's
house, and that he had promised to use all his influence to secure her
a considerable pension. It must be noted that when Katerina Ivanovna
exalted anyone's connections and fortune, it was without any ulterior
motive, quite disinterestedly, for the mere pleasure of adding to
the consequence of the person praised. Probably "taking his cue" from
Luzhin, "that contemptible wretch Lebeziatnikov had not turned up
either. What did he fancy himself? He was only asked out of kindness
and because he was sharing the same room with Pyotr Petrovitch and was a
friend of his, so that it would have been awkward not to invite him."
Among those who failed to appear were "the genteel lady and her
old-maidish daughter," who had only been lodgers in the house for the
last fortnight, but had several times complained of the noise and uproar
in Katerina Ivanovna's room, especially when Marmeladov had come
back drunk. Katerina Ivanovna heard this from Amalia Ivanovna who,
quarrelling with Katerina Ivanovna, and threatening to turn the whole
family out of doors, had shouted at her that they "were not worth the
foot" of the honourable lodgers whom they were disturbing. Katerina
Ivanovna determined now to invite this lady and her daughter, "whose
foot she was not worth," and who had turned away haughtily when she
casually met them, so that they might know that "she was more noble in
her thoughts and feelings and did not harbour malice," and might see
that she was not accustomed to her way of living. She had proposed to
make this clear to them at dinner with allusions to her late father's
governorship, and also at the same time to hint that it was exceedingly
stupid of them to turn away on meeting her. The fat colonel-major (he
was really a discharged officer of low rank) was also absent, but it
appeared that he had been "not himself" for the last two days. The party
consisted of the Pole, a wretched looking clerk with a spotty face and
a greasy coat, who had not a word to say for himself, and smelt
abominably, a deaf and almost blind old man who had once been in the
post office and who had been from immemorial ages maintained by someone
at Amalia Ivanovna's.
A retired clerk of the commissariat department came, too; he was
drunk, had a loud and most unseemly laugh and only fancy--was without
a waistcoat! One of the visitors sat straight down to the table without
even greeting Katerina Ivanovna. Finally one person having no suit
appeared in his dressing-gown, but this was too much, and the efforts of
Amalia Ivanovna and the Pole succeeded in removing him. The Pole brought
with him, however, two other Poles who did not live at Amalia Ivanovna's
and whom no one had seen here before. All this irritated Katerina
Ivanovna intensely. "For whom had they made all these preparations
then?" To make room for the visitors the children had not even been laid
for at the table; but the two little ones were sitting on a bench in the
furthest corner with their dinner laid on a box, while Polenka as a big
girl had to look after them, feed them, and keep their noses wiped like
well-bred children's.
Katerina Ivanovna, in fact, could hardly help meeting her guests with
increased dignity, and even haughtiness. She stared at some of them with
special severity, and loftily invited them to take their seats. Rushing
to the conclusion that Amalia Ivanovna must be responsible for those who
were absent, she began treating her with extreme nonchalance, which the
latter promptly observed and resented. Such a beginning was no good omen
for the end. All were seated at last.
Raskolnikov came in almost at the moment of their return from the
cemetery. Katerina Ivanovna was greatly delighted to see him, in the
first place, because he was the one "educated visitor, and, as everyone
knew, was in two years to take a professorship in the university," and
secondly because he immediately and respectfully apologised for having
been unable to be at the funeral. She positively pounced upon him, and
made him sit on her left hand (Amalia Ivanovna was on her right). In
spite of her continual anxiety that the dishes should be passed round
correctly and that everyone should taste them, in spite of the agonising
cough which interrupted her every minute and seemed to have grown worse
during the last few days, she hastened to pour out in a half whisper to
Raskolnikov all her suppressed feelings and her just indignation at
the failure of the dinner, interspersing her remarks with lively and
uncontrollable laughter at the expense of her visitors and especially of
her landlady.
"It's all that cuckoo's fault! You know whom I mean? Her, her!" Katerina
Ivanovna nodded towards the landlady. "Look at her, she's making round
eyes, she feels that we are talking about her and can't understand.
Pfoo, the owl! Ha-ha! (Cough-cough-cough.) And what does she put on that
cap for? (Cough-cough-cough.) Have you noticed that she wants everyone
to consider that she is patronising me and doing me an honour by being
here? I asked her like a sensible woman to invite people, especially
those who knew my late husband, and look at the set of fools she has
brought! The sweeps! Look at that one with the spotty face. And those
wretched Poles, ha-ha-ha! (Cough-cough-cough.) Not one of them has ever
poked his nose in here, I've never set eyes on them. What have they come
here for, I ask you? There they sit in a row. Hey, _pan_!" she cried
suddenly to one of them, "have you tasted the pancakes? Take some more!
Have some beer! Won't you have some vodka? Look, he's jumped up and is
making his bows, they must be quite starved, poor things. Never mind,
let them eat! They don't make a noise, anyway, though I'm really afraid
for our landlady's silver spoons... Amalia Ivanovna!" she addressed her
suddenly, almost aloud, "if your spoons should happen to be stolen,
I won't be responsible, I warn you! Ha-ha-ha!" She laughed turning to
Raskolnikov, and again nodding towards the landlady, in high glee at her
sally. "She didn't understand, she didn't understand again! Look how
she sits with her mouth open! An owl, a real owl! An owl in new ribbons,
ha-ha-ha!"
Here her laugh turned again to an insufferable fit of coughing that
lasted five minutes. Drops of perspiration stood out on her forehead
and her handkerchief was stained with blood. She showed Raskolnikov
the blood in silence, and as soon as she could get her breath began
whispering to him again with extreme animation and a hectic flush on her
cheeks.
"Do you know, I gave her the most delicate instructions, so to speak,
for inviting that lady and her daughter, you understand of whom I am
speaking? It needed the utmost delicacy, the greatest nicety, but she
has managed things so that that fool, that conceited baggage, that
provincial nonentity, simply because she is the widow of a major, and
has come to try and get a pension and to fray out her skirts in the
government offices, because at fifty she paints her face (everybody
knows it)... a creature like that did not think fit to come, and has
not even answered the invitation, which the most ordinary good manners
required! I can't understand why Pyotr Petrovitch has not come? But
where's Sonia? Where has she gone? Ah, there she is at last! what is it,
Sonia, where have you been? It's odd that even at your father's funeral
you should be so unpunctual. Rodion Romanovitch, make room for her
beside you. That's your place, Sonia... take what you like. Have some of
the cold entree with jelly, that's the best. They'll bring the pancakes
directly. Have they given the children some? Polenka, have you got
everything? (Cough-cough-cough.) That's all right. Be a good girl, Lida,
and, Kolya, don't fidget with your feet; sit like a little gentleman.
What are you saying, Sonia?"
Sonia hastened to give her Pyotr Petrovitch's apologies, trying to
speak loud enough for everyone to hear and carefully choosing the most
respectful phrases which she attributed to Pyotr Petrovitch. She added
that Pyotr Petrovitch had particularly told her to say that, as soon as
he possibly could, he would come immediately to discuss _business_ alone
with her and to consider what could be done for her, etc., etc.
Sonia knew that this would comfort Katerina Ivanovna, would flatter her
and gratify her pride. She sat down beside Raskolnikov; she made him a
hurried bow, glancing curiously at him. But for the rest of the time
she seemed to avoid looking at him or speaking to him. She seemed
absent-minded, though she kept looking at Katerina Ivanovna, trying
to please her. Neither she nor Katerina Ivanovna had been able to get
mourning; Sonia was wearing dark brown, and Katerina Ivanovna had on her
only dress, a dark striped cotton one.
The message from Pyotr Petrovitch was very successful. Listening to
Sonia with dignity, Katerina Ivanovna inquired with equal dignity how
Pyotr Petrovitch was, then at once whispered almost aloud to
Raskolnikov that it certainly would have been strange for a man of
Pyotr Petrovitch's position and standing to find himself in such
"extraordinary company," in spite of his devotion to her family and his
old friendship with her father.
"That's why I am so grateful to you, Rodion Romanovitch, that you have
not disdained my hospitality, even in such surroundings," she added
almost aloud. "But I am sure that it was only your special affection for
my poor husband that has made you keep your promise."
Then once more with pride and dignity she scanned her visitors, and
suddenly inquired aloud across the table of the deaf man: "Wouldn't he
have some more meat, and had he been given some wine?" The old man made
no answer and for a long while could not understand what he was asked,
though his neighbours amused themselves by poking and shaking him. He
simply gazed about him with his mouth open, which only increased the
general mirth.
"What an imbecile! Look, look! Why was he brought? But as to Pyotr
Petrovitch, I always had confidence in him," Katerina Ivanovna
continued, "and, of course, he is not like..." with an extremely stern
face she addressed Amalia Ivanovna so sharply and loudly that the latter
was quite disconcerted, "not like your dressed up draggletails whom
my father would not have taken as cooks into his kitchen, and my late
husband would have done them honour if he had invited them in the
goodness of his heart."
"Yes, he was fond of drink, he was fond of it, he did drink!" cried the
commissariat clerk, gulping down his twelfth glass of vodka.
"My late husband certainly had that weakness, and everyone knows
it," Katerina Ivanovna attacked him at once, "but he was a kind and
honourable man, who loved and respected his family. The worst of it was
his good nature made him trust all sorts of disreputable people, and he
drank with fellows who were not worth the sole of his shoe. Would you
believe it, Rodion Romanovitch, they found a gingerbread cock in his
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