The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (best e book reader for android txt) 📖

came

here, to this very drawing-room, only three hours ago, to murder me,

and went stamping out of the room, as no one would go out of a

decent house. Let me tell you, sir, that I shall lodge a complaint

against you, that I will not let it pass. Kindly leave me at once… I

am a mother…. I… I-”

 

“Murder! then he tried to murder you, too?”

 

“Why, has he killed somebody else?” Madame Hohlakov asked

impulsively.

 

“If you would kindly listen, madam, for half a moment, I’ll

explain it all in a couple of words,” answered Perhotin, firmly. “At

five o’clock this afternoon Dmitri Fyodorovitch borrowed ten roubles

from me, and I know for a fact he had no money. Yet at nine o’clock,

he came to see me with a bundle of hundred-rouble notes in his hand,

about two or three thousand roubles. His hands and face were all

covered with blood, and he looked like a madman. When I asked him

where he had got so much money, he answered that he had just

received it from you, that you had given him a sum of three thousand

to go to the gold mines…”

 

Madame Hohlakov’s face assumed an expression of intense and

painful excitement.

 

“Good God! He must have killed his old father!” she cried,

clasping her hands. “I have never given him money, never! Oh, run,

run!… Don’t say another word Save the old man… run to his

father… run!”

 

“Excuse me, madam, then you did not give him money? You remember

for a fact that you did not give him any money?”

 

“No, I didn’t, I didn’t! I refused to give it him, for he could

not appreciate it. He ran out in a fury, stamping. He rushed at me,

but I slipped away…. And let me tell you, as I wish to hide

nothing from you now, that he positively spat at me. Can you fancy

that! But why are we standing? Ah, sit down.”

 

“Excuse me, I…”

 

“Or better run, run, you must run and save the poor old man from

an awful death!”

 

“But if he has killed him already?”

 

“Ah, good heavens, yes! Then what are we to do now? What do you

think we must do now?”

 

Meantime she had made Pyotr Ilyitch sit down and sat down herself,

facing him briefly, but fairly clearly, Pyotr Ilyitch told her the

history of the affair, that part of it at least which he had himself

witnessed. He described, too, his visit to Fenya, and told her about

the pestle. All these details produced an overwhelming effect on the

distracted lady, who kept uttering shrieks, and covering her face with

her hands…

 

“Would you believe it, I foresaw all this! I have that special

faculty, whatever I imagine comes to pass. And how often I’ve looked

at that awful man and always thought, that man will end by murdering

me. And now it’s happened… that is, if he hasn’t murdered me, but

only his own father, it’s only because the finger of God preserved me,

and what’s more, he was ashamed to murder me because, in this very

place, I put the holy ikon from the relics of the holy martyr, Saint

Varvara, on his neck…. And to think how near I was to death at

that minute I went close up to him and he stretched out his neck to

me!… Do you know, Pyotr Ilyitch (I think you said your name was

Pyotr Ilyitch), I don’t believe in miracles, but that ikon and this

unmistakable miracle with me now-that shakes me, and I’m ready to

believe in anything you like. Have you heard about Father

Zossima?… But I don’t know what I’m saying… and only fancy, with

the ikon on his neck he spat at me…. He only spat, it’s true, he

didn’t murder me and… he dashed away! But what shall we do, what

must we do now? What do you think?”

 

Pyotr Ilyitch got up, and announced that he was going straight

to the police captain, to tell him all about it, and leave him to do

what he thought fit.

 

“Oh, he’s an excellent man, excellent! Mihail Makarovitch, I

know him. Of course, he’s the person to go to. How practical you

are, Pyotr Ilyitch! How well you’ve thought of everything! I should

never have thought of it in your place!”

 

“Especially as I know the police captain very well, too,” observed

Pyotr Ilyitch, who still continued to stand, and was obviously anxious

to escape as quickly as possible from the impulsive lady, who would

not let him say good-bye and go away.

 

“And be sure, be sure,” she prattled on, “to come back and tell me

what you see there, and what you find out… what comes to light…

how they’ll try him… and what he’s condemned to…. Tell me, we have

no capital punishment, have we? But be sure to come, even if it’s at

three o’clock at night, at four, at half-past four…. Tell them to

wake me, to wake me, to shake me, if I don’t get up…. But, good

heavens, I shan’t sleep! But wait, hadn’t I better come with you?”

 

“N-no. But if you would write three lines with your own hand,

stating that you did not give Dmitri Fyodorovitch money, it might,

perhaps, be of use… in case it’s needed…”

 

“To be sure!” Madame Hohlakov skipped, delighted, to her bureau.

“And you know I’m simply struck, amazed at your resourcefulness,

your good sense in such affairs. Are you in the service here? I’m

delighted to think that you’re in the service here!”

 

And still speaking, she scribbled on half a sheet of notepaper the

following lines:

 

I’ve never in my life lent to that unhappy man, Dmitri

Fyodorovitch Karamazov (for, in spite of all, he is unhappy), three

thousand roubles to-day. I’ve never given him money, never: That I

swear by all thats holy!

 

K. Hohlakov

 

“Here’s the note!” she turned quickly to Pyotr Ilyitch. “Go,

save him. It’s a noble deed on your part!”

 

And she made the sign of the cross three times over him. She ran

out to accompany him to the passage.

 

“How grateful I am to you! You can’t think how grateful I am to

you for having come to me, first. How is it I haven’t met you

before? I shall feel flattered at seeing you at my house in the

future. How delightful it is that you are living here!… Such

precision! Such practical ability!… They must appreciate you, they

must understand you. If there’s anything I can do, believe me… oh, I

love young people! I’m in love with young people! The younger

generation are the one prop of our suffering country. Her one hope….

Oh, go, go!…”

 

But Pyotr Ilyitch had already run away or she would not have let

him go so soon. Yet Madame Hohlakov had made a rather agreeable

impression on him, which had somewhat softened his anxiety at being

drawn into such an unpleasant affair. Tastes differ, as we all know.

“She’s by no means so elderly,” he thought, feeling pleased, “on the

contrary I should have taken her for her daughter.”

 

As for Madame Hohlakov, she was simply enchanted by the young man.

“Such sence such exactness! in so young a man! in our day! and all

that with such manners and appearance! People say the young people

of to-day are no good for anything, but here’s an example!” etc. So

she simply forgot this “dreadful affair,” and it was only as she was

getting into bed, that, suddenly recalling “how near death she had

been,” she exclaimed: “Ah, it is awful, awful!”

 

But she fell at once into a sound, sweet sleep.

 

I would not, however, have dwelt on such trivial and irrelevant

details, if this eccentric meeting of the young official with the by

no means elderly widow had not subsequently turned out to be the

foundation of the whole career of that practical and precise young

man. His story is remembered to this day with amazement in our town,

and I shall perhaps have something to say about it, when I have

finished my long history of the Brothers Karamazov.