The mother was overcome with unendurable sadness as she listened to
the simple sketch. It blended strangely with her past, into which
her recollections kept boring deeper and deeper.
"In music one can hear everything," said Nikolay quietly.
Sofya turned toward the mother, and asked:
"Do you mind my noise?"
The mother was unable to restrain her slight irritation.
"I told you not to pay any attention to me. I sit here and listen
and think about myself."
"No, you ought to understand," said Sofya. "A woman can't help
understanding music, especially when in grief."
She struck the keys powerfully, and a loud shout went forth, as if
some one had suddenly heard horrible news, which pierced him to the
heart, and wrenched from him this troubled sound. Young voices
trembled in affright, people rushed about in haste, pellmell. Again
a loud, angry voice shouted out, drowning all other sounds. Apparently
a catastrophe had occurred, in which the chief source of pain was
an affront offered to some one. It evoked not complaints, but wrath.
Then some kindly and powerful person appeared, who began to sing,
just like Andrey, a simple beautiful song, a song of exhortation
and summons to himself.
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