Poor Folk Anthology

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  Both the lawyers laughed aloud.

  "I should have called it sensible and moral on your part not to have squandered it all," chuckled Nikolay Parfenovitch, "for after all what does it amount to?"

  "Why, that I stole it, that's what it amounts to! Oh, God, you horrify me by not understanding! Every day that I had that fifteen hundred sewn up round my neck, every day and every hour I said to myself, 'You're a thief! you're a thief!' Yes, that's why I've been so savage all this month, that's why I fought in the tavern, that's why I attacked my father, it was because I felt I was a thief. I couldn't make up my mind; I didn't dare even to tell Alyosha, my brother, about that fifteen hundred: I felt I was such a scoundrel and such a pickpocket. But, do you know, while I carried it I said to myself at the same time every hour: 'No, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, you may yet not be a thief.' Why? Because I might go next day and pay back that fifteen hundred to Katya. And only yesterday I made up my mind to tear my amulet off my neck, on my way from Fenya's to Perhotin. I hadn't been able till that moment to bring myself to it. And it was only when I tore it off that I became a downright thief, a thief and a dishonest man for the rest of my life. Why? Because, with that I destroyed, too, my dream of going to Katya and saying, 'I'm a scoundrel, but not a thief! Do you understand now? Do you understand?"

  "What was it made you decide to do it yesterday?" Nikolay Parfenovitch interrupted.

  "Why? It's absurd to ask. Because I had condemned myself to die at five o'clock this morning, here, at dawn. I thought it made no difference whether I died a thief or a man of honour. But I see it's not so, it turns out that it does make a difference. Believe me, gentlemen, what has tortured me most during this night has not been the thought that I'd killed the old servant, and that I was in danger of Siberia just when my love was being rewarded, and Heaven was open to me again. Oh, that did torture me, but not in the same way; not so much as the damned consciousness that I had torn that damned money off my breast at last and spent it, and had become a downright thief! Oh, gentlemen, I tell you again, with a bleeding heart, I have learnt a great deal this night. I have learnt that it's not only impossible to live a scoundrel, but impossible to die a scoundrel… . No, gentlemen, one must die honest… "

  Mitya was pale. His face had a haggard and exhausted look, in spite of his being intensely excited.

  "I am beginning to understand you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," the prosecutor said slowly, a soft and almost compassionate tone. "But all this, if you'll excuse my saying so, is a matter of nerves, in my opinion… your overwrought nerves, that's what it is. And why, for instance, should you not have saved yourself such misery for almost a month, by going and returning that fifteen hundred to the lady who had entrusted it to you? And why could you not have explained things to her, and in view of your position, which you describe as being so awful, why could you not have had recourse to the plan which would so naturally have occurred to one's mind, that is, after honourably confessing your errors to her, why could you not have asked her to lend you the sum needed for your expenses, which, with her generous heart, she would certainly not have refused you in your distress, especially if it had been with some guarantee, or even on the security you offered to the merchant Samsonov, and to Madame Hohlakov? I suppose you still regard that security as of value?"

  Mitya suddenly crimsoned.

  "Surely you don't think me such an out and out scoundrel as that? You can't be speaking in earnest?" he said, with indignation, looking the prosecutor straight in the face, and seeming unable to believe his ears.

  "I assure you I'm in earnest… Why do you imagine I'm not serious?" It was the prosecutor's turn to be surprised.

  "Oh, how base that would have been! Gentlemen, do you know, you are torturing me! Let me tell you everything, so be it. I'll confess all my infernal wickedness, but to put you to shame, and you'll be surprised yourselves at the depth of ignominy to which a medley of human passions can sink. You must know that I already had that plan myself, that plan you spoke of, just now, prosecutor! Yes, gentlemen, I, too, have had that thought in my mind all this current month, so that I was on the point of deciding to go to Katya- I was mean enough for that. But to go to her, to tell her of my treachery, and for that very treachery, to carry it out, for the expenses of that treachery, to beg for money from her, Katya (to beg, do you hear, to beg), and go straight from her to run away with the other, the rival, who hated and insulted her- to think of it! You must be mad, prosecutor!"

  "Mad I am not, but I did speak in haste, without thinking… of that feminine jealousy… if there could be jealousy in this case, as you assert… yes, perhaps there is something of the kind," said the prosecutor, smiling.

  "But that would have been so infamous!" Mitya brought his fist down on the table fiercely. "That would have been filthy beyond everything! Yes, do you know that she might have given me that money, yes, and she would have given it, too; she'd have been certain to give it, to be revenged on me, she'd have given it to satisfy her vengeance, to show her contempt for me, for hers is an infernal nature, too, and she's a woman of great wrath. I'd have taken the money, too, oh, I should have taken it; I should have taken it, and then, for the rest of my life… oh, God! Forgive me, gentlemen, I'm making such an outcry because I've had that thought in my mind so lately, only the day before yesterday, that night when I was having all that bother with Lyagavy, and afterwards yesterday, all day yesterday, I remember, till that happened… "

  "Till what happened?" put in Nikolay Parfenovitch inquisitively, but Mitya did not hear it.

  "I have made you an awful confession," Mitya said gloomily in conclusion. "You must appreciate it, and what's more, you must respect it, for if not, if that leaves your souls untouched, then you've simply no respect for me, gentlemen, I tell you that, and I shall die of shame at having confessed it to men like you! Oh, I shall shoot myself! Yes, I see, I see already that you don't believe me. What, you want to write that down, too?" he cried in dismay.

  "Yes, what you said just now," said Nikolay Parfenovitch, looking at him surprise, "that is, that up to the last hour you were still contemplating going to Katerina Ivanovna to beg that sum from her… . I assure you, that's a very important piece of evidence for us, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, I mean for the whole case… and particularly for you, particularly important for you."

  "Have mercy, gentlemen!" Mitya flung up his hands. "Don't write that, anyway; have some shame. Here I've torn my heart asunder before you, and you seize the opportunity and are fingering the wounds in both halves… . Oh, my God!"

  In despair he hid his face in his hands.

  "Don't worry yourself so, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," observed the prosecutor, "everything that is written down will be read over to you afterwards, and what you don't agree to we'll alter as you like. But now I'll ask you one little question for the second time. Has no one, absolutely no one, heard from you of that money you sewed up? That, I must tell you, is almost impossible to believe."

  "No one, no one, I told you so before, or you've not understood anything! Let me alone!"

  "Very well, this matter is bound to be explained, and there's plenty of time for it, but meantime, consider; we have perhaps a dozen witnesses that you yourself spread it abroad, and even shouted almost everywhere about the three thousand you'd spent here; three thousand, not fifteen hundred. And now, too, when you got hold of the money you had yesterday, you gave many people to understand that you had brought three thousand with you."

  "You've got not dozens, but hundreds of witnesses, two hundred witnesses, two hundred have heard it, thousands have heard it!" cried Mitya.

  "Well, you see, all bear witness to it. And the word all means something."

  "It means nothing. I talked rot, and everyone began repeating it."

  "But what need had you to 'talk rot,' as you call it?"

  "The devil knows. From bravado perhaps… at having wasted so much money… . To try and forget that money I had sewn up, perhaps… yes, that was why… damn it… how often will y
ou ask me that question? Well, I told a fib, and that was the end of it; once I'd said it, I didn't care to correct it. What does a man tell lies for sometimes?"

  "That's very difficult to decide, Dmitri Fyodorovitch, what makes a man tell lies," observed the prosecutor impressively. "Tell me, though, was that 'amulet,' as you call it, on your neck, a big thing?"

  "No, not big."

  "How big, for instance?"

  "If you fold a hundred-rouble note in half, that would be the size."

  "You'd better show us the remains of it. You must have them somewhere."

  "Damnation, what nonsense! I don't know where they are."

  "But excuse me: where and when did you take it off your neck? According to your own evidence you didn't go home."

  "When I was going from Fenya's to Perhotin's, on the way I tore it off my neck and took out the money."

  "In the dark?"

  "What should I want a light for? I did it with my fingers in one minute."

  "Without scissors, in the street?"

  "In the market-place I think it was. Why scissors? It was an old rag. It was torn in a minute."

  "Where did you put it afterwards?"

  "I dropped it there."

  "Where was it, exactly?"

  "In the market-place, in the market-place! The devil knows whereabouts. What do you want to know for?"

  "That's extremely important, Dmitri Fyodorovitch. It would be material evidence in your favour. How is it you don't understand that? Who helped you to sew it up a month ago?"

  "No one helped me. I did it myself."

  "Can you sew?"

  "A soldier has to know how to sew. No knowledge was needed to do that."

  "Where did you get the material, that is, the rag in which you sewed the money?"

  "Are you laughing at me?"

  "Not at all. And we are in no mood for laughing, Dmitri Fyodorovitch."

  "I don't know where I got the rag from- somewhere, I suppose."

  "I should have thought you couldn't have forgotten it?"

  "Upon my word, I don't remember. I might have torn a bit off my linen."

  "That's very interesting. We might find in your lodgings to-morrow the shirt or whatever it is from which you tore the rag. What sort of rag was it, cloth or linen?"

  "Goodness only knows what it was. Wait a bit… I believe I didn't tear it off anything. It was a bit of calico… . I believe I sewed it up in a cap of my landlady's."

  "In your landlady's cap?"

  "Yes. I took it from her."

  "How did you get it?"

  "You see, I remember once taking a cap for a rag, perhaps to wipe my pen on. I took it without asking, because it was a worthless rag. I tore it up, and I took the notes and sewed them up in it. I believe it was in that very rag I sewed them. An old piece of calico, washed a thousand times."

  "And you remember that for certain now?"

  "I don't know whether for certain. I think it was in the cap. But, hang it, what does it matter?"

  "In that case your landlady will remember that the thing was lost?"

  "No, she won't, she didn't miss it. It was an old rag, I tell you, an old rag not worth a farthing."

  "And where did you get the needle and thread?"

  "I'll stop now. I won't say any more. Enough of it!" said Mitya, losing his temper at last.

  "It's strange that you should have so completely forgotten where you threw the pieces in the market-place."

  "Give orders for the market-place to be swept to-morrow, and perhaps you'll find it," said Mitya sneering. "Enough, gentlemen, enough!" he decided, in an exhausted voice. "I see you don't believe me! Not for a moment! It's my fault, not yours. I ought not to have been so ready. Why, why did I degrade myself by confessing my secret to you? it's a joke to you. I see that from your eyes. You led me on to it, prosecutor! Sing a hymn of triumph if you can… . Damn you, you torturers!"

  He bent his head, and hid his face in his hands. The lawyers were silent. A minute later he raised his head and looked at them almost vacantly. His face now expressed complete, hopeless despair, and he sat mute and passive as though hardly conscious of what was happening. In the meantime they had to finish what they were about. They had immediately to begin examining the witnesses. It was by now eight o'clock in the morning. The lights had been extinguished long ago. Mihail Makarovitch and Kalganov, who had been continually in and out of the room all the while the interrogation had been going on, had now both gone out again. The lawyers, too, looked very tired. It was a wretched morning, the whole sky was overcast, and the rain streamed down in bucketfuls. Mitya gazed blankly out of window.

  "May I look out of window?" he asked Nikolay Parfenovitch, suddenly.

  "Oh, as much as you like," the latter replied.

  Mitya got up and went to the window… . The rain lashed against its little greenish panes. He could see the muddy road just below the house, and farther away, in the rain and mist, a row of poor, black, dismal huts, looking even blacker and poorer in the rain. Mitya thought of "Phoebus the golden-haired, and how he had meant to shoot himself at his first ray. "Perhaps it would be even better on a morning like this," he thought with a smile, and suddenly, flinging his hand downwards, he turned to his "torturers."

  "Gentlemen," he cried, "I see that I am lost! But she? Tell me about her, I beseech you. Surely she need not be ruined with me? She's innocent, you know, she was out of her mind when she cried last night 'It's all my fault!' She's done nothing, nothing! I've been grieving over her all night as I sat with you… . Can't you, won't you tell me what you are going to do with her now?"

  "You can set your mind quite at rest on that score, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," the prosecutor answered at once, with evident alacrity. "We have, so far, no grounds for interfering with the lady in whom you are so interested. I trust that it may be the same in the later development of the case… . On the contrary, we'll do everything that lies in our power in that matter. Set your mind completely at rest."

  "Gentlemen, I thank you. I knew that you were honest, straightforward people in spite of everything. You've taken a load off my heart… . Well, what are we to do now? I'm ready."

  "Well, we ought to make haste. We must pass to examining the witnesses without delay. That must be done in your presence and therefore-"

  "Shouldn't we have some tea first?" interposed Nikolay Parfenovitch, "I think we've deserved it!"

  They decided that if tea were ready downstairs (Mihail Makarovitch had, no doubt, gone down to get some) they would have a glass and then "go on and on," putting off their proper breakfast until a more favourable opportunity. Tea really was ready below, and was soon brought up. Mitya at first refused the glass that Nikolay Parfenovitch politely offered him, but afterwards he asked for it himself and drank it greedily. He looked surprisingly exhausted. It might have been supposed from his Herculean strength that one night of carousing, even accompanied by the most violent emotions, could have had little effect on him. But he felt that he could hardly hold his head up, and from time to time all the objects about him seemed heaving and dancing before his eyes. "A little more and I shall begin raving," he said to himself.

  Chapter 8 The Evidences of the Witnesses. The Babe

  THE examination of the witnesses began. But we will not continue our story in such detail as before. And so we will not dwell on how Nikolay Parfenovitch impressed on every witness called that he must give his evidence in accordance with truth and conscience, and that he would afterwards have to repeat his evidence on oath, how every witness was called upon to sign the protocol of his evidence, and so on. We will only note that the point principally insisted upon in the examination was the question of the three thousand roubles; that is, was the sum spent here, at Mokroe, by Mitya on the first occasion, a month before, three thousand or fifteen hundred? And again had he spent three thousand or fifteen hundred yesterday? Alas, all the evidence given by everyone turned out to be against Mitya. There was not one in his favour, and some witness
es introduced new, almost crushing facts, in contradiction of his, Mitya's, story.

  The first witness examined was Trifon Borissovitch. He was not in the least abashed as he stood before the lawyers. He had, on the contrary, an air of stern and severe indignation with the accused, which gave him an appearance of truthfulness and personal dignity. He spoke little, and with reserve, waited to be questioned, answered precisely and deliberately. Firmly and unhesitatingly he bore witness that the sum spent a month before could not have been less than three thousand, that all the peasants about here would testify that they had heard the sum of three thousand mentioned by Dmitri Fyodorovitch himself. "What a lot of money he flung away on the Gypsy girls alone! He wasted a thousand, I daresay, on them alone."

  "I don't believe I gave them five hundred," was Mitya's gloomy comment on this. "It's a pity I didn't count the money at the time, but I was drunk… "

  Mitya was sitting sideways with his back to the curtains. He listened gloomily, with a melancholy and exhausted air, as though he would say:

  "Oh, say what you like. It makes no difference now."

  "More than a thousand went on them, Dmitri Fyodorovitch," retorted Trifon Borissovitch firmly. "You flung it about at random and they picked it up. They were a rascally, thievish lot, horse-stealers, they've been driven away from here, or maybe they'd bear witness themselves how much they got from you. I saw the sum in your hands, myself- count it I didn't, you didn't let me, that's true enough- but by the look of it I should say it was far more than fifteen hundred… fifteen hundred, indeed! We've seen money too. We can judge of amounts… "

  As for the sum spent yesterday he asserted that Dmitri Fyodorovitch had told him, as soon as he arrived, that he had brought three thousand with him.

  "Come now, is that so, Trifon Borissovitch?" replied Mitya. "Surely I didn't declare so positively that I'd brought three thousand?"