Poor Folk and Other Stories

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  She struggled to say something else, but her paralysed tongue could not utter a single word. She looked at Ordynov in despair, conscious that he did not understand her. He bent closer to her and listened… At last he heard her whisper, distinctly:

  ‘I am depraved. I’ve been depraved, I’ve been ruined!’

  Ordynov raised his head and looked at her in wild amazement. An outrageous thought had flashed through his mind. Katerina observed the morbid, convulsive spasm of his features.

  ‘Yes! I’ve been depraved,’ she went on. ‘Depraved by an evil man – by him, my undoer!… I sold my soul to him… Why, why did you mention my mother? What need was there for you to torture me? May God, may God be your judge!…

  A moment later she quietly began to cry; Ordynov’s heart ached and hammered in mortal anguish.

  ‘He says,’ she whispered in a mysterious, strangled voice,’that when he dies he will come and fetch my sinful soul… I am his, I have sold my soul to him… He has tortured me, he has read from his books to me… Here, see one of his books! Here is one. He says that I have committed a mortal sin… See, see…’

  And she showed him a book; Ordynov did not notice where it had come from. He took it automatically, and saw that it was entirely handwritten, like the books of the Old Believers he had previously come across. Now, however, he had not the strength to focus his attention on anything. The book fell from his hands. He quietly embraced Katerina, trying to bring her to her senses.

  ‘Enough, enough!’ he said.’You’ve had a fright; I am with you; rest with me, my darling, my love, my light!’

  ‘You know nothing, nothing!’ she said, squeezing his hands tightly. ‘I am always like this!… I am constantly afraid… Enough, don’t torment me any more!…’

  ‘At those times I go to him,’ she began after a moment, having paused to take breath. ‘Sometimes he merely talks to me for hours; at others he takes one of his books, the biggest one, and reads aloud to me from it. He always reads me such harsh, terrible things! I don’t know that I understand every word; but I am gripped by fear, and when I listen to his voice, it is as though it were not he who was speaking, but someone else, someone unkind, someone whom nothing will mollify, nothing will silence, and my heart becomes wretched, so wretched, it burns… More wretched than when this present anguish came upon me!’

  ‘Don’t go to him! Why do you go to him?’ Ordynov said, barely conscious of what he was saying.

  ‘Why have I come to you? I don’t know that either… All I do know is that he keeps telling me: “Pray, pray!” Sometimes I get up in the dead of night and pray for a long time, several hours; sleep often overcomes me; but my fear keeps waking me up, waking me up, and then it always seems to me that a storm is gathering around me, that harm will come to me, that evil people are going to torture me and tear me apart, that the saints will not answer my prayers for forgiveness and that they will not save me from cruel misery. My entire soul is torn asunder, my body feels as though it was about to melt away with tears… At that point I start praying again, and I pray and pray until the Sovereign Lady surveys me from the icon with a more affectionate look. Then I get up, go back to bed and sleep like a log; sometimes I even fall asleep on the floor, on my knees before the icon. Then, occasionally, he wakes up, calls me, begins to fondle me, caress me and console me, and then I feel better – no matter what disaster may threaten, with him I am not afraid. He is powerful! His word is mighty!’

  ‘But what is it, what sort of disaster can threaten you… ?’ Ordynov said, wringing his hands in despair.

  Katerina had turned terribly pale. She was looking at him like someone who has been condemned to death and expects no pardon.

  ‘Me?… I am an accursed daughter, I am a murderess; my mother put a curse on me! I ruined my own mother!’

  Ordynov silently embraced her. She pressed herself quivering against him. He could feel a convulsive tremor passing through her entire body, and it seemed to him as though her soul were parting company with it.

  ‘I buried her in the cold earth,’ she said, utterly agitated by her memories, utterly possessed by visions of her irrevocable past.’I have long wanted to tell someone about it. He has consistently for bidden me to do things, whether by supplications, reproaches or angry words, and at times I feel as though he were my enemy and satan, so miserable does he make me. But at nights – as now – I keep remembering… Listen, listen! This happened a long time ago, a very long time ago, I don’t even remember when it was, but it seems like yesterday, like some dream I had which sucked at my heart all last night. Anguish makes the time doubly long. Sit, sit down here beside me: I will tell you all my woe; even though I am struck down, accursed as I am, by my mother’s curse… I will entrust my life to you…’

  Ordynov was about to stop her, but she clasped her hands together, begging him to listen, and then began to speak again with even greater agitation. Her narrative was incoherent, in her words could be heard the tempest of her soul, but Ordynov understood all of it, because her life had become his life, her woe, his woe, and because his enemy already stood before him materialized in flesh and blood, growing in every word she uttered, seeming to crush his heart with inexhaustible strength, to curse and abuse him with malevolent hostility. His blood was aroused, his heart was overflowing and his thoughts confused. The evil old man of his dream (Ordynov was convinced of this) had come to life before him.

  ‘It was a night like this,’ Katerina began, ‘only even more threatening and the wind was howling around our forest as I had never heard it before… and on that night my ruin began! The oak-tree under our window blew down, and an old, grey-haired beggar came to our house. He said that he remembered that oak from when he was a little child, and that it had been the same then as it was now, when the wind proved too strong for it… That night – how I remember it all now!– one of my father’s barges was broken up by the storm on the river, and even though he was racked by illness he rode off to the spot as soon as the fishermen came running to the mill to tell us what had happened. Mother and I were at home alone. I was drowsing, and she was mourning about something, and crying bitterly… yes, I knew why! She had just recovered from an illness, she was pale and kept telling me to get her shroud ready for her… Suddenly, at midnight, there was a knocking at the gate; I leapt up, the blood pumping to my heart; Mother gave a scream… I didn’t look at her, I was afraid. I took the lamp and went to open the gate myself… It was him! I grew afraid, because I was always afraid when he arrived – it had been like that ever since I was a child, ever since I had acquired consciousness. His hair was not white in those days; his beard was jet-black, his eyes burned like coals, and never once before that time had he given me a kindly look. “Is your mother at home?” he asked. I closed the gate and said: “My father isn’t.” “I know,” he said – and suddenly he looked at me, gave me such a look… it was the first time he had ever looked at me like that. I walked away, but he stood where he was. “Why don’t you come inside?” I asked him. “I’m thinking,” he replied. We went up to the attic. “Why did you say your father wasn’t at home when I asked if your mother was?” he said. I kept silent… Mother froze with horror – she rushed to him… he barely gave her a glance – I saw it all. He was wet all over, shivering; the storm had driven him twenty versts – but where he had come from and where he had been, neither mother nor I had any idea; we had not seen him for nine weeks… He threw off his cap, took off his mittens and, without praying to the icon or greeting his hosts, sat down next to the fire…’

  Katerina passed her hand over her face, as though something were oppressing her and weighing on her, but a moment later she raised her head again and went on:

  ‘He began talking to Mother in Tatar. Mother knew the language, but I didn’t understand a word. Other times when he’d come I’d been sent away; but this time Mother didn’t dare say a word to her own child. The unclean spirit had taken possession of my soul and, full of self-pride, I looked at Mother.
I could see they were looking at me, talking about me; she had begun to cry; I saw him reach for his dagger. It was not the first time I had seen him reach for his dagger of late when talking to my mother. I got up and grabbed at his belt, tried to wrench the unclean dagger from him. He bared his teeth, snarled and tried to fend meoff – hestruck me in the breast, but failed to push me away. I thought I was going to die right then and there, my eyes clouded over. I fell to the floor – but I did not scream. With what little eyesight I had left I saw him remove his belt, roll up the sleeve on the arm with which he had struck me, take out his dagger and give it to me: “Here, cut my arm off, take pleasure in it in the degree to which I have insulted you, and meanwhile I, proud as I am, will bow to the earth before you.” I put down the dagger: my blood had begun to choke me, and I did not look at him. I remember that I smiled mockingly, with closed lips, and looked Mother straight in her sad eyes, a menacing look it was; the shameless mirth never left my lips, and Mother went on sitting there, pale and deathly…’

  Ordynov listened with eager attention to her incoherent tale; but, in the wake of its first outpouring, little by little her agitation subsided; her speech became calmer; the poor woman was completely carried away by a sea of memories which scattered her anguish all over its limitless expanse.

  ‘He took his cap without saying a formal goodbye. I picked up the lamp again in order to show him out, instead of letting Mother do it; even though she was ill, she wanted to go after him. He and I arrived at the entrance: I said nothing, opened the wicket-gate for him and shooed away the dogs. I saw him take off his cap and bow to me. Then he felt inside his clothes, took out a little red box in morocco leather, and undid its catch. I looked: it contained large, round pearls – a present for me. “I have a pretty mistress in the suburbs,” he said. “I bought these as a present for her, but I haven’t taken them to her. You take them, fair maiden, to nurture your beauty; take them, even though you crush them underfoot.” I took them, but I didn’t want to crush them underfoot, I didn’t want to do them that much honour – I just took them, like the malicious wretch I was, and didn’t say a word. I went in and put them on the table for Mother to see – that was why I had accepted them. Mother said nothing for a bit, she was as white as a sheet, and she seemed afraid to talk to me. “What are these, Katya?” she asked, eventually. And I replied: “Some merchant has brought them for you, I don’t know anything about them.” I could see tears breaking from her eyes, and she gasped for breath. “Not for me, Katya; not for me, wicked daughter, not for me.” I remember how bitterly, bitterly she said it, as if she were weeping out her entire soul. I raised my eyes, and was about to throw myself at her feet, when the devil suddenly whispered in my ear, and I said: “Well, if they’re not for you, they’re doubtless for Father; I’ll give them to him when he gets back; I’ll tell him some merchants were here and forgot their wares… “Then how she wept and wailed, my mother… “I’ll tell him himself what kind of merchants have been here and what kind of wares they came for… I’ll tell him whose daughter you are, you lawless hussy! You are no daughter of mine now, you are a snake in the grass! Accursed, monstrous child!” I said nothing, and my tears would not come… Oh! it was as though everything in me had died… I went up to my room in the attic and lay awake all night listening to the storm, shaping my thoughts to the storm’s accompaniment.

  ‘Five days went by. Five days later, towards evening, my father returned, surly and threatening – he had been injured on the way. I could see that his arm was bandaged up; I guessed that an enemy had waylaid him; the enemy had worn him out and inflicted an injury on him. I also knew who the enemy was. I knew it all. He said not a word to Mother, he didn’t ask about me, he summoned all the mill-hands together, ordered the mill to be stopped and told everyone to guard the house from the evil eye. I could feel in my heart, at that hour, that things were not right in our house. Well, we waited; another night went by, stormy, with blizzards, and fear gripped my soul. I opened the window – my face was burning, my eyes were streaming with tears, my restless heart was scorching me from within; the whole of my being was on fire, so badly did I want to escape from my attic room, far, far away, to the ends of the earth, where the lightning and storms are born. My maiden’s breast shook and trembled… Suddenly, quite late at night – I seemed to have drowsed off, or else a fog had descended on my soul, obscuring my reason – I heard someone knocking at the window, and crying: “Open up!” I could see a man clambering at the window on the end of a rope. I at once recognized my visitor’s identity, opened the window and let him into my solitary attic room. It was him! Without taking off his cap, he sat down on the bench, panting, hardly able to get his breath, as though he were being pursued. I kept to one corner, and knew that I had turned quite pale. “Is your father at home?” he asked. “Yes, he is.” “And your mother?” “My mother’s at home, too.” “Keep quiet. Can you hear something?” “Yes, I can.” “What can you hear?” “Someone whistling under the window!” “So, fair maiden, do you want to take your enemy’s life – to summon your father and bring my soul to perdition? I shall not escape your maiden’s will; here is my rope: tie me up with it, if your heart commands you to take revenge for the offence you have suffered.” I made no response. “Well? What is it to be, my darling?” “What do you want?” “I want to get rid of my enemy, say farewell to my old love once and for all and greet a new love, a young love, such as yourself, fair maiden, with all my soul…” I began to laugh; I don’t know how it was, but his words found their way to my heart. “Let me go downstairs, fair maiden, let me follow my own heart and make a request to the master and mistress.” I was shivering all over, my teeth were chattering, and my heart felt like red-hot iron. I went and opened the door for him, let him down into the house, and it was only as he was crossing the threshold that I said, with an effort: “Here! Take your pearls and never give me anything else ever again.” And I threw the little box after him.’

  Here Katerina paused to take breath; now she trembled like a leaf and grew pale, now the blood rushed to her face, so that now, as she stopped talking, her cheeks burned like fire, her eyes glittered through her tears, and her breast shook with heavy, impetuous breathing. But suddenly she again turned pale, and her voice grew lower, trembling anxiously and sadly.

  ‘Then I was left alone, and a storm seemed to wrap me round on all sides. Suddenly I heard shouting, I could hear mill-hands running across the yard to the mill, and voices saying: “The mill’s on fire.” I hid myself. Everyone came running out of the house; I was left alone with Mother. I knew that she was going to die – she had been lying on her deathbed for three days now – I knew it, accursed daughter that I was!… Suddenly I heard a faint cry beneath my attic window, like the cry of a child that has had a frightening dream, and then all was quiet again. I blew out my candle; the blood froze in my veins. I covered my face with my hands, afraid to look. Suddenly I heard a shout right beside me, and heard men running out of the mill. I leaned out of the window: I could see them carrying my dead father, and I could hear them saying to one another: “He slipped and fell down the stairs into a red-hot cauldron; the devil must have pushed him.” I fell on to my bed; I was waiting, rigid with fear, yet I didn’t know whom or what I was waiting for; all I knew was that I felt very wretched in that hour. I don’t remember how long I waited; I remember that suddenly everything began to sway before me, my head grew heavy, my eyes smarted with smoke; and I was glad that my end was near! Suddenly I felt someone raising me by the shoulders. I looked as far as I was able to look: he was singed all over and his caftan was hot to the touch, and smoking.

  ‘“I have come for you, fair maiden,” he said; “lead me away from misfortune, as previously you led me to it; I have ruined my soul for your sake. I will never be able to say enough prayers to atone for this accursed night! Perhaps we should join forces and pray together!” And he laughed, the evil man! “Show me how to get out of here without meeting anyone,” he said. I took h
im by the arm and led him after me. We went along the passage; I had the keys with me, and i opened the door to the pantry for him and showed him the window. It gave on to the garden. He seized me in his mighty arms, embraced me and together we jumped out of the window. We ran, arm in arm, for a long time. We looked, and found ourselves in a thick, dark forest. He began to listen: “They’re hunting us, Katya! They’re hunting us, fair maiden, but we shall not lay down our lives so easily! Kiss me, fair maiden, for love and eternal happiness!” “But why are your hands covered in blood?” I asked. “Oh, I cut the throats of your dogs,” he replied. “They were barking far too loudly at nocturnal visitors. Let’s be off!” On we ran; on the path we saw father’shorse – ithad broken loose from its bridle and escaped from the stable; it had obviously not felt like being burned alive!“Get on to the horse with me, Katya!” he said. “God has sent us help.” I made no reply. “Don’t you want to?” he said. “I mean, I’m not a heathen, one of your unclean types; look, I’ll cross myself if you like.” And he did. I got on to the horse, pressed myself close to him and completely lost consciousness in his arms – it was as though I had been overcome by a kind of slumber. When I regained my senses, I saw that we had reached the bank of a very wide river. He dismounted, lifted me down from the horse and waded into the reeds: he had hidden his rowing-boat there. As we were getting into it, he said: “Well, goodbye, trusty horse: go and find yourself a new master – your old ones are leaving you!” I rushed to father’s horse and gave it a warm, parting hug. Then we finally embarked, he took the oars and in a moment we could no longer see the riverbank, When we got to that point, where we could no longer see the bank, I saw him ship the oars and look around him over all the wide expanse of water.

  “Greetings, mother, stormy river, assuager of men’s thirst, and my provider,” he said. “Tell me, have you guarded my treasure well in my absence, are my wares intact?” I kept silent, and lowered my eyes to my bosom; my face was burning with shame. Then he: “Take everything I own, stormy, insatiable one, but give me your vow to guard and cherish my priceless pearl! One single word from you, fair maiden, will shine like a sun through the storm, with its rathance dispel the dark night!” He smiled mockingly as he spoke; his heart was burning for me, but I could not endure his smiles for shame; I wanted to say something, but was afraid to, and kept silent. “Well, so be it!” he replied to my timid brooding; he spoke as though in sorrow, as though sorrow had overtaken him, too. “After all, one gains nothing by force. God be with you, my haughty one, my little dove, fair maiden! Your hatred for me is evidently great, or perhaps it is simply that I have not found favour in your bright eyes.” I listened, and as I did so I was overcome by anger, anger prompted by love; mastering my emotions, I said: “Whether you have found favour or not is not for me to tell, but doubtless for some other, foolish, shameless girl who has shamed her attic room on a dark night and sold her soul for the sake of mortal sin, unable to contain her reckless heart; my scalding tears can tell it, as can the man who brags like a thief about another’s misfortune and jeers at a maiden’s heart!” I said what I had wanted to say, but could bear it all no longer, and burst into tears… He said nothing, merely looked at me in such a way that I began to tremble like a leaf. “Listen, fair maiden,” he said – and his eyes had a strange light in them – “I do not speak idly, but give you my honest word: in as much as you make me happy, I will be your master, but if ever you take a dislike to me – and you need not say a word, you need make no effort, the merest flicker of your sable brow, of your black eyes, the tiniest motion of your little finger, and I will give you back your love together with your golden freedom; only then, my proud, intolerable love, then my life will be at an end!” And at those words my flesh smiled a pitying smile.’