Poor Folk and Other Stories

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  Here Katerina broke off her narrative in deep agitation; she drew in her breath and breathed out again, smiling wryly at the new idea which had occurred to her. She was about to continue when suddenly her glittering eyes encountered the inflamed gaze of Ordynov, which was fixed on her. She started with a shiver and tried to say something, but the blood rushed to her face… She covered her eyes with her hands and fell face down on the pillows as though she had fainted. Ordynov was shaken to the marrow of his being. A strange, tormenting emotion, an uncontrollable, unbearable disturbance coursed like poison through his veins, growing with each word of Katerina’s story: a desperate yearning, a passion that was greedy and intolerable, seized his thoughts and clouded his feelings. But at the same time a sadness, heavy and infinite, weighed ever more crushingly on his heart. At moments he wanted to shout at Katerina, tell her to be quiet, he wanted to throw himself at her feet and beg her in tears to return to him his former agonies of love, his former pure, instinctive yearning, and with a pang of regret he remembered his long-since dried tears. His heart ached and bled with tenderness, yet surrendered no tears to his lacerated soul. He could not understand what Katerina was saying to him, and his love had taken fright at the emotions that were surging up in the poor woman. In that moment he cursed his passion: it was choking him, torturing him, and he felt as though molten lead was flowing in his veins instead of blood.

  ‘Oh, but that is not what grieves me,’ Katerina said, raising her head suddenly.’What I have just told you – that is not what grieves me’ she continued in a voice that had begun to resonate like copper with a new, unexpected emotion, until her entire soul was bursting with concealed, desperate tears. ‘That is not what grieves me, that is not what worries and torments me! What, what do I care about my mother, even though I shall never find another like her in all the world? What do I care that she cursed me in her last, desperate hour? What do I care about my former golden life, my warm attic room, my maiden’s freedom? What do I care that I have sold myself to the unclean one and given up my soul to my undoer, that I have committed mortal sin for the sake of happiness? Oh, that is not what grieves me, even though my undoing is great thereby! No, what grieves me and tears at my heart is that I am his degraded slave, that my shame and my degradation are sweet to me, shameless woman that I am, that my greedy heart finds it sweet to remember my suffering as though it were joy and happiness – what grieves me is that there is in my heart no strength, no anger at my humiliation!…’

  The poor woman suddenly lost her breath, and a convulsive, hysterical sobbing cut short the flow of her words. Her lips burned with hot, impetuous breathing, her bosom rose and sank deeply, and her eyes flashed with a mysterious indignation. But by such enchantment were her features gilded in that moment, with such passionate, unendurable, unheard-of beauty did each line, each muscle of her face tremble, that Ordynov’s dark brooding instantly subsided and the pure sadness faded within his breast. His heart yearned to press itself to hers and to forget itself passionately in it, united with it in a reckless excitement, to beat in harmony with the same storm, the same onslaught of mysterious passion and to thrill with it in expectancy of the same intense emotion. Katerina met Ordynov’s clouded gaze, and the smile she gave him made a redoubled current of fire pass through his heart. He was practically beside himself.

  ‘Have pity on me, have mercy on me!’ he whispered, holding his trembling voice in check, leaning down to her, supporting himself with one arm on her shoulder and looking her in the eyes closely, so closely that their breathing fused into one. ‘You are my undoing! I don’t know the cause of your suffering, and my soul is confused… What business is it of mine to know what your heart is weeping about? Only speak… and I will obey. Come with me, come, don’t make me despair, don’t drain the life from me!…’

  Katerina was looking at him fixedly; on her burning cheeks her tears had dried. She made as though to interrupt him, took him by the arm, tried to say something, but seemed unable to find the words. A strange smile slowly appeared on her lips; it was as though she were trying to laugh.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve told you everything,’ she said at last in an unsteady voice.’I shall tell you more; only please, please will you listen to me, ardent heart? Obey your sister! It seems you have little knowledge of her cruel grief. I should like to tell you how I lived with him for a year, but I won’t… A year went by, he set off down the river with some companions of his, and I stayed behind to wait at the landing-stage with his foster-mother. I waited for him for a month or two – and in the settlement I met a young merchant. I glanced at him and remembered my former golden years. “Dear sister!” he said, after we had exchanged a few words. “I’m Alyosha, your intended bridegroom. The old folk married us by word of mouth when we were children; if you’ve forgotten me, then remember me now – I’m from your village…” “And what do the people in our village say about me?” “Rumour has it that you entered into dishonourable relations, that you forgot your maiden’s modesty and took up with a brigand, a murderer,” Alyosha told me, laughing. “And what did you tell them about me?” “When I arrived here I wanted to tell them a lot of things,” he said, and his heart became troubled. “I wanted to tell them a lot of things, but ever since I laid eyes on you I have grown numb; you have been my undoing!” he said. “But my soul, too, take it, I don’t care if you laugh at my feelings, at my love, fair maiden. I’m an orphan now, I’m my own master, and my soul’s my own, too: it doesn’t belong to anyone else, and I haven’t sold it to anyone, not like a certain woman I could mention who has snuffed out her memory, and I don’t need to sell my heart – I’ll give it to you for nothing, and it’s evidently a good bargain!” I laughed; it was not to be our last conversation – he stayed on the farm for a whole month, abandoned his wares, dismissed his workmen and remained all on his own. I took pity on his orphan’s tears. One morning I said to him: “Alyosha, wait for me down by the landing-stage when it gets dark; we’ll go to your village together! I’m fed up with my miserable life!” Well, night came, I did up my bundle, and my soul began to ache and overflow. Then, strangely and unexpectedly, I saw my master walk in. “Hello; let’s be off, there’s going to be a storm on the river, and time will not wait.” I followed him out, and we went down to the river; it was a long journey to where his men were; we looked: there was a rowing-boat, and the oarsman in it was familiar to us – he seemed to be waiting for someone. “Hello, Alyosha,” my master cried, “may God give you strength! I expect you’ve been held up at the landing-stage and are hurrying now to rejoin your boats. Good man, will you row the mistress and myself to the village where our men are? I’ve let our boat go, and I can’t swim.” “Get in,” said Alyosha, and my soul pined and languished at the sound of his voice. “Get in, together with your mistress; the wind is for all, and there will be room in my house for you, too.“ We got in; it was a dark night, the stars were not visible, the wind had begun to howl and the waves were rising; we rowed a verst from the bank, and were silent, all three.

  ’“A storm!” my master said. “And this storm is a bad omen. I have never seen a storm on the river like the one that is brewing now in all my born days. Our boat will not weather it! It will not carry three!” “No, it will not,” Alyosha replied, “and it appears that one of us is one too many.” As he spoke, his voice trembled like a string. “What do you say, Alyosha?” my master said, “I knew you when you were only a little child, your father and I were like brothers, we shared each other’s hospitality. Tell me, Alyosha, do you think you can swim your way to the bank, or will you perish for nothing, and lose your life?” “No, I won’t reach it! But what about you, good sir? If the hour is not propitious, and you must drink of the deep, will you reach the bank or not?” “I won’t reach it; it would be the end of me, I could not stand up to the stormy river. Listen now, Katerina, my priceless pearl! I remember a night like this, only then the waves were not heaving, the stars were out and the moon was shining… I want to ask yo
u, simply: have you forgotten?” “No, I remember,” I said… “Well, if you haven’t forgotten it, then you won’t have forgotten the pact by which a certain stalwart lad instructed a fair maiden to reclaim her freedom from a man she did not love – eh?” “No, I haven’t forgotten it,” I said, more dead than alive. “Ah, so you haven’t forgotten! Well, now our boat is too heavy. Hasn’t someone’s time come? Tell us, my darling, tell us, my dove, coo to us gently what you have to say…”

  ‘I did not say anything… !’ Katerina whispered, palely… She had not finished her story.

  ‘Katerina!’ a hoarse, hollow voice said above them.

  Ordynov started. In the doorway stood Murin. He was barely covered by his fur bedspread, looked as pale as death and was staring at them with eyes that were almost insane. Katerina was growing paler and paler, returning his gaze fixedly, as though she were in a trance.

  ‘Come here, Katerina!’ the sick man whispered in a voice that was barely audible, and went out of the room. Katerina kept staring fixedly into space, as if the old man were still standing in front of her. But suddenly the blood returned in a fiery glow to her pallid cheeks, and she slowly got up from the bed. Ordynov found himself remembering their first meeting.

  ‘Until tomorrow then, my tears!’ she said, smiling strangely. ‘Until tomorrow! Remember the point at which I stopped: “Choose one of two: whom do you love, whom do you not love, fair maiden?” Will you remember that, will you wait for one more night?’ she repeated, putting her hands on his shoulders and surveying him tenderly.

  ‘Katerina, don’t go, don’t destroy yourself! He’s mad!’ Ordynov whispered, trembling for her.

  ‘Katerina!’ a voice said behind the partition.

  ‘What? Do you think he’ll cut my diroat?’ Katerina replied, laughing.’Good night to you, my beloved heart, my ardent dove, my darling brother!’ she said, tenderly pressing his head to her bosom, and her face was suddenly bathed in tears.’These are my last tears. Sleep away your unhappiness, my darling, tomorrow you will awake to joy.’ And she gave him a passionate kiss.

  ‘Katerina! Katerina!’ Ordynov whispered, falling on his knees before her and endeavouring to detain her.

  ‘Katerina!’

  She turned round, nodded smilingly to him, and went out of the room. Ordynov heard her go into Murin’s room; he held his breath, listening; but he did not hear any further sound. The old man was keeping silent, or perhaps he was already unconscious… He would have gone to her in there, but his legs gave way under him… He grew weak and sat down on the bed…

  II

  When he awoke it took him a long time to work out what time it was. It was either dawn or dusk; his room was still dark. He was unable to determine just how long he had slept, but had a feeling that his sleep had not been a healthy one. As he regained consciousness he passed his hand over his face as if to brush away sleep and the visions of the night. But when he tried to stand up, he felt as though his entire body had been paralysed, and his exhausted limbs refused to obey him. His head was aching and spinning, and alternate waves of shivering and fever kept passing through him. With consciousness returned memory, and his heart trembled as in a single instant he relived the experiences of the night that had just gone by. His heart beat violently in response to his musing, and so fresh and burningly immediate were his sensations that it seemed not a night, not long hours but only a moment had passed since Katerina’s departure. He felt that the tears in his eyes had not yet had time to dry – or were these new, fresh tears which had welled like a spring from his burning soul? It was strange – his torments even appeared sweet to him, though he had an obscure sense throughout the whole of his being that he would not be able to withstand another such onslaught. For a moment he almost felt the presence of death, and was ready to greet it as a welcome guest: so strained was his imagination, with such an overwhelming rush had his passion re-erupted on his awakening, by such a wave of ecstasy had his soul been washed that his life, accelerated by this intense activity, seemed on the point of breaking, of being destroyed, of dying away in a single flash and of being extinguished for ever. Practically at that very moment, as if in response to his anguish, in response to his trembling heart, there rang out the familiar – familiar as that inner music heard by a man’s soul in the hour of joy at being alive, in the hour of tranquil happiness – thick, silvery voice of Katerina. Near, beside, almost above the head of his bed a song began, quiet and melancholy at first… Now her voice rose, now it fell, dying convulsively, as though it concealed and tenderly cherished the restless torment of insatiable, repressed desire, desperately hidden in a languishing heart; then once more it overflowed in nightingale-like trills and, trembling and burning with a passion that was now uncontainable, flooded into a veritable sea of ecstasy, a sea of mighty resonances, limitless as the first moment of bliss. Ordynov could make out the words, too: they were simple, sincere, composed long ago, with an emotion that was direct, calm, pure and self-explanatory. But he paid no attention to them, listening to the sounds alone. Through the simple, naive verses of the song he caught a shimmering glimpse of other words, which detonated with all the yearning that filled his breast, responding to the innermost windings – enigmatic even to himself – of his passion, resonating with a clear and perfect awareness of it. Now he heard the last, desperate groan of a heart dying in passion, now the joy of a will and a spirit that had broken their fetters and were rushing brightly and freely into a limitless sea of unbridled love; now he heard the first vow of a mistress, uttered with sweet-scented shame at the first blush on her face, with prayers, with tears, with a mysterious, timid whisper; now the lust of a Bacchante, proud and joyous in its strength, naked, stripped of mystery, making her drunken eyes roll to the accompaniment of tinkling laughter…

  Ordynov could not bear to wait for the song’s conclusion, and he got up from the bed. The singing at once died away.

  ‘The morning and the afternoon have come and gone, my heart’s desire!’ said Katerina’s voice. ‘Good evening to you! Get up, come to us, awake to radiant joy; we are waiting for you, the master and I, good people both, obedient to your will; douse your hatred with love, if your heart still bleeds with offence. Let us hear a kind word from you!…’

  Ordynov had emerged from his room at the first sound of her voice, and was scarcely aware he was entering his landlord’s bed-room. Ahead of him the door opened and, bright as the sun, the golden smile of his beautiful landlady shone towards him. At that moment he saw and heard no one but her. In a flash all his life, all his joy fused into one single focus within his heart – the radiant form of his Katerina.

  ‘Two sunsets have passed since you and I said farewell; the second is dying now, look out of the window. Like the two sunsets in the soul of a fair maiden,’ Katerina said, laughing. ‘The one that reddens her face with her first shame when for the first time her lonely maiden’s heart speaks within her bosom, and the other, which burns like a fire when the fair maiden forgets her first shame, which lies heavy on her maiden’s bosom and drives the red blood to her face… Come in, come into our house, good stalwart young man! Why do you stand on the threshold? Welcome in, and let the master greet you!’

  With a musical laugh she took Ordynov’s hand and led him into the room. Timidity entered his heart. All the ardour, the entire conflagration that had raged within his breast seemed to die away in a single instant and for a single instant; he lowered his eyes in confusion, afraid to look at her. He felt she was so wonderfully beautiful that his heart would not be able to endure her intensely burning gaze. Never before had he seen his Katerina like this. Now, for the first time, mirth and laughter had begun to sparkle in her features, drying the sad tears on her black eyelashes. His hand trembled in hers. If he had raised his eyes, he would have seen that Katerina, with a triumphant smile, had riveted her brilliant gaze to his face, which was clouded by confusion and passion.