Poor Folk Anthology

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  "What! Have they kicked you out? Serve you right! serve you right!" said Tatyana Pavlovna. I sank on the sofa without a word and looked at her.

  "What's the matter with him?" she said, looking at me intently. "Come, drink some water, drink a glass of water, drink it up! Tell me what you've been up to there now?"

  I muttered that I had been turned out, and that Büring had given me a push in the open street.

  "Can you understand anything, or are you still incapable? Come here, read and admire it." And taking a letter from the table she gave it to me, and stood before me expectantly. I at once recognized Versilov's writing, it consisted of a few lines: it was a letter to Katerina Nikolaevna. I shuddered and instantly comprehension came back to me in a rush. The contents of this horrible, atrocious, grotesque and blackguardly letter were as follows, word for word:

  "DEAR MADAM KATERINA NIKOLAEVNA.

  Depraved as you are in your nature and your arts, I should have yet expected you to restrain your passions and not to try your wiles on children. But you are not even ashamed to do that. I beg to inform you that the letter you know of was certainly not burnt in a candle and never was in Kraft's possession, so you won't score anything there. So don't seduce a boy for nothing. Spare him, he is hardly grown up, almost a child, undeveloped mentally and physically—what use can you have for him? I am interested in his welfare, and so I have ventured to write to you, though with little hope of attaining my object. I have the honour to inform you that I have sent a copy of this letter to Baron Büring.

  "A. VERSILOV."

  I turned white as I read, then suddenly I flushed crimson and my lips quivered with indignation.

  "He writes that about me! About what I told him the day before yesterday!" I cried in a fury.

  "So you did tell him!" cried Tatyana Pavlovna, snatching the letter from me.

  "But … I didn't say that, I did not say that at all! Good God, what can she think of me now! But it's madness, you know. He's mad … I saw him yesterday. When was the letter sent?"

  "It was sent yesterday, early in the day; it reached her in the evening, and this morning she gave it me herself."

  "But I saw him yesterday myself, he's mad! Versilov was incapable of writing that, it was written by a madman. Who could write like that to a woman?"

  "That's just what such madmen do write in a fury when they are blind and deaf from jealousy and spite, and their blood is turned to venom… . You did not know what he is like! Now they will pound him to a jelly. He has thrust his head under the axe himself! He'd better have gone at night to the Nikolaevsky railway and have laid his head on the rail. They'd have cut it off for him, if he's weary of the weight of it! What possessed you to tell him! What induced you to tease him! Did you want to boast?"

  "But what hatred! What hatred!" I cried, clapping my hand on my head. "And what for, what for? Of a woman! What has she done to him? What can there have been between them that he can write a letter like that?"

  "Ha—atred!" Tatyana Pavlovna mimicked me with furious sarcasm.

  The blood rushed to my face again; all at once I seemed to grasp something new; I gazed at her with searching inquiry.

  "Get along with you!" she shrieked, turning away from me quickly and waving me off. "I've had bother enough with you all! I've had enough of it now! You may all sink into the earth for all I care! … Your mother is the only one I'm sorry for … "

  I ran, of course, to Versilov. But what treachery! What treachery!

  4.

  Versilov was not alone. To explain the position beforehand: after sending that letter to Katerina Nikolaevna the day before and actually dispatching a copy of it to Baron Büring (God only knows why), naturally he was bound to expect certain "consequences" of his action in the course of to-day, and so had taken measures of a sort. He had in the morning moved my mother upstairs to my "coffin," together with Liza, who, as I learned afterwards, had been taken ill when she got home, and had gone to bed. The other rooms, especially the drawing-room, had been scrubbed and tidied up with extra care. And at two o'clock in the afternoon a certain Baron R. did in fact make his appearance. He was a colonel, a tall thin gentleman about forty, a little bald, of German origin, with ginger-coloured hair like Büring's, and a look of great physical strength. He was one of those Baron R.s of whom there are so many in the Russian army, all men of the highest baronial dignity, entirely without means, living on their pay, and all zealous and conscientious officers.

  I did not come in time for the beginning of their interview; both were very much excited, and they might well be. Versilov was sitting on the sofa facing the table, and the baron was in an armchair on one side. Versilov was pale, but he spoke with restraint, dropping out his words one by one; the baron raised his voice and was evidently given to violent gesticulation. He restrained himself with an effort, but he looked stern, supercilious, and even contemptuous, though somewhat astonished. Seeing me he frowned, but Versilov seemed almost relieved at my coming.

  "Good-morning, dear boy. Baron, this is the very young man mentioned in the letter, and I assure you he will not be in your way, and may indeed be of use." (The baron looked at me contemptuously.) "My dear boy," Versilov went on, "I am glad that you've come, indeed, so sit down in the corner please, till the baron and I have finished. Don't be uneasy, baron, he will simply sit in the corner."

  I did not care, for I had made up my mind, and besides all this impressed me: I sat down in the corner without speaking, as far back as I could, and went on sitting there without stirring or blinking an eyelid till the interview was over… .

  "I tell you again, baron," said Versilov, rapping out his words resolutely, "that I consider Katerina Nikolaevna Ahmakov, to whom I wrote that unworthy and insane letter, not only the soul of honour, but the acme of all perfection!"

  "Such a disavowal of your own words, as I have observed to you already, is equivalent to a repetition of the offence," growled the baron; "your words are actually lacking in respect."

  "And yet it would be nearest the truth if you take them in their exact sense. I suffer, do you see, from nervous attacks, and … nervous ailments, and am in fact being treated for them and therefore it has happened in one such moment … "

  "These explanations cannot be admitted. I tell you for the third time that you are persistently mistaken, perhaps purposely wish to be mistaken. I have warned you from the very beginning that the whole question concerning that lady, that is concerning your letter to Mme. Ahmakov, must be entirely excluded from our explanation; you keep going back to it. Baron Büring begged and particularly charged me to make it plain that this matter concerns him only; that is, your insolence in sending him that 'copy' and the postcript to it in which you write that 'you are ready to answer for it when and how he pleases.'"

  "But that, I imagine, is quite clear without explanation."

  "I understand, I hear. You do not even offer an apology, but persist in asserting that 'you are ready to answer for it when and how he pleases.' But that would be getting off too cheaply. And therefore I now, in view of the turn which you obstinately will give to your explanation, feel myself justified on my side in telling you the truth without ceremony, that is, I have come to the conclusion that it is ut-ter-ly impossible for Baron Büring to meet you … on an equal footing."

  "Such a decision is no doubt advantageous for your friend, Baron Büring, and I must confess you have not surprised me in the least: I was expecting it."

  I note in parenthesis: it was quite evident to me from the first word and the first glance that Versilov was trying to lead up to this outburst, that he was intentionally teasing and provoking this irascible baron, and was trying to put him out of patience. The baron bristled all over.

  "I have heard that you are able to be witty, but being witty is very different from being clever."

  "An extremely profound observation, colonel."

  "I did not ask for your approbation," cried the baron. "I did not come to bandy words with you. Be s
o good as to listen. Baron Büring was in doubt how to act when he received your letter, because it was suggestive of a madhouse. And, of course, means might be taken to … suppress you. However, owing to certain special considerations, your case was treated with indulgence and inquiries were made about you: it turns out that though you have belonged to good society, and did at one time serve in the Guards, you have been excluded from society and your reputation is dubious. Yet in spite of that I've come here to ascertain the facts personally, and now, to make things worse, you don't scruple to play with words, and inform me yourself that you are liable to nervous attacks. It's enough! Baron Büring's position and reputation are such that he cannot stoop to be mixed up in such an affair… . In short, I am authorized, sir, to inform you, that if a repetition or anything similar to your recent action should follow hereafter, measures will promptly be found to bring you to your senses, very quickly and very thoroughly I can assure you. We are not living in the jungle, but in a well ordered state!"

  "You are so certain of that, my good baron?"

  "Confound you," cried the baron, suddenly getting up; "you tempt me to show you at once that I am not 'your good baron.'"

  "Ach, I must warn you once again," said Versilov, and he too stood up, "that my wife and daughter are not far off … and so I must ask you not to speak so loud, for your shouts may reach their ears."

  "Your wife … the devil … I am sitting here talking to you solely in order to get to the bottom of this disgusting business," the baron continued as wrathfully as before, not dropping his voice in the least. "Enough!" he roared furiously, "you are not only excluded from the society of decent people, but you're a maniac, a regular raving maniac, and such you've been proved to be! You do not deserve indulgence, and I can tell you that this very day measures will be taken in regard to you … and you will be placed where they will know how to restore you to sanity … and will remove you from the town."

  He marched with rapid strides out of the room. Versilov did not accompany him to the door. He stood gazing at me absentmindedly, as though he did not see me; all at once he smiled, tossed back his hair, and taking his hat, he too made for the door. I clutched at his hand.

  "Ach, yes, you are here too. You … heard?" he said, stopping short before me.

  "How could you do it? How could you distort … disgrace with such treachery!"

  He looked at me intently, his smile broadened and broadened till it passed into actual laughter.

  "Why, I've been disgraced … before her! before her! They laughed at me before her eyes, and he … and he pushed me away!" I cried, beside myself.

  "Really? Ach, poor boy, I am sorry for you… . So they laughed at you, did they?"

  "You are laughing yourself, you are laughing at me; it amuses you!"

  He quickly pulled his hand away, put on his hat and laughing, laughing aloud, went out of the flat. What was the use of running after him? I understood and—I had lost everything in one instant! All at once I saw my mother; she had come downstairs and was timidly looking about her.

  "Has he gone away?"

  I put my arms around her without a word, and she held me tight in hers.

  "Mother, my own, surely you can't stay? Let us go at once, I will shelter you, I will work for you like a slave, for you and for Liza. Leave them all, all, and let us go away. Let us be alone. Mother, do you remember how you came to me at Touchard's and I would not recognize you?"

  "I remember, my own; I have been bad to you all your life. You were my own child, and I was a stranger to you."

  "That was his fault, mother, it was all his fault; he has never loved us."

  "Yes, yes, he did love us."

  "Let us go, mother."

  "How could I go away from him, do you suppose he is happy?"

  "Where's Liza?"

  "She's lying down; she felt ill when she came in; I'm frightened. Why are they so angry with him? What will they do to him now? Where's he gone? What was that officer threatening?"

  "Nothing will happen to him, mother, nothing does happen to him, or ever can happen to him. He's that sort of man! Here's Tatyana Pavlovna, ask her, if you don't believe me, here she is." (Tatyana Pavlovna came quickly into the room.) "Good-bye, mother. I will come to you directly, and when I come, I shall ask you the same thing again… ."

  I ran away. I could not bear to see anyone, let alone Tatyana Pavlovna. Even mother distressed me. I wanted to be alone, alone.

  5.

  But before I had crossed the street, I felt that I could hardly walk, and I jostled aimlessly, heedlessly, against the passers-by, feeling listless and adrift; but what could I do with myself? What use am I to anyone, and—what use is anything to me now? Mechanically I trudged to Prince Sergay's, though I was not thinking of him at all. He was not at home. I told Pyotr (his man) that I would wait in his study (as I had done many times before). His study was a large one, a very high room, cumbered up with furniture. I crept into the darkest corner, sat down on the sofa and, putting my elbows on the table, rested my head in my hands. Yes, that was the question: "what was of any use to me now?" If I was able to formulate that question then, I was totally unable to answer it.

  But I could not myself answer the question, or think about it rationally. I have mentioned already that towards the end of those days I was overwhelmed by the rush of events. I sat now, and everything was whirling round like chaos in my mind. "Yes, I had failed to see all that was in him, and did not understand him at all," was the thought that glimmered dimly in my mind at moments. "He laughed in my face just now: that was not at me, it was all Büring then, not me. The day before yesterday he knew everything and he was gloomy. He pounced on my stupid confession in the restaurant, and distorted it, regardless of the truth; but what did he care for the truth? He did not believe a syllable of what he wrote to her. All he wanted was to insult her, to insult her senselessly, without knowing what for; he was looking out for a pretext and I gave him the pretext… . He behaved like a mad dog! Does he want to kill Büring now? What for? His heart knows what for! And I know nothing of what's in his heart… . No, no, I don't know even now. Can it be that he loves her with such passion? Or does he hate her to such a pitch of passion? I don't know, but does he know himself? Why did I tell mother that 'nothing could happen to him'; what did I mean to say by that? Have I lost him or haven't I?

  "… She saw how I was pushed away… . Did she laugh too, or not? I should have laughed! They were beating a spy, a spy… .

  "What does it mean," suddenly flashed on my mind, "what does it mean that in that loathsome letter he puts in that the document has not been burnt, but is in existence? …

  "He is not killing Büring but is sitting at this moment, no doubt, in the restaurant listening to 'Lucia'! And perhaps after Lucia he will go and kill Büring. Büring pushed me away, almost struck me; did he strike me? And Büring disdains to fight even Versilov, so would he be likely to fight with me? Perhaps I ought to kill him to-morrow with a revolver, waiting for him in the street… ." I let that thought flit through my mind quite mechanically without being brought to a pause by it.

  At moments I seemed to dream that the door would open all at once, that Katerina Nikolaevna would come in, would give me her hand, and we should both burst out laughing… . Oh, my student, my dear one! I had a vision of this, or rather an intense longing for it, as soon as it got dark. It was not long ago I had been standing before her saying good-bye to her, and she had given me her hand, and laughed. How could it have happened that in such a short time we were so completely separated! Simply to go to her and to explain everything this minute, simply, simply! Good heavens! how was it that an utterly new world had begun for me so suddenly! Yes, a new world, utterly, utterly new… . And Liza, and Prince Sergay, that was all old… . Here I was now at Prince Sergay's. And mother—how could she go on living with him if it was like this! I could, I can do anything, but she? What will be now? And the figures of Liza, Anna Andreyevna, Stebelkov, Prince Sergay, Aferdov,
kept disconnectedly whirling round in my sick brain. But my thoughts became more and more formless and elusive; I was glad when I succeeded in thinking of something and clutching at it.

  "I have 'my idea'!" I thought suddenly; "but have I? Don't I repeat that from habit? My idea was the fruit of darkness and solitude, and is it possible to creep back into the old darkness? Oh, my God, I never burnt that 'letter'! I actually forgot to burn it the day before yesterday. I will go back and burn it in a candle, in a candle of course; only I don't know if I'm thinking properly… ."

  It had long been dark and Pyotr brought candles. He stood over me and asked whether I had had supper. I simply motioned him away. An hour later, however, he brought me some tea, and I greedily drank a large cupful. Then I asked what time it was? It was half- past eight, and I felt no surprise to find I had been sitting there five hours.

  "I have been in to you three times already," said Pyotr, "but I think you were asleep."

  I did not remember his coming in. I don't know why, but I felt all at once horribly scared to think I had been asleep. I got up and walked about the room, that I might not go to sleep again. At last my head began to ache violently. At ten o'clock Prince Sergay came in and I was surprised that I had been waiting for him: I had completely forgotten him, completely.

  "You are here, and I've been round to you to fetch you," he said to me. His face looked gloomy and severe, and there was not a trace of a smile. There was a fixed idea in his eyes.

  "I have been doing my very utmost all day and straining every nerve," he said with concentrated intensity; "everything has failed, and nothing in the future, but horror… ." (N.B.— he had not been to Prince Nikolay Ivanitch's.) "I have seen Zhibyelsky, he is an impossible person. You see, to begin with we must get the money, then we shall see. And if we don't succeed with the money, then we shall see… . I have made up my mind not to think about that. If only we get hold of the money to-day, to-morrow we shall see everything. The three thousand you won is still untouched, every farthing of it. It's three thousand all except three roubles. After paying back what I lent you, there is three hundred and forty roubles change for you. Take it. Another seven hundred as well, to make up a thousand, and I will take the other two thousand. Then let us both go to Zerstchikov and try at opposite ends of the table to win ten thousand—perhaps we shall do something, if we don't win it—then… . This is the only way left, anyhow."