Location via proxy:   [ UP ]  
[Report a bug]   [Manage cookies]                
Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    From $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Fyodor Dostoyevsky: Complete Works
    Fyodor Dostoyevsky: Complete Works
    Fyodor Dostoyevsky: Complete Works
    Ebook7,984 pages132 hours

    Fyodor Dostoyevsky: Complete Works

    By Fyodor Dostoevsky

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    This volume presents the complete novels and storie of Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky (33 works.) Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky (1821 – 1881) was a Russian novelist, short story writer, essayist, journalist and philosopher. Dostoevsky's literary works explore human psychology in the troubled political, social, and spiritual atmospheres of 19th-century Russia, and engage with a variety of philosophical and religious themes. His most acclaimed works include Crime and Punishment (1866), The Idiot (1869), Demons (1872), and The Brothers Karamazov (1880). Dostoevsky's body of work consists of 11 novels, three novellas, 17 short stories, and numerous other works. Many literary critics rate him as one of the greatest psychologists in world literature.[3] His 1864 novella Notes from Underground is considered to be one of the first works of existentialist literature. Dostoevsky was influenced by a wide variety of philosophers and authors including Pushkin, Gogol, Augustine, Shakespeare, Dickens, Balzac, Lermontov, Hugo, Poe, Plato, Cervantes, Herzen, Kant, Belinsky, Hegel, Schiller, Solovyov, Bakunin, Sand, Hoffmann, and Mickiewicz. His writings were widely read both within and beyond his native Russia and influenced an equally great number of later writers including Russians like Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and Anton Chekhov as well as philosophers such as Friedrich Nietzsche and Jean-Paul Sartre. His books have been translated into more than 170 languages.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWisehouse Classics
    Release dateDec 23, 2019
    ISBN9789176376881
    Fyodor Dostoyevsky: Complete Works
    Author

    Fyodor Dostoevsky

    Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821-1881) est un romancier, nouvelliste, essayiste et philosophe russe dont les œuvres littéraires explorent la psychologie humaine dans le contexte de la Russie du XIXe siècle. Ses œuvres majeures, dont Crime et Châtiment, Les Frères Karamazov et L'Idiot, abordent les thèmes de la moralité, du libre arbitre, de la culpabilité et de la rédemption. L'influence profonde de Dostoevsky sur la littérature et la philosophie existentielle fait de lui l'une des plus grandes figures littéraires de tous les temps.

    Read more from Fyodor Dostoevsky

    Related to Fyodor Dostoyevsky

    Related ebooks

    General Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • UNLIMITED

      •wild Cards•

      Feb 3, 2022

      •wild Cards•
      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Diversions

      Mar 28, 2021

      Diversions
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Holiday puzzles

      Jan 11, 2023

      Holiday puzzles
      10 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Wild Cards

      Sep 26, 2024

      Wild Cards
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Diversions

      Nov 3, 2023

      Thomas Eaton 1 Whose frescoes decorate Padua’s Scrovegni chapel? 2 Which singer was known as Mama Africa? 3 What is the “Greek system” at US colleges? 4 Which two landmasses are separated by the Torres Strait? 5 Which billionaire founded chemical com

      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Diversions

      Jun 25, 2023

      This issue of NZ Listener is published by Are Media Limited (Are Media). Are Media may use and disclose your information in accordance with our Privacy Policy, including to provide you with your requested products or services and to keep you informed

      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Diversions

      Nov 10, 2023

      Thomas Eaton 1 In 1976, Ronald Wayne sold his 10% stake in which company for $800? 2 Rayleigh scattering gives the answer to what childhood question? 3 Who was the last pagan emperor of Rome? 4 What does a Marshall stack consist of? 5 Which two Afric

      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Diversions

      Oct 31, 2021

      The Wordsworth competition is being discontinued, in part to accommodate the extended Privacy Notice we are required to run each week. Thank you to all those who have contributed over the years, particularly our many regulars. For competition No 2142

      7 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Diversions

      Oct 1, 2021

      Thomas Eaton 1 Which film’s working title was 1924 Runners? 2 Whose statue holds the message “Courage calls to courage everywhere”? 3 What lies between Toulon and La Spezia? 4 Which game is run by a boxman, stickman and two dealers? 5 Which novel beg

      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Creatures Of Habit

      Mar 8, 2021

      Creatures Of Habit
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Readers’ Letters

      May 4, 2022

      SIR: I write in respect of the article ‘Gentleman’s Relish’ by Mark Palmer (Spring issue). I too was brought up in Reading in the 1950s, though not, as I suspect in Mr Palmer’s case, as a scion of the excellent company that manufactured biscuits righ

      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Diversions

      Dec 10, 2021

      Like Puzzles? Try the new Guardian Puzzles app. Download from the App Store or Google Play Read more: theguardian.com/puzzles-app Thomas Eaton 1 Whose exile from Florence was revoked 687 years after his death? 2 Which football teams contest the Z Car

      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      My Show Season Review

      Jan 11, 2023

      Border Bulletin, with Andy Johnson MY FIRST year of exhibiting Borders has come to an end and what an enjoyable and rewarding year it has been. I would encourage anybody to give it a go. You get to meet new people and make new friends – as well as lo

      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Diversions

      Mar 21, 2021

      Diversions
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Book Club

      Oct 12, 2023

      Book Club
      5 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Diversions

      Mar 11, 2022

      Thomas Eaton 1 Pompeii’s House of the Tragic Poet contains what warning? 2 Speed skater Ireen Wüst is the first Olympian to do what? 3 Which ceramic design was inspired by a Japanese fairytale? 4 What alleged relationship is illustrated by a Phillips

      4 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Letters

      Dec 2, 2021

      Letters
      3 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      The Weekly cryptic No 29,472

      Sep 6, 2024

      The Weekly cryptic No 29,472
      1 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      LetTerBOCKS

      Oct 13, 2022

      LetTerBOCKS
      13 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Going It Alone

      Mar 18, 2024

      Going It Alone
      7 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Puzzles

      Jul 23, 2023

      Fill in the blank squares with the numbers 1 to 9 so that each row, each column and each 3 x 3 block contains all the numbers from 1 to 9. SKILL LEVEL Easy SOLUTION NEXT WEEK When complete, the shaded letters will reveal a well-known personality

      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Letters

      Dec 28, 2023

      Letters
      6 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      What's Going On

      Mar 17, 2020

      • Celebrate Beltane at 4am on 1 May at the Lost Village of Dode in Gravesend, Kent – the beautiful Norman church that’s all that remains of a village lost to the Black Death – with a silent walk to their stone circle. Places are limited, find out mor

      2 min read

    • UNLIMITED

      Diversions

      Jul 23, 2021

      What’s the appropriate response to a friend who tells you they are sending their child to private school? Say something supportive because that person is a friend? If you don’t approve, don’t say anything because it’s none of your business. HKSingg i

      5 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Fyodor Dostoyevsky

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Fyodor Dostoevsky

      Fyodor Dostoyevsky

      Fyodor Dostoyevsky

      Complete

      Novels & Stories

      W

      Wisehouse Classics

      Fyodor Dostoyevsky

      Complete Novels & Stories

      Executive Editor

      Sam Vaseghi

      2020 Published by Wisehouse Classics – Sweden

      ISBN 978-91-7637-688-1

      Wisehouse Classics is a Wisehouse Imprint.

      www.wisehouse-classics.com

      © Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photographing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher.

      Contents

      Contents

      Poor Folk

      April 8th

      April 8th

      April 8th

      April 9th

      April 12th

      April 25th

      May 20th

      June 1st

      1

      2

      June 11th

      June 12th

      June 20th

      June 21st

      June 22nd

      June 25th

      June 26th

      June 27th

      June 28th

      June 28th

      July 1st

      July 1st

      July 7th

      July 8th

      July 27th

      July 28th

      July 28th

      July 29th

      August 1st

      August 2nd

      August 3rd

      August 4th

      August 4th

      August 5th

      August 5th

      August 11th

      August 13th

      August 14th

      August 19th

      August 21st

      September 3rd

      September 5th

      September 9th

      September 10th

      September 11th

      September 15th

      September 18th

      September 19th

      September 23rd

      September 23rd

      September 27th

      September 27th

      September 28th

      September 28th

      September 29th

      September 30th

      September 30th

      The Double

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Netochka Nezvanova

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      The Village of Stepanchikovo

      Part 1

      Chapter 1 — Introduction

      Chapter 2 — Mr. Bahtcheyev

      Chapter 3 — My Uncle

      Chapter 4 — At Tea

      Chapter 5 — Yezhevikin

      Chapter 6 — Of the White Bull and the Komarinsky Peasant

      Chapter 7 — Foma Fomitch

      Chapter 8 — A Declaration of Love

      Chapter 9 — Your Excellency

      Chapter 10 — Mizintchikov

      Chapter 11 — The Extreme of Perplexity

      Chapter 12 — The Catastrophe

      Part 2

      Chapter 1 — The Pursuit

      Chapter 2 — New Developments

      Chapter 3 — Ilyusha’s Nameday

      Chapter 4 — The Expulsion

      Chapter 5 — Foma Fomitch Makes Everyone Happy

      Chapter 6 — Conclusion

      Uncle’s Dream

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      The Insulted and the Injured

      Part 1

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Part 2

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Part 3

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Part 4

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      The House of the Dead

      Part 1

      Chapter 1 — Ten Years A Convict

      Chapter 2 — The Dead-House

      Chapter 3 — First Impressions

      Chapter 4 — First Impressions (continued)

      Chapter 5 — First Impressions (continued)

      Chapter 6 — The First Month

      Chapter 7 — The First Month (continued)

      Chapter 8 — New Acquaintances. Petroff

      Chapter 9 — Men of Determination. Luka

      Chapter 10 — Isaiah Fomitch. The Bath. Baklouchin.

      Chapter 11 — The Christmas Holidays

      Chapter 12 — The Performance

      Part 2

      Chapter 1 — The Hospital

      Chapter 2 — The Hospital (continued)

      Chapter 3 — The Hospital (continued)

      Chapter 4 — The Husband of Akoulka

      Chapter 5 — The Summer Season

      Chapter 6 — The Animals at the Convict Establishment

      Chapter 7 — Grievances

      Chapter 8 — My Companions

      Chapter 9 — The Escape

      Chapter 10 — Freedom!

      Notes from Underground

      Part 1 — Underground

      Authors Note

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Part 2 — A Propos of the Wet Snow

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Crime and Punishment

      Part 1

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Part 2

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Part 3

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Part 4

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Part 5

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Part 6

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Epilogue

      1

      2

      The Gambler

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      The Idiot

      Part 1

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Part 2

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Part 3

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Part 4

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      The Eternal Husband

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Demons

      Part 1

      Chapter 1 — Introductory

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      7

      8

      9

      Chapter 2 — Prince Harry. Matchmaking

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      7

      8

      Chapter 3 — The Sins of Others

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      7

      8

      Chapter 4 — The Cripple

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      Chapter 5 — The Subtle Serpent

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      7

      8

      Part 2

      Chapter 1 — Night

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      Chapter 2 — Night (continued)

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 3 — The Duel

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 4 — All in Expectation

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 5 — On the Eve Of the Fete

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 6 — Pyotr Stepanovitch is Busy

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      Chapter 7 —A Meeting

      1

      2

      Chapter 8 — Ivan the Tsarevitch

      Chapter 9 — A Raid at Stefan Trofimovitch’s

      Chapter 10 — Filibusters. A Fatal Morning

      1

      2

      3

      Part 3

      Chapter 1 — The Fete

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 2 — The End of the Fete

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 3 — A Romance Ended

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 4 — The Last Resolution

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 5 — A Wanderer

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      Chapter 6 — A Busy Night

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 7 — Stepan Trofimovitch’s Last Wandering

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 8 — Conclusion

      The Adolescent

      Part 1

      Chapter 1

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      7

      8

      Chapter 2

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 3

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      Chapter 4

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 5

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 6

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 7

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 8

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 9

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      Chapter 10

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      Part 2

      Chapter 1

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 2

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 3

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 4

      1

      2

      Chapter 5

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 6

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 7

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 8

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      Chapter 9

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Part 3

      Chapter 1

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 2

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      Chapter 3

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 4

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 5

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 6

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 7

      1

      2

      3

      Chapter 8

      1

      2

      Chapter 9

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      Chapter 10

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 11

      1

      2

      3

      4

      Chapter 12

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      Chapter 13 — Conclusion

      1

      2

      3

      The Brothers Karamazov

      Part 1

      Book 1 — The History of a Family

      Chapter 1 — Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov

      Chapter 2 — He Gets Rid of His Eldest Son

      Chapter 3 — The Second Marriage and the Second Family

      Chapter 4 — The Third Son, Alyosha

      Chapter 5 — Elders

      Book 2 — An Unfortunate Gathering

      Chapter 1 — They Arrive at the Monastery

      Chapter 2 — The Old Buffoon

      Chapter 3 — Peasant Women Who Have Faith

      Chapter 4 — A Lady of Little Faith

      Chapter 5 — So Be It! So Be It!

      Chapter 6 — Why Is Such a Man Alive?

      Chapter 7 — A Young Man Bent on a Career

      Chapter 8 — The Scandalous Scene

      Book 3 — The Sensualists

      Chapter 1 — In The Servants’ Quarters

      Chapter 2 — Lizaveta

      Chapter 3 — The Confession of a Passionate Heart: In Verse

      Chapter 4 — The Confession of a Passionate Heart: In Anecdote

      Chapter 5 — The Confession of a Passionate Heart; Heels Up

      Chapter 6 — Smerdyakov

      Chapter 7 — The Controversy

      Chapter 8 — Over the Brandy

      Chapter 9 — The Sensualists

      Chapter 10 — Both Together

      Chapter 11 — Another Reputation Ruined

      Part 2

      Book 4 — Lacerations

      Chapter 1 — Father Ferapont

      Chapter 2 — At His Father’s

      Chapter 3 — A Meeting With the Schoolboys

      Chapter 4 — At the Hohlakovs’

      Chapter 5 — A Laceration In the Drawing-Room

      Chapter 6 — A Laceration In the Cottage

      Chapter 7 — And In the Open Air

      Book 5 — Pro and Contra

      Chapter 1 — The Engagement

      Chapter 2 — Smerdyakov With a Guitar

      Chapter 3 — The Brothers Make Friends

      Chapter 4 — Rebellion

      Chapter 5 — The Grand Inquisitor

      Chapter 6 — For Awhile a Very Obscure One

      Chapter 7 — It’s Always Worth While Speaking to a Clever Man

      Book 6 — The Russian Monk

      Chapter 1 — Father Zossima and His Visitors

      Chapter 2 — The Duel

      Chapter 3 — Conversations and Exhortations of Father Zossima

      Part 3

      Book 7 — Alyosha

      Chapter 1 — The Breath of Corruption

      Chapter 2 — A Critical Moment

      Chapter 3 — An Onion

      Chapter 4 — Cana of Galilee

      Book 8 — Mitya

      Chapter 1 — Kuzma Samsonov

      Chapter 2 — Lyagavy

      Chapter 3 — Gold-Mines

      Chapter 4 — In the Dark

      Chapter 5 — A Sudden Resolution

      Chapter 6 — I Am Coming, Too!

      Chapter 7 — The First and Rightful Lover

      Chapter 8 — Delirium

      Book 9 — The Preliminary Investigation

      Chapter 1 — The Beginning of Perhotin’s Official Career

      Chapter 2 — The Alarm

      Chapter 3 — The Sufferings of a Soul, the First Ordeal

      Chapter 4 — The Second Ordeal

      Chapter 5 — The Third Ordeal

      Chapter 6 — The Prosecutor Catches Mitya

      Chapter 7 — Mitya’s Great Secret. Received With Hisses

      Chapter 8 — The Evidence of the Witnesses. The Babe

      Chapter 9 — They Carry Mitya Away

      Part 4

      Book 10 — The Boys

      Chapter 1 — Kolya Krassotkin

      Chapter 2 — Children

      Chapter 3 — The Schoolboy

      Chapter 4 — The Lost Dog

      Chapter 5 — By Ilusha’s Bedside

      Chapter 6 — Precocity

      Chapter 7 — Ilusha

      Book 11 — Ivan

      Chapter 1 — At Grushenka’s

      Chapter 2 — The Injured Foot

      Chapter 3 — A Little Demon

      Chapter 4 — A Hymn and a Secret

      Chapter 5 — Not You, Not You!

      Chapter 6 — The First Interview With Smerdyakov

      Chapter 7 — The Second Visit to Smerdyakov

      Chapter 8 — The Third and Last Interview With Smerdyakov

      Chapter 9 — The Devil. Ivan’s Nightmare

      Chapter 10 — It Was He Who Said That

      Book 12 — A Judicial Error

      Chapter 1 — The Fatal Day

      Chapter 2 — Dangerous Witnesses

      Chapter 3 — The Medical Experts and a Pound of Nuts

      Chapter 4 — Fortune Smiles on Mitya

      Chapter 5 — A Sudden Catastrophe

      Chapter 6 — The Prosecutor’s Speech. Sketches of Character

      Chapter 7 — An Historical Survey

      Chapter 8 — A Treatise On Smerdyakov

      Chapter 9 — The Galloping Troika. The End of the Prosecutor’s Speech.

      Chapter 10 — The Speech For the Defense. An Argument That Cuts Both Ways

      Chapter 11 — There Was No Money. There Was No Robbery

      Chapter 12 — And There Was No Murder Either

      Chapter 13 — A Corrupter of Thought

      Chapter 14 — The Peasants Stand Firm

      Epilogue

      Chapter 1 — Plans For Mitya’s Escape

      Chapter 2 — For a Moment the Lie Becomes Truth

      Chapter 3 — Ilusha’s Funeral. The Speech at the Stone

      Mr. Prohartchin

      The Christmas Tree and the Wedding

      The Heavenly Christmas Tree

      The Crocodile

      I

      II

      III

      IV

      Bobok

      A Gentle Spirit

      Part I

      Chapter I. Who I was and who she was

      Chapter II. The offer of marriage

      Chapter III. The Noblest Of Men, Though I don’t believe it myself

      Chapter IV. Plans and Plans

      Chapter V. A Gentle Spirit in Revolt

      Chapter VI. A Terrible Reminiscence

      Part II

      Chapter I. The Dream of Pride

      Chapter II. The Veil Suddenly Falls

      Chapter III. I Understand Too Well

      Chapter IV. I Was Only Five Minutes Too Late

      The Dream of a Ridiculous Man

      I

      II

      III

      IV

      V

      The Peasant Marey

      The Little Orphan

      I.

      II.

      III.

      IV.

      A Faint Heart

      White Nights

      FIRST NIGHT

      SECOND NIGHT

      THIRD NIGHT

      FOURTH NIGHT

      MORNING

      Polzunkov

      A Little Hero

      The Honest Thief

      A Novel in Nine Letters

      I

      II

      III

      IV

      V

      VI

      VII

      VIII

      IX

      The Landlady

      PART I

      CHAPTER I

      CHAPTER II

      CHAPTER III

      PART II

      CHAPTER I

      CHAPTER II

      CHAPTER III

      An Unpleasant Predicament

      Another Man’s Wife

      I

      II

      The Grand Inquisitor

      Poor Folk¹

      April 8th

      My dearest Barbara Alexievna

      How happy I was last night — how immeasurably, how impossibly happy! That was because for once in your life you had relented so far as to obey my wishes. At about eight o’clock I awoke from sleep (you know, my beloved one, that I always like to sleep for a short hour after my work is done)— I awoke, I say, and, lighting a candle, prepared my paper to write, and trimmed my pen. Then suddenly, for some reason or another, I raised my eyes — and felt my very heart leap within me! For you had understood what I wanted, you had understood what my heart was craving for. Yes, I perceived that a corner of the curtain in your window had been looped up and fastened to the cornice as I had suggested should be done; and it seemed to me that your dear face was glimmering at the window, and that you were looking at me from out of the darkness of your room, and that you were thinking of me. Yet how vexed I felt that I could not distinguish your sweet face clearly! For there was a time when you and I could see one another without any difficulty at all. Ah me, but old age is not always a blessing, my beloved one! At this very moment everything is standing awry to my eyes, for a man needs only to work late overnight in his writing of something or other for, in the morning, his eyes to be red, and the tears to be gushing from them in a way that makes him ashamed to be seen before strangers. However, I was able to picture to myself your beaming smile, my angel — your kind, bright smile; and in my heart there lurked just such a feeling as on the occasion when I first kissed you, my little Barbara. Do you remember that, my darling? Yet somehow you seemed to be threatening me with your tiny finger. Was it so, little wanton? You must write and tell me about it in your next letter.

      But what think you of the plan of the curtain, Barbara? It is a charming one, is it not? No matter whether I be at work, or about to retire to rest, or just awaking from sleep, it enables me to know that you are thinking of me, and remembering me — that you are both well and happy. Then when you lower the curtain, it means that it is time that I, Makar Alexievitch, should go to bed; and when again you raise the curtain, it means that you are saying to me, Good morning, and asking me how I am, and whether I have slept well. As for myself, adds the curtain, I am altogether in good health and spirits, glory be to God! Yes, my heart’s delight, you see how easy a plan it was to devise, and how much writing it will save us! It is a clever plan, is it not? And it was my own invention, too! Am I not cunning in such matters, Barbara Alexievna?

      Well, next let me tell you, dearest, that last night I slept better and more soundly than I had ever hoped to do, and that I am the more delighted at the fact in that, as you know, I had just settled into a new lodging — a circumstance only too apt to keep one from sleeping! This morning, too, I arose (joyous and full of love) at cockcrow. How good seemed everything at that hour, my darling! When I opened my window I could see the sun shining, and hear the birds singing, and smell the air laden with scents of spring. In short, all nature was awaking to life again. Everything was in consonance with my mood; everything seemed fair and spring-like. Moreover, I had a fancy that I should fare well today. But my whole thoughts were bent upon you. Surely, thought I, we mortals who dwell in pain and sorrow might with reason envy the birds of heaven which know not either! And my other thoughts were similar to these. In short, I gave myself up to fantastic comparisons. A little book which I have says the same kind of thing in a variety of ways. For instance, it says that one may have many, many fancies, my Barbara — that as soon as the spring comes on, one’s thoughts become uniformly pleasant and sportive and witty, for the reason that, at that season, the mind inclines readily to tenderness, and the world takes on a more roseate hue. From that little book of mine I have culled the following passage, and written it down for you to see. In particular does the author express a longing similar to my own, where he writes:

      Why am I not a bird free to seek its quest?

      And he has written much else, God bless him!

      But tell me, my love — where did you go for your walk this morning? Even before I had started for the office you had taken flight from your room, and passed through the courtyard — yes, looking as vernal-like as a bird in spring. What rapture it gave me to see you! Ah, little Barbara, little Barbara, you must never give way to grief, for tears are of no avail, nor sorrow. I know this well — I know it of my own experience. So do you rest quietly until you have regained your health a little. But how is our good Thedora? What a kind heart she has! You write that she is now living with you, and that you are satisfied with what she does. True, you say that she is inclined to grumble, but do not mind that, Barbara. God bless her, for she is an excellent soul!

      But what sort of an abode have I lighted upon, Barbara Alexievna? What sort of a tenement, do you think, is this? Formerly, as you know, I used to live in absolute stillness — so much so that if a fly took wing it could plainly be heard buzzing. Here, however, all is turmoil and shouting and clatter. The PLAN of the tenement you know already. Imagine a long corridor, quite dark, and by no means clean. To the right a dead wall, and to the left a row of doors stretching as far as the line of rooms extends. These rooms are tenanted by different people — by one, by two, or by three lodgers as the case may be, but in this arrangement there is no sort of system, and the place is a perfect Noah’s Ark. Most of the lodgers are respectable, educated, and even bookish people. In particular they include a tchinovnik (one of the literary staff in some government department), who is so well-read that he can expound Homer or any other author — in fact, ANYTHING, such a man of talent is he! Also, there are a couple of officers (for ever playing cards), a midshipman, and an English tutor. But, to amuse you, dearest, let me describe these people more categorically in my next letter, and tell you in detail about their lives. As for our landlady, she is a dirty little old woman who always walks about in a dressing-gown and slippers, and never ceases to shout at Theresa. I myself live in the kitchen — or, rather, in a small room which forms part of the kitchen. The latter is a very large, bright, clean, cheerful apartment with three windows in it, and a partition-wall which, running outwards from the front wall, makes a sort of little den, a sort of extra room, for myself. Everything in this den is comfortable and convenient, and I have, as I say, a window to myself. So much for a description of my dwelling-place. Do not think, dearest, that in all this there is any hidden intention. The fact that I live in the kitchen merely means that I live behind the partition wall in that apartment — that I live quite alone, and spend my time in a quiet fashion compounded of trifles. For furniture I have provided myself with a bed, a table, a chest of drawers, and two small chairs. Also, I have suspended an ikon. True, better rooms MAY exist in the world than this — much better rooms; yet COMFORT is the chief thing. In fact, I have made all my arrangements for comfort’s sake alone; so do not for a moment imagine that I had any other end in view. And since your window happens to be just opposite to mine, and since the courtyard between us is narrow and I can see you as you pass — why, the result is that this miserable wretch will be able to live at once more happily and with less outlay. The dearest room in this house costs, with board, thirty-five roubles — more than my purse could well afford; whereas MY room costs only twenty-four, though formerly I used to pay thirty, and so had to deny myself many things (I could drink tea but seldom, and never could indulge in tea and sugar as I do now). But, somehow, I do not like having to go without tea, for everyone else here is respectable, and the fact makes me ashamed. After all, one drinks tea largely to please one’s fellow men, Barbara, and to give oneself tone and an air of gentility (though, of myself, I care little about such things, for I am not a man of the finicking sort). Yet think you that, when all things needful — boots and the rest — have been paid for, much will remain? Yet I ought not to grumble at my salary — I am quite satisfied with it; it is sufficient. It has sufficed me now for some years, and, in addition, I receive certain gratuities.

      Well good-bye, my darling. I have bought you two little pots of geraniums — quite cheap little pots, too — as a present. Perhaps you would also like some mignonette? Mignonette it shall be if only you will write to inform me of everything in detail. Also, do not misunderstand the fact that I have taken this room, my dearest. Convenience and nothing else, has made me do so. The snugness of the place has caught my fancy. Also. I shall be able to save money here, and to hoard it against the future. Already I have saved a little money as a beginning. Nor must you despise me because I am such an insignificant old fellow that a fly could break me with its wing. True, I am not a swashbuckler; but perhaps there may also abide in me the spirit which should pertain to every man who is at once resigned and sure of himself. Good-bye, then, again, my angel. I have now covered close upon a whole two sheets of notepaper, though I ought long ago to have been starting for the office. I kiss your hands, and remain ever your devoted slave, your faithful friend,

      Makar Dievushkin.

      P.S. — One thing I beg of you above all things — and that is, that you will answer this letter as FULLY as possible. With the letter I send you a packet of bonbons. Eat them for your health’s sake, nor, for the love of God, feel any uneasiness about me. Once more, dearest one, good-bye.

      April 8th

      My beloved Makar Alexievitch

      Do you know, must quarrel with you. Yes, good Makar Alexievitch, I really cannot accept your presents, for I know what they must have cost you — I know to what privations and self-denial they must have led. How many times have I not told you that I stand in need of NOTHING, of absolutely NOTHING, as well as that I shall never be in a position to recompense you for all the kindly acts with which you have loaded me? Why, for instance, have you sent me geraniums? A little sprig of balsam would not have mattered so much — but geraniums! Only have I to let fall an unguarded word — for example, about geraniums — and at once you buy me some! How much they must have cost you! Yet what a charm there is in them, with their flaming petals! Wherever did you get these beautiful plants? I have set them in my window as the most conspicuous place possible, while on the floor I have placed a bench for my other flowers to stand on (since you are good enough to enrich me with such presents). Unfortunately, Thedora, who, with her sweeping and polishing, makes a perfect sanctuary of my room, is not over-pleased at the arrangement. But why have you sent me also bonbons? Your letter tells me that something special is afoot with you, for I find in it so much about paradise and spring and sweet odours and the songs of birds. Surely, thought I to myself when I received it, this is as good as poetry! Indeed, verses are the only thing that your letter lacks, Makar Alexievitch. And what tender feelings I can read in it — what roseate-coloured fancies! To the curtain, however, I had never given a thought. The fact is that when I moved the flower-pots, it LOOPED ITSELF up. There now!

      Ah, Makar Alexievitch, you neither speak of nor give any account of what you have spent upon me. You hope thereby to deceive me, to make it seem as though the cost always falls upon you alone, and that there is nothing to conceal. Yet I KNOW that for my sake you deny yourself necessaries. For instance, what has made you go and take the room which you have done, where you will be worried and disturbed, and where you have neither elbow-space nor comfort — you who love solitude, and never like to have any one near you? To judge from your salary, I should think that you might well live in greater ease than that. Also, Thedora tells me that your circumstances used to be much more affluent than they are at present. Do you wish, then, to persuade me that your whole existence has been passed in loneliness and want and gloom, with never a cheering word to help you, nor a seat in a friend’s chimney-corner? Ah, kind comrade, how my heart aches for you! But do not overtask your health, Makar Alexievitch. For instance, you say that your eyes are over-weak for you to go on writing in your office by candle-light. Then why do so? I am sure that your official superiors do not need to be convinced of your diligence!

      Once more I implore you not to waste so much money upon me. I know how much you love me, but I also know that you are not rich... This morning I too rose in good spirits. Thedora had long been at work; and it was time that I too should bestir myself. Indeed I was yearning to do so, so I went out for some silk, and then sat down to my labours. All the morning I felt light-hearted and cheerful. Yet now my thoughts are once more dark and sad — once more my heart is ready to sink.

      Ah, what is going to become of me? What will be my fate? To have to be so uncertain as to the future, to have to be unable to foretell what is going to happen, distresses me deeply. Even to look back at the past is horrible, for it contains sorrow that breaks my very heart at the thought of it. Yes, a whole century in tears could I spend because of the wicked people who have wrecked my life!

      But dusk is coming on, and I must set to work again. Much else should I have liked to write to you, but time is lacking, and I must hasten. Of course, to write this letter is a pleasure enough, and could never be wearisome; but why do you not come to see me in person? Why do you not, Makar Alexievitch? You live so close to me, and at least SOME of your time is your own. I pray you, come. I have just seen Theresa. She was looking so ill, and I felt so sorry for her, that I gave her twenty kopecks. I am almost falling asleep. Write to me in fullest detail, both concerning your mode of life, and concerning the people who live with you, and concerning how you fare with them. I should so like to know! Yes, you must write again. Tonight I have purposely looped the curtain up. Go to bed early, for, last night, I saw your candle burning until nearly midnight. Goodbye! I am now feeling sad and weary. Ah that I should have to spend such days as this one has been. Again good-bye. — Your friend,

      Barbara Dobroselova.

      April 8th

      My dearest Barbara Alexievna

      To think that a day like this should have fallen to my miserable lot! Surely you are making fun of an old man?... However, it was my own fault — my own fault entirely. One ought not to grow old holding a lock of Cupid’s hair in one’s hand. Naturally one is misunderstood... Yet man is sometimes a very strange being. By all the Saints, he will talk of doing things, yet leave them undone, and remain looking the kind of fool from whom may the Lord preserve us!... Nay, I am not angry, my beloved; I am only vexed to think that I should have written to you in such stupid, flowery phraseology. Today I went hopping and skipping to the office, for my heart was under your influence, and my soul was keeping holiday, as it were. Yes, everything seemed to be going well with me. Then I betook myself to my work. But with what result? I gazed around at the old familiar objects, at the old familiar grey and gloomy objects. They looked just the same as before. Yet WERE those the same inkstains, the same tables and chairs, that I had hitherto known? Yes, they WERE the same, exactly the same; so why should I have gone off riding on Pegasus’ back? Whence had that mood arisen? It had arisen from the fact that a certain sun had beamed upon me, and turned the sky to blue. But why so? Why is it, sometimes, that sweet odours seem to be blowing through a courtyard where nothing of the sort can be? They must be born of my foolish fancy, for a man may stray so far into sentiment as to forget his immediate surroundings, and to give way to the superfluity of fond ardour with which his heart is charged. On the other hand, as I walked home from the office at nightfall my feet seemed to lag, and my head to be aching. Also, a cold wind seemed to be blowing down my back (enraptured with the spring, I had gone out clad only in a thin overcoat). Yet you have misunderstood my sentiments, dearest. They are altogether different to what you suppose. It is a purely paternal feeling that I have for you. I stand towards you in the position of a relative who is bound to watch over your lonely orphanhood. This I say in all sincerity, and with a single purpose, as any kinsman might do. For, after all, I AM a distant kinsman of yours — the seventh drop of water in the pudding, as the proverb has it — yet still a kinsman, and at the present time your nearest relative and protector, seeing that where you had the right to look for help and protection, you found only treachery and insult. As for poetry, I may say that I consider it unbecoming for a man of my years to devote his faculties to the making of verses. Poetry is rubbish. Even boys at school ought to be whipped for writing it.

      Why do you write thus about comfort and peace and the rest? I am not a fastidious man, nor one who requires much. Never in my life have I been so comfortable as now. Why, then, should I complain in my old age? I have enough to eat, I am well dressed and booted. Also, I have my diversions. You see, I am not of noble blood. My father himself was not a gentleman; he and his family had to live even more plainly than I do. Nor am I a milksop. Nevertheless, to speak frankly, I do not like my present abode so much as I used to like my old one. Somehow the latter seemed more cosy, dearest. Of course, this room is a good one enough; in fact, in SOME respects it is the more cheerful and interesting of the two. I have nothing to say against it — no. Yet I miss the room that used to be so familiar to me. Old lodgers like myself soon grow as attached to our chattels as to a kinsman. My old room was such a snug little place! True, its walls resembled those of any other room — I am not speaking of that; the point is that the recollection of them seems to haunt my mind with sadness. Curious that recollections should be so mournful! Even what in that room used to vex me and inconvenience me now looms in a purified light, and figures in my imagination as a thing to be desired. We used to live there so quietly — I and an old landlady who is now dead. How my heart aches to remember her, for she was a good woman, and never overcharged for her rooms. Her whole time was spent in making patchwork quilts with knitting-needles that were an arshin [An ell.] long. Oftentimes we shared the same candle and board. Also she had a granddaughter, Masha — a girl who was then a mere baby, but must now be a girl of thirteen. This little piece of mischief, how she used to make us laugh the day long! We lived together, a happy family of three. Often of a long winter’s evening we would first have tea at the big round table, and then betake ourselves to our work; the while that, to amuse the child and to keep her out of mischief, the old lady would set herself to tell stories. What stories they were! — though stories less suitable for a child than for a grown-up, educated person. My word! Why, I myself have sat listening to them, as I smoked my pipe, until I have forgotten about work altogether. And then, as the story grew grimmer, the little child, our little bag of mischief, would grow thoughtful in proportion, and clasp her rosy cheeks in her tiny hands, and, hiding her face, press closer to the old landlady. Ah, how I loved to see her at those moments! As one gazed at her one would fail to notice how the candle was flickering, or how the storm was swishing the snow about the courtyard. Yes, that was a goodly life, my Barbara, and we lived it for nearly twenty years... How my tongue does carry me away! Maybe the subject does not interest you, and I myself find it a not over-easy subject to recall — especially at the present time.

      Darkness is falling, and Theresa is busying herself with something or another. My head and my back are aching, and even my thoughts seem to be in pain, so strangely do they occur. Yes, my heart is sad today, Barbara... What is it you have written to me? —-Why do you not come in PERSON to see me? Dear one, what would people say? I should have but to cross the courtyard for people to begin noticing us, and asking themselves questions. Gossip and scandal would arise, and there would be read into the affair quite another meaning than the real one. No, little angel, it were better that I should see you tomorrow at Vespers. That will be the better plan, and less hurtful to us both. Nor must you chide me, beloved, because I have written you a letter like this (reading it through, I see it to be all odds and ends); for I am an old man now, dear Barbara, and an uneducated one. Little learning had I in my youth, and things refuse to fix themselves in my brain when I try to learn them anew. No, I am not skilled in letter-writing, Barbara, and, without being told so, or any one laughing at me for it, I know that, whenever I try to describe anything with more than ordinary distinctness, I fall into the mistake of talking sheer rubbish... I saw you at your window today — yes, I saw you as you were drawing down the blind! Good-bye, goodbye, little Barbara, and may God keep you! Good-bye, my own Barbara Alexievna! — Your sincere friend,

      Makar Dievushkin.

      P.S. — Do not think that I could write to you in a satirical vein, for I am too old to show my teeth to no purpose, and people would laugh at me, and quote our Russian proverb: Who diggeth a pit for another one, the same shall fall into it himself.

      April 9th

      My dearest Makar Alexievitch

      Are not you, my friend and benefactor, just a little ashamed to repine and give way to such despondency? And surely you are not offended with me? Ah! Though often thoughtless in my speech, I never should have imagined that you would take my words as a jest at your expense. Rest assured that NEVER should I make sport of your years or of your character. Only my own levity is at fault; still more, the fact that I am so weary of life.

      What will such a feeling not engender? To tell you the truth, I had supposed that YOU were jesting in your letter; wherefore, my heart was feeling heavy at the thought that you could feel so displeased with me. Kind comrade and helper, you will be doing me an injustice if for a single moment you ever suspect that I am lacking in feeling or in gratitude towards you. My heart, believe me, is able to appraise at its true worth all that you have done for me by protecting me from my enemies, and from hatred and persecution. Never shall I cease to pray to God for you; and, should my prayers ever reach Him and be received of Heaven, then assuredly fortune will smile upon you!

      Today I am not well. By turns I shiver and flush with heat, and Thedora is greatly disturbed about me... Do not scruple to come and see me, Makar Alexievitch. How can it concern other people what you do? You and I are well enough acquainted with each other, and one’s own affairs are one’s own affairs. Goodbye, Makar Alexievitch, for I have come to the end of all I had to say, and am feeling too unwell to write more. Again I beg of you not to be angry with me, but to rest assured of my constant respect and attachment. — Your humble, devoted servant,

      Barbara Dobroselova.

      April 12th

      Dearest Mistress Barbara Alexievna

      I pray you, my beloved, to tell me what ails you. Every one of your letters fills me with alarm. On the other hand, in every letter I urge you to be more careful of yourself, and to wrap up yourself warmly, and to avoid going out in bad weather, and to be in all things prudent. Yet you go and disobey me! Ah, little angel, you are a perfect child! I know well that you are as weak as a blade of grass, and that, no matter what wind blows upon you, you are ready to fade. But you must be careful of yourself, dearest; you MUST look after yourself better; you MUST avoid all risks, lest you plunge your friends into desolation and despair.

      Dearest, you also express a wish to learn the details of my daily life and surroundings. That wish I hasten to satisfy. Let me begin at the beginning, since, by doing so, I shall explain things more systematically. In the first place, on entering this house, one passes into a very bare hall, and thence along a passage to a mean staircase. The reception room, however, is bright, clean, and spacious, and is lined with redwood and metal- work. But the scullery you would not care to see; it is greasy, dirty, and odoriferous, while the stairs are in rags, and the walls so covered with filth that the hand sticks fast wherever it touches them. Also, on each landing there is a medley of boxes, chairs, and dilapidated wardrobes; while the windows have had most of their panes shattered, and everywhere stand washtubs filled with dirt, litter, eggshells, and fish-bladders. The smell is abominable. In short, the house is not a nice one.

      As to the disposition of the rooms, I have described it to you already. True, they are convenient enough, yet every one of them has an ATMOSPHERE. I do not mean that they smell badly so much as that each of them seems to contain something which gives forth a rank, sickly-sweet odour. At first the impression is an unpleasant one, but a couple of minutes will suffice to dissipate it, for the reason that EVERYTHING here smells — people’s clothes, hands, and everything else — and one grows accustomed to the rankness. Canaries, however, soon die in this house. A naval officer here has just bought his fifth. Birds cannot live long in such an air. Every morning, when fish or beef is being cooked, and washing and scrubbing are in progress, the house is filled with steam. Always, too, the kitchen is full of linen hanging out to dry; and since my room adjoins that apartment, the smell from the clothes causes me not a little annoyance. However, one can grow used to anything.

      From earliest dawn the house is astir as its inmates rise, walk about, and stamp their feet. That is to say, everyone who has to go to work then gets out of bed. First of all, tea is partaken of. Most of the tea-urns belong to the landlady; and since there are not very many of them, we have to wait our turn. Anyone who fails to do so will find his teapot emptied and put away. On the first occasion, that was what happened to myself. Well, is there anything else to tell you? Already I have made the acquaintance of the company here. The naval officer took the initiative in calling upon me, and his frankness was such that he told me all about his father, his mother, his sister (who is married to a lawyer of Tula), and the town of Kronstadt. Also, he promised me his patronage, and asked me to come and take tea with him. I kept the appointment in a room where card-playing is continually in progress; and, after tea had been drunk, efforts were made to induce me to gamble. Whether or not my refusal seemed to the company ridiculous I cannot say, but at all events my companions played the whole evening, and were playing when I left. The dust and smoke in the room made my eyes ache. I declined, as I say, to play cards, and was, therefore, requested to discourse on philosophy, after which no one spoke to me at all — a result which I did not regret. In fact, I have no intention of going there again, since every one is for gambling, and for nothing but gambling. Even the literary tchinovnik gives such parties in his room — though, in his case, everything is done delicately and with a certain refinement, so that the thing has something of a retiring and innocent air.

      In passing, I may tell you that our landlady is NOT a nice woman. In fact, she is a regular beldame. You have seen her once, so what do you think of her? She is as lanky as a plucked chicken in consumption, and, with Phaldoni (her servant), constitutes the entire staff of the establishment. Whether or not Phaldoni has any other name I do not know, but at least he answers to this one, and every one calls him by it. A red-haired, swine-jowled, snub-nosed, crooked lout, he is for ever wrangling with Theresa, until the pair nearly come to blows. In short, life is not overly pleasant in this place. Never at any time is the household wholly at rest, for always there are people sitting up to play cards. Sometimes, too, certain things are done of which it would be shameful for me to speak. In particular, hardened though I am, it astonishes me that men WITH FAMILIES should care to live in this Sodom. For example, there is a family of poor folk who have rented from the landlady a room which does not adjoin the other rooms, but is set apart in a corner by itself. Yet what quiet people they are! Not a sound is to be heard from them. The father — he is called Gorshkov — is a little grey-headed tchinovnik who, seven years ago, was dismissed from public service, and now walks about in a coat so dirty and ragged that it hurts one to see it. Indeed it is a worse coat even than mine! Also, he is so thin and frail (at times I meet him in the corridor) that his knees quake under him, his hands and head are tremulous with some disease (God only knows what!), and he so fears and distrusts everybody that he always walks alone. Reserved though I myself am, he is even worse. As for his family, it consists of a wife and three children. The eldest of the latter — a boy — is as frail as his father, while the mother — a woman who, formerly, must have been good looking, and still has a striking aspect in spite of her pallor — goes about in the sorriest of rags. Also I have heard that they are in debt to our landlady, as well as that she is not overly kind to them. Moreover, I have heard that Gorshkov lost his post through some unpleasantness or other — through a legal suit or process of which I could not exactly tell you the nature. Yes, they certainly are poor — Oh, my God, how poor! At the same time, never a sound comes from their room. It is as though not a soul were living in it. Never does one hear even the children — which is an unusual thing, seeing that children are ever ready to sport and play, and if they fail to do so it is a bad sign. One evening when I chanced to be passing the door of their room, and all was quiet in the house, I heard through the door a sob, and then a whisper, and then another sob, as though somebody within were weeping, and with such subdued bitterness that it tore my heart to hear the sound. In fact, the thought of these poor people never left me all night, and quite prevented me from sleeping.

      Well, good-bye, my little Barbara, my little friend beyond price. I have described to you everything to the best of my ability. All today you have been in my thoughts; all today my heart has been yearning for you. I happen to know, dearest one, that you lack a warm cloak. To me too, these St. Petersburg springs, with their winds and their snow showers, spell death. Good heavens, how the breezes bite one! Do not be angry, beloved, that I should write like this. Style I have not. Would that I had! I write just what wanders into my brain, in the hope that I may cheer you up a little. Of course, had I had a good education, things might have been different; but, as things were, I could not have one. Never did I learn even to do simple sums!

      Your faithful and unchangeable friend,

      Makar Dievushkin.

      April 25th

      My dearest Makar Alexievitch

      Today I met my cousin Sasha. To see her going to wrack and ruin shocked me terribly. Moreover, it has reached me, through a side wind, that she has been making inquiry for me, and dogging my footsteps, under the pretext that she wishes to pardon me, to forget the past, and to renew our acquaintance. Well, among other things she told me that, whereas you are not a kinsman of mine, that she is my nearest relative; that you have no right whatever to enter into family relations with us; and that it is wrong and shameful for me to be living upon your earnings and charity. Also, she said that I must have forgotten all that she did for me, though thereby she saved both myself and my mother from starvation, and gave us food and drink; that for two and a half years we caused her great loss; and, above all things, that she excused us what we owed her. Even my poor mother she did not spare. Would that she, my dead parent, could know how I am being treated! But God knows all about it... Also, Anna declared that it was solely through my own fault that my fortunes declined after she had bettered them; that she is in no way responsible for what then happened; and that I have but myself to blame for having been either unable or unwilling to defend my honour. Great God! WHO, then, has been at fault? According to Anna, Hospodin [Mr.] Bwikov was only right when he declined to marry a woman who — But need I say it? It is cruel to hear such lies as hers. What is to become of me I do not know. I tremble and sob and weep. Indeed, even to write this letter has cost me two hours. At least it might have been thought that Anna would have confessed HER share in the past. Yet see what she says!... For the love of God do not be anxious about me, my friend, my only benefactor. Thedora is over apt to exaggerate matters. I am not REALLY ill. I have merely caught a little cold. I caught it last night while I was walking to Bolkovo, to hear Mass sung for my mother. Ah, mother, my poor mother! Could you but rise from the grave and learn what is being done to your daughter!

      B. D.

      May 20th

      My dearest little Barbara

      I am sending you a few grapes, which are good for a convalescent person, and strongly recommended by doctors for the allayment of fever. Also, you were saying the other day that you would like some roses; wherefore, I now send you a bunch. Are you at all able to eat, my darling? — for that is the chief point which ought to be seen to. Let us thank God that the past and all its unhappiness are gone! Yes, let us give thanks to Heaven for that much! As for books, I cannot get hold of any, except for a book which, written in excellent style, is, I believe, to be had here. At all events, people keep praising it very much, and I have begged the loan of it for myself. Should you too like to read it? In this respect, indeed, I feel nervous, for the reason that it is so difficult to divine what your taste in books may be, despite my knowledge of your character. Probably you would like poetry — the poetry of sentiment and of love making? Well, I will send you a book of MY OWN poems. Already I have copied out part of the manuscript.

      Everything with me is going well; so pray do not be anxious on my account, beloved. What Thedora told you about me was sheer rubbish. Tell her from me that she has not been speaking the truth. Yes, do not fail to give this mischief-maker my message. It is not the case that I have gone and sold a new uniform. Why should I do so, seeing that I have forty roubles of salary still to come to me? Do not be uneasy, my darling. Thedora is a vindictive woman — merely a vindictive woman. We shall yet see better days. Only do you get well, my angel — only do you get well, for the love of God, lest you grieve an old man. Also, who told you that I was looking thin? Slanders again — nothing but slanders! I am as healthy as could be, and have grown so fat that I am ashamed to be so sleek of paunch. Would that you were equally healthy!... Now goodbye, my angel. I kiss every one of your tiny fingers, and remain ever your constant friend,

      Makar Dievushkin.

      P.S. — But what is this, dearest one, that you have written to me? Why do you place me upon such a pedestal? Moreover, how could I come and visit you frequently? How, I repeat? Of course, I might avail myself of the cover of night; but, alas! the season of the year is what it is, and includes no night time to speak of. In fact, although, throughout your illness and delirium, I scarcely left your side for a moment, I cannot think how I contrived to do the many things that I did. Later, I ceased to visit you at all, for the reason that people were beginning to notice things, and to ask me questions. Yet, even so, a scandal has arisen. Theresa I trust thoroughly, for she is not a talkative woman; but consider how it will be when the truth comes out in its entirety! What THEN will folk not say and think? Nevertheless, be of good cheer, my beloved, and regain your health. When you have done so we will contrive to arrange a rendezvous out of doors.

      June 1st

      My beloved Makar Alexievitch

      So eager am I to do something that will please and divert you in return for your care, for your ceaseless efforts on my behalf — in short, for your love for me — that I have decided to beguile a leisure hour for you by delving into my locker, and extracting thence the manuscript which I send you herewith. I began it during the happier period of my life, and have continued it at intervals since. So often have you asked me about my former existence — about my mother, about Pokrovski, about my sojourn with Anna Thedorovna, about my more recent misfortunes; so often have you expressed an earnest desire to read the manuscript in which (God knows why) I have recorded certain incidents of my life, that I feel no doubt but that the sending of it will give you sincere pleasure. Yet somehow I feel depressed when I read it, for I seem now to have grown twice as old as I was when I penned its concluding lines. Ah, Makar Alexievitch, how weary I am — how this insomnia tortures me! Convalescence is indeed a hard thing to bear!

      B. D.

      1

      Up to the age of fourteen, when my father died, my childhood was the happiest period of my life. It began very far away from here- in the depths of the province of Tula, where my father filled the position of steward on the vast estates of the Prince P—. Our house was situated in one of the Prince’s villages, and we lived a quiet, obscure, but happy, life. A gay little child was I— my one idea being ceaselessly to run about the fields and the woods and the garden. No one ever gave me a thought, for my father was always occupied with business affairs, and my mother with her housekeeping. Nor did any one ever give me any lessons — a circumstance for which I was not sorry. At earliest dawn I would hie me to a pond or a copse, or to a hay or a harvest field, where the sun could warm me, and I could roam wherever I liked, and scratch my hands with bushes, and tear my clothes in pieces. For this I used to get blamed afterwards, but I did not care.

      Had it befallen me never to quit that village — had it befallen me to remain for ever in that spot — I should always have been happy; but fate ordained that I should leave my birthplace even before my girlhood had come to an end. In short, I was only twelve years old when we removed to St. Petersburg. Ah! how it hurts me to recall the mournful gatherings before our departure, and to recall how bitterly I wept when the time came for us to say farewell to all that I had held so dear! I remember throwing myself upon my father’s neck, and beseeching him with tears to stay in the country a little longer; but he bid

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1