Poor Folk Fyodor Dostoevsky (old books to read .txt) 📖

Poor Folk

By Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Translated by C. J. Hogarth.

Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint April 8th: My Dearest Barbara Alexievna April 8th: My Beloved Makar Alexievitch April 8th: My Dearest Barbara Alexievna April 9th: My Dearest Makar Alexievitch April 12th: Dearest Mistress Barbara Alexievna April 25th: My Dearest Makar Alexievitch May 20th: My Dearest Little Barbara June 1st: My Beloved Makar Alexievitch I II June 11th: How I Thank You for Our Walk to the Islands Yesterday, Makar Alexievitch! June 12th: My Dearest Barbara Alexievna June 20th: My Dearest Makar Alexievitch June 21st: My Own, My Darling June 22nd: My Dearest Barbara Alexievna June 25th: My Beloved Makar Alexievitch June 26th: My Dear Little Barbara June 27th: My Dearest Makar Alexievitch June 28th: My Dearest Barbara Alexievna My Dear Makar Alexievitch July 1st: Rubbish, Rubbish, Barbara! My Dearest Makar Alexievitch July 7th: My Dearest Barbara Alexievna July 8th: My Dearest Barbara Alexievna July 27th: My Dearest Makar Alexievitch July 28th: My Priceless Barbara Alexievna July 28th: Dearest Little Barbara July 29th: My Dearest Makar Alexievitch August 1st: My Darling Barbara Alexievna August 2nd: My Dearest Makar Alexievitch August 3rd: My Angel, Barbara Alexievna August 4th: My Beloved Makar Alexievitch August 4th: My Beloved Barbara Alexievna August 5th: Dearest Makar Alexievitch August 5th: My Darling Little Barbara August 11th: O Barbara Alexievna, I Am Undone August 13th: My Beloved Makar Alexievitch August 14th: What Is the Matter with You, Makar Alexievitch? August 19th: My Dearest Barbara Alexievna August 21st: My Dear and Kind Barbara Alexievna September 3rd: The Reason Why I Did Not Finish My Last Letter, Makar Alexievitch, Was That I Found It So Difficult to Write September 5th: My Beloved Barbara September 9th: My Dearest Barbara Alexievna September 10th: My Beloved Makar Alexievitch September 11th: My Darling Barbara Alexievna September 15th: My Dearest Makar Alexievitch September 18th: My Beloved Barbara Alexievna September 19th: My Beloved Barbara Alexievna September 23rd: My Dearest Makar Alexievitch September 23rd: My Beloved Barbara Alexievna September 27th: Dear Makar Alexievitch September 27th: My Beloved Barbara Alexievna September 28th: My Dearest Makar Alexievitch September 28th: My Beloved Barbara Alexievna September 29th: My Own Barbara Alexievna September 30th: My Beloved Makar Alexievitch Beloved Barbara—My Jewel, My Priceless One Endnotes Colophon Uncopyright Imprint

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April 8th: My Dearest Barbara Alexievna

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