Poor Folk by Fyodor Dostoevsky

This is Dostoevsky’s first novel, written when he was 24.  The story consists of the correspondence between two people in love and their struggle, along with those around them, to drag themselves out of their current condition.  It is amazing to think of his age and see the understanding he has for people of all ages and classes.  What a terribly sad story.

At last I guessed what he wanted.  He was begging me to draw up the window curtain and open the shutters.  No doubt he wanted to look for the last time at the day, at God’s light, at the sunshine.  I drew back the curtain, but the dawning day was sad and melancholy as the poor failing life of the dying man.  There was no sun.  The clouds covered the sky with a shroud of mist; it was rainy, overcast, mournful.  A fine rain was pattering on the window-panes and washing them with little rivulets of cold dirty water; it was dark and dingy.  The pale daylight scarcely penetrated into the room and hardly rivalled the flickering flame of the little lamp lighted before the ikon.  The dying man glanced at me mournfully, mournfully and shook his head; a minute later he died.