Poor Folk and Other Stories (15 page)

Please don't give in to despair! There is enough trouble already as it is. I am sending you thirty copecks in silver; more than that I cannot manage. Buy yourself the things you need most, so that at least you can survive until tomorrow. We ourselves have practically nothing left, and I do not know what will happen tomorrow. It is so sad, Makar Alekseyevich! But don't
you
be sad; if you haven't succeeded, there is nothing to be done about it. Fedora says that it is not a complete disaster, that we can stay on in this apartment for a while yet, that even if we moved we wouldn't gain that much by it, and that if they really put their minds to it they can find us wherever we are. It is just that I don't feel very good about staying on here now. If I didn't feel so sad I would write to you about a few things.

What a strange character you are, Makar Alekseyevich! You take
everything too much to heart; because of that, you will always be a most unhappy man. I always read your letters very closely, and I see that in each one of them you show a worry and concern about me such as you have never shown about yourself. People will, of course, say that you have a good heart, but to that I will reply that it is too good. Let me give you a piece of friendly advice, Makar Alekseyevich. I am grateful to you, very grateful for all that you have done for me, I am deeply appreciative of it; so imagine what I feel like when I see that even now, after all the calamities which have befallen you, and of which I have been the involuntary cause, you are still living exclusively through me: my joys, my griefs, my emotions! If you take someone else is experiences so much to heart and have such a strong degree of sympathy with them all, you will end up a most unhappy man. Today when you came into my room after you had returned from the office I felt afraid. You were so pale, so frightened, so despairing: you looked awful – and all because you were afraid to tell me that you had failed, afraid of upsetting me or alarming me. And when you saw that I was almost on the point of laughing, your spirits lifted at once. Makar Alekseyevich! Don't be so miserable, don't give in to despair, be more sensible – I beg you, I implore you. Look at it this way: everything will be all right, everything will work out for the best; otherwise it will be so hard for you to go on living, forever downcast and tormented by other people is suffering. Goodbye, my friend; I beg you not to worry so much about me.

Well, that is fine, my little angel, that's fine! You have decided that it is not a complete disaster, my failure to get the money. Well, that's fine, my mind is at rest, I am happy on your account. I am even glad that you are not going to abandon me, old man that I am, and that you will remain in your present apartment. In fact, to tell you the truth, my heart overflowed with joy when I read all the nice things you said about me in your letter and saw how you rendered my feelings the praise that was due. I say this not out of pride, but because I can see how you must love me, if you are so worried about
my feelings. Well, that's fine; what is there to be said about feelings, in any case? Feelings do as they will; but then, little mother, you also tell me not to be faint-hearted. Yes, my little angel, indeed, I am the first to admit that it is no good being faint-hearted; yet for all that, see for yourself, little mother, what manner of boots I must wear to the office tomorrow! There's the rub, little mother; but I mean, a thought like that can crush a man, crush him totally. But the main thing, my darling, is that it is not myself I am grieving for, not myself for whose sake I am suffering; it is all the same to me, I'll go around without an overcoat in the biting frost and manage without boots, I'll suffer it and put up with it, I don't mind; I'm an ordinary man, a little man – but what will people say? My enemies, all these evil tongues, what will they say if I go around with no overcoat on? After all, one wears an overcoat for the sake of other people, and the same is true of boots. I need boots, little mother, my darling, in order to maintain my honour and my good name; if my boots have holes in them, I can say goodbye to both the one and the other – believe me, little mother, and trust in my many years of experience; listen to me, an old man who knows the world and its inhabitants, listen to me, and not to scribblers and scrawlers.

I have not yet given you a full account, little mother, of all that happened today, and of what I have been through. I suffered more mental agony in one morning than many men endure in the course of a year. This is what happened: in the first place, I set off at the crack of dawn, in order to catch him and then be in time for the office. What rain, what sleet there was this morning! I wrapped myself up in my overcoat, my dear, I trudged on and on, thinking to myself all the while: ‘Lord, forgive me my transgressions and grant the fulfilment of my desires!' As I was passing St X's. Church, I made the sign of the cross over myself, repented of all my sins and rediance that it was unworthy of me to try to do business with the Lord God. I was absorbed in myself, and had no wish to look at anything; thus I trudged on, not really noticing where I was going. The streets were deserted, and the few people I did run into looked worried and preoccupied, and no wonder: who would go out for a walk so early and in weather like that? I came upon a gang of dirty workmen; they shoved me, the peasants! I was attacked by a sense of fear, a sinking feeling came over me, to tell you the truth, I didn't want to think about the money – let chance decide! Just as I was about to cross Voskresensky Bridge the sole of one of my boots fell
off, and I don't really know how I managed to walk any further. At that point I saw Yermolayev, one of the clerks in our office, coming in my direction. He came to a halt, stiffened up and followed me with his gaze, as though he were begging for money to buy vodka; ‘Eh, old chap,' I thought, ‘vodka? Where'll you get vodka round here?' I was horribly tired. I stopped, rested for a bit, and then plodded onwards. I searched about for something on which to fasten my thoughts, to provide myself with a diversion, to cheer myself up: but no – not one of my thoughts could find anything to adhere to, and moreover I got so muddy that I was ashamed of myself. At last in the distance I saw a yellow wooden house with an attic turret like a belvedere – ‘Well,' I thought,'that's it, that's how Yemelyan Ivanovich described it – Markov is house.' (This Markov is the man who lends money, little mother.) By that time I was in a bit of a daze; I mean, I knew it was Markov is house, but even so I asked the policeman who was on duty there: ‘Whose house is this, officer?' The policeman was a rude fellow, spoke as though it was an effort to do so, as though he were angry at someone, through his teeth: ‘Whose house is it?' he said. ‘It's Markov is house, of course.' These policemen are all such insensitive fellows – though what do I care about policemen? But from then on everything seemed all wrong and unpleasant, just one bad thing after another; it is as though one picked up in everything only those impressions that are concordant with one is state of mind, and it is always like that. I walked up and down outside the house three times, and the longer I walked, the worse I felt. ‘No,' I thought, ‘he won't lend me the money, never in a million years will he lend it to me. I'm a stranger to him, my request is a ticklish one, and I don't look right. Well,' I thought, ‘let fate decide; as long as I don't feel like kicking myself afterwards; he won't eat me just for trying.' And I quietly opened the gate. Then another misfortune befell me: I was set upon by a stupid, wretched watchdog; it was practically jumping out of its skin, barking as loudly as it could! Vile, trivial incidents like that that always infuriate a man, little mother, they take away his self-confidence and undermine all the determination he has summoned up beforehand; so I entered the house more dead than alive, and walked straight into yet another misfortune – unable to see in the darkness that surrounded the front entrance, I tripped and fell over some peasant woman who was straining milk from a pail into some jugs, and all the milk got spilt. The stupid woman began to shriek and chatter, saying
‘Where do you think you're going, my fellow, what is it you want?' Then she started wailing something about the evil one. I include this in my account, little mother, because this kind of thing always happens to me in this kind of situation; it seems to be written in my stars; I unfailingly get bogged down in something irrelevant. Hearing the noise, an old witch of a Finnish landlady stuck her head out of the door, and I went straight up to her: ‘Does Markov live here?' I said. ‘No,' she said; she stood there giving me a good look over. ‘What do you want with him?' I told her this and that, saying that Yemelyan Ivanovich had – well, and all the rest of it – I said I'd come on business. The old woman called her daughter – a grown girl who was barefoot – ‘Go and get your father; he is upstairs with the lodgers,' she said to her. To me she said, ‘Come in.' I went inside. The room wasn't too bad, there were pictures on the walls, all portraits of generals; there was a sofa, a round table, a spray of mignonette, some little pots of balsam – I had a good think, and wondered whether I oughtn't to just clear off and make no bones about it. And I mean, oh, little mother, I really wanted to take flight!‘I'd do better to come back tomorrow,' I thought;'the weather will be better then, why don't I wait for a bit? Today the milk is been spilt, and those generals look a bit stroppy to me…' I was already at the door when he came in – a grey-haired little fellow with furtive little eyes, dressed in a grease-stained dressing-gown tied at the waist with a piece of rope. He inquired the reason for my visit, and I said that Yemelyan Ivanovich had told me one thing and another, and that it was a question of forty rubles, but I couldn't get to the end of it. I could see from his eyes that my cause was a lost one. ‘We can't do business,' he said, ‘I've no money; do you have any security?' I started to explain that I hadn't any security, but that Yemelyan Ivanovich – in short, I explained what I wanted. When he had heard everything, he said: ‘Never mind what Yemelyan Ivanovich told you – the fact is, I've no money.' ‘Well,' I thought,'that is it, then; I knew this was how it was going to be, I could sense it.' Oh, Varenka, I wished the earth would swallow me up; I felt so cold, my legs were stiff with it, and the goosepimples ran up and down my spine. I looked at him, and he looked at me, and I could see he was more or less saying: ‘All right, brother, now be off with you – there is nothing for you here.' I mean, if the same thing had happened in different circumstances, I'd have felt utterly ashamed of myself. ‘What do you need the money for, anyway?' he asked. (He actually asked that,
little mother!) I opened my mouth, if only to avoid standing there to no purpose like that, but he cut in before I could speak. ‘No,' he said. ‘I've no money; if I had, I'd have lent you some with pleasure.' Then I began to press my case, told him it was only a little money I needed, said I would pay it back on time, that he could name any percentage of interest he liked, and swore to God I would pay back the full amount. At that moment I mentioned you, little mother, I mentioned all your misfortunes and privations, I mentioned the fifty copecks you had sent me – ‘No,' he said. ‘What good is interest? Now if you had some security! But in any case, I've no money, I swear to God and truly I haven't; I'd have lent you some with pleasure.' He took the Lord is name in vain, too, the scoundrel!

Well, my dear, I don't really remember how I got out of that place, how I managed to cross Vyborg Street and get on to Voskresensky Bridge. I was horribly tired, was chilled to the bone and it was ten o'clock before I managed to report for work. I wanted to brush some of the mud off me, but Snegiryov the caretaker wouldn't let me: ‘You'd ruin the brush, master, and it's government property,' he said. That is the way they all behave now, little mother. To these people I'm no better than a rag for them to wipe their boots on. Do you know what it is that breaks my spirit, Varenka? It is not the money, it is all these everyday worries, all these whispers, smiles, jokes. Apparently it is possible that His Excellency may concern himself with my particulars – Oh, little mother, my golden days have passed forever! Today I reread all your letters; it made me so sad, little mother! Goodbye, my darling, may the Lord preserve you!

Varvara Alekseyevna! Little mother, my dove! I am lost, we are both lost, both of us together, irretrievably lost. My reputation, mypride – allgone. It is the end of me, and the end of you, little mother,
it is the irreversible end of both of us together! And it is I, I who have brought you to this! They are persecuting me, little mother, they treat me with contempt, hold me up to ridicule, and the landlady has simply begun to abuse me; she has been shouting and shouting at me today, she railed and railed at me, reduced me to the lowest of the low. And this evening in Ratazyayev is room one of them began reading out the draft of a letter I'd written you, it had somehow fallen out of my pocket. Mother of mine, what a feast of derision they had over it! They named us, they named us out loud and hooted with laughter, the traitors! I went into the room where they were and accused Ratazyayev of treachery; I told him he was a traitor. Ratazyayev replied that I myself was a traitor, that I spent my time with ‘various conquests': ‘You've been hiding it from us,' he said. ‘You're a Lovelace. ‘
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And now they all call me ‘Lovelace', and won't address me by any other name! Do you hear, my little angel, do you hear? Now they know everything, they have all the facts, they know about you, my darling, they know about all your personal matters, they know it all! Why, even Faldoni was there, and he is in cahoots with them; I sent him out to the sausage-shop to buy something; he simply refused to go; ‘I'm busy,' he said. ‘But you're obliged to,' I said. ‘Oh no, I'm not,' he said; ‘you haven't paid my mistress her rent, so I'm not obliged to you.' I wasn't going to have an uneducated peasant insulting me, and I told him he was a fool; to which he replied: ‘And you're another one.' I think he must have been drunk, to say such an offensive thing to me – and indeed I said to him: ‘You're drunk, you peasant!' To which he replied: ‘Well, if I am it is not at your expense, you haven't got enough money to get drunk yourself; you even go begging for a few copecks from some woman or other.' And then he added: ‘And you're a gentleman, too!' You see what it has come to, little mother? I'm ashamed to go on living, Varenka! Like some kind of outcast; worse than a vagrant without a passport. It is a terrible disaster! -it is the end of me, quite simply the end! The irreversible end!