Poor Folk and Other Stories (20 page)

I hasten to inform you, my friend, that Ratazyayev has found me work with a certain author. Someone came to see him with a great thick manuscript – praise be to God, it's a lot of work. The only thing is that it's so illegibly written that I can't seem to make much sense of it… They've agreed to pay me forty copecks per printer is sheet. I'm telling you this, my dear, so you will know that we shall now have some extra money. Well, and now goodbye, little mother. I must set straight to work.

It's three days now since I wrote anything to you – but I have had a lot, a lot of troubles, a lot of anxiety.

The day before yesterday Bykov came to see me. I was alone, Fedora had gone off somewhere. I opened the door to him, and was so terrified when I saw him that I could not move from the spot. I could feel myself going pale. He came in as he usually does, with his loud laughter, took a chair and sat down. For a long time I could not summon my wits together; in the end I sat down in the corner with my work. Soon he stopped laughing. I think my appearance shocked him. I have become very thin of late; my cheeks and eyes have grown sunken, and I was as white as a sheet… it would really be quite difficult for someone who had known me a year ago to recognize me now. He looked at me long and fixedly, and then finally cheered up again. He said something or other; I don't remember what I said in reply, but he burst out laughing again. He sat there in my room for a whole hour, talked to me for a long time, asking me about something. Finally, before taking his leave of me, he took me by the hand and said (these were his exact words): ‘Varvara Alekseyevna! Between you and me, Anna Fyodorovna, your relative and my intimate friend and companion, is a very nasty piece of work.' (Here he also used an indecent word to refer to her.) ‘She also led your female cousin astray, and ruined you. As regards myself, I behaved like a cad in that affair, too – but then, it happens every day.' At that point he fairly chortled with laughter. Then he commented that he was no master of eloquence, that he had already told me the most important things which ought to be explained to me and about which the obligations of decency forbade him to remain silent, and that he would proceed to the remaining matters in brief terms only. Here he announced to me that he sought my hand in marriage, that he considered it his duty to restore to me my honour, that he was rich, that after the wedding he would take me away to his village in the steppes, that he wanted to go hare-coursing there; that he would never come back to St Petersburg again, because it was a vile city, that in it he had, as he put it, a ‘no-good nephew' whom he had sworn to deprive of his inheritance, and that it was for this very reason – that of acquiring some lawful inheritors – that he sought my hand, this being the main purpose of his suit.
Then he observed that I was living in very straitened circumstances, that it was no wonder I was ill, living in such a hovel, predicted that I would inevitably die if I were to remain there even one month longer, said that rented accommodation in St Petersburg was vile, and finally asked me if there was anything I wanted.

I was so shocked by his proposal that – I don't know why – I burst into tears. He interpreted this as a sign of gratitude and told me that he had always been convinced I was a goodhearted, sensitive and educated woman, but that he had not been able to bring himself to take this step until he had made detailed enquiries as to my present behaviour. Then he enquired about you, said he had heard all about you, that you were a man of decent principles, that he for his part did not want to be in your debt and asked if five hundred rubles would suffice to pay you for all you had done for me. When I explained to him that what you had done for me could never be paid for in money, he told me that that was just a lot of romantic nonsense, that I was young and read too many poems and novels, that novels were the ruin of young girls, that books were harmful to morality and that he could not endure books of any kind; he advised me to wait until I was his age before making judgements about people. ‘Then you'll have some idea,' he added. Then he told me to think his proposal over carefully, that he would find it very displeasing were I to take such an important step rashly, added that rashness and impulsiveness could be the ruin of inexperienced youth, but that he greatly desired a favourable reply from me, and that if such a reply were not forthcoming he would be compelled to marry a merchant's daughter in Moscow, because, he said, ‘I have sworn to deprive that no-good nephew of mine of his inheritance.' He forced me to accept the five hundred rubles – isweet-money', as he put it; he said that in the country I would ‘grow as round as a doughnut', that in his house I would live in clover, that he had a fearful amount of business to attend to just now, that he trudged around all day seeing to it and that he had dropped in to see me between two appointments. Then he left. I thought for a long time, I rediance on a great many things and went through agonies of indecision as I did so, my friend; and at last I made up my mind. My friend, I am going to marry him. I must accept his proposal. If there is anyone who can save me from my shame, restore to me my honourable reputation, and rescue me from poverty, deprivation and unhappiness, it is him, and him alone. What more can I expect from the future, what more
can I ask of fate? Fedora says one mustn't sacrifice one is happiness. ‘What
is
happiness in a case like this?' she says. At any rate, I can't see another way forward for myself, my precious friend. What would I do? I have ruined my health with work as it is; I cannot work all the time. Become a serving-maid? I would die of misery, and in any case I'd be no good to anyone. I'm sickly by nature, and so I'll always be a burden to others. Of course, I know I'm not exactly going to paradise now, but what else can I do? What choice do I have?

I have not asked you for advice. I wanted to think the matter over by myself. The decision you have just read is unalterable, and I am going to tell Bykov of it forthwith – he is pressing me to make a final decision even as it is. He says his business will not wait, he has to leave town, and he can't postpone it just because of trivia. God knows whether I will be happy, my fate is in His holy, ineffable power, but I have made up my mind. Bykov is said to be a kind man; he will respect me; perhaps I will respect him, too. What more can be expected of our marriage?

I shall keep you informed of everything, Makar Alekseyevich. I am certain that you will understand the full extent of my anguish. Do not seek to deflect me from my intention. Your exertions will be in vain. Try to weigh over in your own heart all the factors that have prompted me to act in this fashion. I was very anxious at first, but now I am calmer. What lies ahead I do not know. What will be, will be; as God decides!…

Bykov has arrived; I am leaving this letter unfinished. There was much more which I wanted to tell you. Bykov is in the room!

I hasten to reply to you, little mother; I hasten to tell you, little mother, that I am amazed. This is somehow all wrong… We buried Gorshkov yesterday. Yes, it is right, Varenka, it is right; Bykov has acted honourably; only you are agreeing to his proposal, my darling. Of course, God is will's in all things; it is right, it must unquestionably be right – that is to say, God's will must be in this; and the providence of the Heavenly Creator is, of course, blessed and unfathomable, and human fates, too – they are the same. And you have the sympathy of Fedora, too. Of course, now you will be happy,
little mother, you will have a sufficiency of everything, my little dove, my little treasure, my beloved, my little angel – only Varenka, why are you doing it so quickly?… Yes, business… Mr Bykov has business to attend to – of course, who hasn't? he is just as likely to have business to attend to as the next person… I saw him as he was leaving the house after seeing you. He's a fine figure of a man, a fine figure of a man; even a very fine figure of a man. It's just that it somehow seems all wrong, it's not really to do with his being a fine figure of a man but rather with the fact that I'm not myself now. It's just that how are we going to write letters to each other now? And I, how am I going to manage alone? My little angel, I'm weighing it all over, all of what you have written to me in your letter; I am weighing them all over in my heart, the reasons you give. I had just finished copying the twentieth printer's sheet, and all the while these happenings had been taking place! Little mother, I mean, here you are setting off on a journey – you'll need to buy various items, like shoes and a dress, and it just so happens that I know of a shop in Gorokhovaya Street; you remember the one – I described it to you before. But no! How can you, little mother, what are you thinking of? I mean, you can't go just now – it's quite impossible, quite out of the question. I mean, you will need to do a great deal of shopping and arrange for a carriage. What's more, the weather is bad just now; just look out of your window – the rain's simply pouring down, and it's such a wetting rain, and you'll… you'll get so cold, my little angel; your little heart will get cold! I mean, you're afraid of strangers, yet here you are setting off with this man. And who will I have once you are gone? I know that Fedora says that great happiness awaits you… but she's an ungovernable woman and she wants to ruin me. Will you be at the all-night service tonight, little mother? I would go merely in order to look at you. It's true, little mother, it's perfectly true that you're an educated woman, virtuous and sensitive – it's just that he'd do better to marry the merchant's daughter! What do you think, little mother? Don't you think that's what he ought to do? As soon as it gets dark I shall look in and see you for a little while, my Varenka. It's getting dark early today, and I shall look in. Little mother, I shall come and see you for a little while today without fail. You'll be waiting for Bykov to arrive now, but when he leaves, then… Just wait, little mother, and I shall look in…

Mr Bykov has said that I must have three dozen linen chemises. So I must find seamstresses to make at least two dozen as quickly as possible, and we have very little time. Mr Bykov keeps losing his temper, saying that I am making far too much of a fuss about'these rags'. Our wedding is in five days' time, and we are to travel the day after. Mr Bykov is in a hurry, he says we mustn't waste so much time on nonsense. I am worn out by all my worries, and can hardly stay on my feet. There is a terrible amount of business to attend to, and I really think it would have been better if this had never come to pass. What is more: we don't have enough silk or lace, so I shall have to buy some, as Mr Bykov says he doesn't want his wife to go around looking like a kitchenmaid, and that I really must ‘wipe those landowners' wives' noses for them'. That's how he puts it. So I wonder, Makar Alekseyevich, if you could please go and see Madame Chiffon on Gorokhovaya Street and ask her a) to send us some seamstresses and b) to make the effort and come and see us herself. I am unwell today. It's so cold in our new apartment, and everything is in such terrible chaos. Mr Bykov's aunt is so old that she is only barely alive. I am afraid she may die before we manage to get away, but Mr Bykov says it is nothing, she will get over it. Everything in our house is in a dreadful state of turmoil. Mr Bykov is not living on the premises, and so the servants have all gone off, God knows where. Sometimes there is only Fedora to attend to our needs: Mr Bykov's valet, who looks after everything, has been missing for three days now. Mr Bykov looks in every morning; he's always in a bad temper and yesterday he administered a beating to the house manager, as a result of which he got into trouble with the police… There has been no one to deliver my letters to you. I am sending this by regular mail. Oh yes! I almost forgot the most important thing. Please tell Madame Chiffon she must change the silk and match it with the pattern we chose yesterday; tell her she must come and show me the new silk she has selected. And tell her also that I have given some thought to the
canezou;
^*
that it needs to be crocheted. And in addition: the letters of the monograms on the handkerchiefs must be done in
tambour à broder
, do you hear?
Tambour
, and not satin-stitch. See you don't forget it is to be
tambourl
Oh, and there's something else I'd almost forgotten: please,
for the love of God, tell her that the leaves on the cape are to be sewn in relief, and the tendrils and thorns in
cordonnet
, and then the collar is to be done in lace or wide furbelows. Please make sure you tell her this, Makar Alekseyevich.