September 9th.
MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,--I am beside myself as I take up my
pen, for a most terrible thing has happened. My head is whirling
round. Ah, beloved, how am I to tell you about it all? I had
never foreseen what has happened. But no-- I cannot say that I
had NEVER foreseen it, for my mind DID get an inkling of what was
coming, through my seeing something very similar to it in a
dream.
I will tell you the whole story--simply, and as God may put it
into my heart. Today I went to the office as usual, and, upon
arrival, sat down to write. You must know that I had been engaged
on the same sort of work yesterday, and that, while executing it,
I had been approached by Timothei Ivanovitch with an urgent
request for a particular document. "Makar Alexievitch," he had
said, "pray copy this out for me. Copy it as quickly and as
carefully as you can, for it will require to be signed today."
Also let me tell you, dearest, that yesterday I had not been
feeling myself, nor able to look at anything. I had been troubled
with grave depression--my breast had felt chilled, and my head
clouded. All the while I had been thinking of you, my darling.
Well, I set to work upon the copying, and executed it cleanly and
well, except for the fact that, whether the devil confused my
mind, or a mysterious fate so ordained, or the occurrence was
simply bound to happen, I left out a whole line of the document,
and thus made nonsense of it! The work had been given me too late
for signature last night, so it went before his Excellency this
morning. I reached the office at my usual hour, and sat down
beside Emelia Ivanovitch. Here I may remark that for a long time
past I have been feeling twice as shy and diffident as I used to
do; I have been finding it impossible to look people in the face.
Let only a chair creak, and I become more dead than alive. Today,
therefore, I crept humbly to my seat and sat down in such a
crouching posture that Efim Akimovitch (the most touchy man in
the world) said to me sotto voce: "What on earth makes you sit
like that, Makar Alexievitch?" Then he pulled such a grimace that
everyone near us rocked with laughter at my expense. I stopped my
ears, frowned, and sat without moving, for I found this the best
method of putting a stop to such merriment. All at once I heard a
bustle and a commotion and the sound of someone running towards
us. Did my ears deceive me? It was I who was being summoned in
peremptory tones! My heart started to tremble within me, though I
could not say why. I only know that never in my life before had
it trembled as it did then. Still I clung to my chair- -and at
that moment was hardly myself at all. The voices were coming
nearer and nearer, until they were shouting in my ear:
"Dievushkin! Dievushkin! Where is Dievushkin?" Then at length I
raised my eyes, and saw before me Evstafi Ivanovitch. He said to
me: "Makar Alexievitch, go at once to his Excellency. You have
made a mistake in a document." That was all, but it was enough,
was it not? I felt dead and cold as ice--I felt absolutely
deprived of the power of sensation; but, I rose from my seat and
went whither I had been bidden. Through one room, through two
rooms, through three rooms I passed, until I was conducted into
his Excellency's cabinet itself. Of my thoughts at that moment I
can give no exact account. I merely saw his Excellency standing
before me, with a knot of people around him. I have an idea that
I did not salute him--that I forgot to do so. Indeed, so panic-
stricken was I, that my teeth were chattering and my knees
knocking together. In the first place, I was greatly ashamed of
my appearance (a glance into a mirror on the right had frightened
me with the reflection of myself that it presented), and, in the
second place, I had always been accustomed to comport myself as
though no such person as I existed. Probably his Excellency had
never before known that I was even alive. Of course, he might
have heard, in passing, that there was a man named Dievushkin in
his department; but never for a moment had he had any intercourse
with me.
He began angrily: "What is this you have done, sir? Why are you
not more careful? The document was wanted in a hurry, and you
have gone and spoiled it. What do you think of it?"--the last
being addressed to Evstafi Ivanovitch. More I did not hear,
except for some flying exclamations of "What negligence and
carelessness! How awkward this is!" and so on. I opened my mouth
to say something or other; I tried to beg pardon, but could not.
To attempt to leave the room, I had not the hardihood. Then there
happened something the recollection of which causes the pen to
tremble in my hand with shame. A button of mine--the devil take
it!--a button of mine that was hanging by a single thread
suddenly broke off, and hopped and skipped and rattled and rolled
until it had reached the feet of his Excellency himself--this
amid a profound general silence! THAT was what came of my
intended self-justification and plea for mercy! THAT was the only
answer that I had to return to my chief!
The sequel I shudder to relate. At once his Excellency's
attention became drawn to my figure and costume. I remembered
what I had seen in the mirror, and hastened to pursue the button.
Obstinacy of a sort seized upon me, and I did my best to arrest
the thing, but it slipped away, and kept turning over and over,
so that I could not grasp it, and made a sad spectacle of myself
with my awkwardness. Then there came over me a feeling that my
last remaining strength was about to leave me, and that all, all
was lost--reputation, manhood, everything! In both ears I seemed
to hear the voices of Theresa and Phaldoni. At length, however, I
grasped the button, and, raising and straightening myself, stood
humbly with clasped hands--looking a veritable fool! But no.
First of all I tried to attach the button to the ragged threads,
and smiled each time that it broke away from them, and smiled
again. In the beginning his Excellency had turned away, but now
he threw me another glance, and I heard him say to Evstafi
Ivanovitch: "What on earth is the matter with the fellow? Look at
the figure he cuts! Who to God is he? Ah, beloved, only to hear
that, "Who to God is he? Truly I had made myself a marked man! In
reply to his Excellency Evstafi murmured: "He is no one of any
note, though his character is good. Besides, his salary is
sufficient as the scale goes." "Very well, then; but help him out
of his difficulties somehow," said his Excellency. "Give him a
trifle of salary in advance." "It is all forestalled," was the
reply. "He drew it some time ago. But his record is good. There
is nothing against him." At this I felt as though I were in Hell
fire. I could actually have died! "Well, well," said his
Excellency, "let him copy out the document a second time.
Dievushkin, come here. You are to make another copy of this
paper, and to make it as quickly as possible." With that he
turned to some other officials present, issued to them a few
orders, and the company dispersed. No sooner had they done so
than his Excellency hurriedly pulled out a pocket-book, took
thence a note for a hundred roubles, and, with the words, "Take
this. It is as much as I can afford. Treat it as you like,"
placed the money in my hand! At this, dearest, I started and
trembled, for I was moved to my very soul. What next I did I
hardly know, except that I know that I seized his Excellency by
the hand. But he only grew very red, and then--no, I am not
departing by a hair's-breadth from the truth--it is true-- that
he took this unworthy hand in his, and shook it! Yes, he took
this hand of mine in his, and shook it, as though I had been his
equal, as though I had been a general like himself! "Go now," he
said. "This is all that I can do for you. Make no further
mistakes, and I will overlook your fault."
What I think about it is this: I beg of you and of Thedora, and
had I any children I should beg of them also, to pray ever to God
for his Excellency. I should say to my children: "For your father
you need not pray; but for his Excellency, I bid you pray until
your lives shall end." Yes, dear one--I tell you this in all
solemnity, so hearken well unto my words--that though, during
these cruel days of our adversity, I have nearly died of distress
of soul at the sight of you and your poverty, as well as at the
sight of myself and my abasement and helplessness, I yet care
less for the hundred roubles which his Excellency has given me
than for the fact that he was good enough to take the hand of a
wretched drunkard in his own and press it. By that act he
restored me to myself. By that act he revived my courage, he made
life forever sweet to me. . . . Yes, sure am I that, sinner
though I be before the Almighty, my prayers for the happiness and
prosperity of his Excellency will yet ascend to the Heavenly
Throne! . . .
But, my darling, for the moment I am terribly agitated and
distraught. My heart is beating as though it would burst my
breast, and all my body seems weak. . . . I send you forty-five
roubles in notes. Another twenty I shall give to my landlady, and
the remaining thirty-five I shall keep--twenty for new clothes
and fifteen for actual living expenses. But these experiences of
the morning have shaken me to the core, and I must rest awhile.
It is quiet, very quiet, here. My breath is coming in jerks--deep
down in my breast I can hear it sobbing and trembling. . . . I
will come and see you soon, but at the moment my head is aching
with these various sensations. God sees all things, my darling,
my priceless treasure!--Your steadfast friend,
MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN.
September 10th.
MY BELOVED MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,--I am unspeakably rejoiced at your
good fortune, and fully appreciate the kindness of your superior.
Now, take a rest from your cares. Only do not AGAIN spend money
to no advantage. Live as quietly and as frugally as possible, and
from today begin always to set aside something, lest misfortune
again overtake you. Do not, for God's sake, worry yourself--
Thedora and I will get on somehow. Why have you sent me so much
money? I really do not need it--what I had already would have
been quite sufficient. True, I shall soon be needing further
funds if I am to leave these lodgings, but Thedora is hoping
before long to receive repayment of an old debt. Of course, at
least TWENTY roubles will have to be set aside for indispensable
requirements, but theremainder shall be returned to you. Pray
take care of it, Makar Alexievitch. Now, goodbye. May your life
continue peacefully, and may you preserve your health and
spirits. I would have written to you at greater length had I not
felt so terribly weary. Yesterday I never left my bed. I am glad
that you have promised to come and see me. Yes, you MUST pay me a
visit.
B. D.
September 11th.
MY DARLING BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,--I implore you not to leave me now
that I am once more happy and contented. Disregard what Thedora
says, and I will do anything in the world for you. I will behave
myself better, even if only out of respect for his Excellency,
and guard my every action. Once more we will exchange cheerful
letters with one another, and make mutual confidence of our
thoughts and joys and sorrows (if so be that we shall know any
more sorrows?). Yes, we will live twice as happily and
comfortably as of old. Also, we will exchange books. . . . Angel
of my heart, a great change has taken place in my fortunes--a
change very much for the better. My landlady has become more
accommodating; Theresa has recovered her senses; even Phaldoni
springs to do my bidding. Likewise, I have made my peace with
Rataziaev. He came to see me of his own accord, the moment that
he heard the glad tidings. There can be no doubt that he is a
good fellow, that there is no truth in the slanders that one
hears of him. For one thing, I have discovered that he never had
any intention of putting me and yourself into a book. This he
told me himself, and then read to me his latest work. As for his
calling me "Lovelace," he had intended no rudeness or indecency
thereby. The term is merely one of foreign derivation, meaning a
clever fellow, or, in more literary and elegant language, a
gentleman with whom one must reckon. That is all; it was a mere
harmless jest, my beloved. Only ignorance made me lose my temper,
and I have expressed to him my regret. . . . How beautiful is the
weather today, my little Barbara! True, there was a slight frost
in the early morning, as though scattered through a sieve, but it
was nothing, and the breeze soon freshened the air. I went out to
buy some shoes, and obtained a splendid pair. Then, after a
stroll along the Nevski Prospect, I read "The Daily Bee". This
reminds me that I have forgotten to tell you the most important
thing of all. It happened like this:
This morning I had a talk with Emelia Ivanovitch and Aksenti
Michaelovitch concerning his Excellency. Apparently, I am not the
only person to whom he has acted kindly and been charitable, for
he is known to the whole world for his goodness of heart. In many
quarters his praises are to be heard; in many quarters he has
called forth tears of gratitude. Among other things, he undertook
the care of an orphaned girl, and married her to an official, the
son of a poor widow, and found this man place in a certain
chancellory, and in other ways benefited him. Well, dearest, I
considered it to be my duty to add my mite by publishing abroad
the story of his Excellency's gracious treatment of myself.
Accordingly, I related the whole occurrence to my interlocutors,
and concealed not a single detail. In fact, I put my pride into
my pocket--though why should I feel ashamed of having been elated
by such an occurrence? "Let it only be noised afield," said I to
myself, and it will resound greatly to his Excellency's credit.--
So I expressed myself enthusiastically on the subject and never
faltered. On the contrary, I felt proud to have such a story to
tell. I referred to every one concerned (except to yourself, of
course, dearest)--to my landlady, to Phaldoni, to Rataziaev, to
Markov. I even mentioned the matter of my shoes! Some of those
standing by laughed--in fact every one present did so, but
probably it was my own figure or the incident of my shoes--more
particularly the latter--that excited merriment, for I am sure it
was not meant ill-naturedly. My hearers may have been young men,
or well off; certainly they cannot have been laughing with evil
intent at what I had said. Anything against his Excellency CANNOT
have been in their thoughts. Eh, Barbara?
Even now I cannot wholly collect my faculties, so upset am I by
recent events. . . . Have you any fuel to go on with, Barbara?
You must not expose yourself to cold. Also, you have depressed my
spirits with your fears for the future. Daily I pray to God on
your behalf. Ah, HOW I pray to Him! . . . Likewise, have you any
woollen stockings to wear, and warm clothes generally? Mind you,
if there is anything you need, you must not hurt an old man's
feelings by failing to apply to him for what you require. The bad
times are gone now, and the future is looking bright and fair.
But what bad times they were, Barbara, even though they be gone,
and can no longer matter! As the years pass on we shall gradually
recover ourselves. How clearly I remember my youth! In those days
I never had a kopeck to spare. Yet, cold and hungry though I was,
I was always light-hearted. In the morning I would walk the
Nevski Prospect, and meet nice-looking people, and be happy all
day. Yes, it was a glorious, a glorious time! It was good to be
alive, especially in St. Petersburg. Yet it is but yesterday that
I was beseeching God with tears to pardon me my sins during the
late sorrowful period--to pardon me my murmurings and evil
thoughts and gambling and drunkenness. And you I remembered in my
prayers, for you alone have encouraged and comforted me, you
alone have given me advice and instruction. I shall never forget
that, dearest. Today I gave each one of your letters a kiss. . .
. Goodbye, beloved. I have been told that there is going to be a
sale of clothing somewhere in this neighbourhood. Once more
goodbye, goodbye, my angel-Yours in heart and soul,
MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN.
September 15th.
MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,--I am in terrible distress. I feel
sure that something is about to happen. The matter, my beloved
friend, is that Monsieur Bwikov is again in St. Petersburg, for
Thedora has met him. He was driving along in a drozhki, but, on
meeting Thedora, he ordered the coachman to stop, sprang out, and
inquired of her where she was living; but this she would not tell
him. Next, he said with a smile that he knew quite well who was
living with her (evidently Anna Thedorovna had told him);
whereupon Thedora could hold out no longer, but then and there,
in the street, railed at and abused him--telling him that he was
an immoral man, and the cause of all my misfortunes. To this he
replied that a person who did not possess a groat must surely be
rather badly off; to which Thedora retorted that I could always
either live by the labour of my hands or marry--that it was not
so much a question of my losing posts as of my losing my
happiness, the ruin of which had led almost to my death. In reply
he observed that, though I was still quite young, I seemed to
have lost my wits, and that my "virtue appeared to be under a
cloud" (I quote his exact words). Both I and Thedora had thought
that he does not know where I live; but, last night, just as I
had left the house to make a few purchases in the Gostinni Dvor,
he appeared at our rooms (evidently he had not wanted to find me
at home), and put many questions to Thedora concerning our way of
living. Then, after inspecting my work, he wound up with: "Who is
this tchinovnik friend of yours?" At the moment you happened to
be passing through the courtyard, so Thedora pointed you out, and
the man peered at you, and laughed. Thedora next asked him to
depart--telling him that I was still ill from grief, and that it
would give me great pain to see him there; to which, after a
pause, he replied that he had come because he had had nothing
better to do. Also, he was for giving Thedora twenty-five
roubles, but, of course, she declined them. What does it all
mean? Why has he paid this visit? I cannot understand his getting
to know about me. I am lost in conjecture. Thedora, however, says
that Aksinia, her sister-in-law (who sometimes comes to see her),
is acquainted with a laundress named Nastasia, and that this
woman has a cousin in the position of watchman to a department of
which a certain friend of Anna Thedorovna's nephew forms one of
the staff. Can it be, therefore, that an intrigue has been
hatched through THIS channel? But Thedora may be entirely
mistaken. We hardly know what to think. What if he should come
again? The very thought terrifies me. When Thedora told me of
this last night such terror seized upon me that I almost swooned
away. What can the man be wanting? At all events, I refuse to
know such people. What have they to do with my wretched self? Ah,
how I am haunted with anxiety, for every moment I keep thinking
that Bwikov is at hand! WHAT will become of me? WHAT MORE has
fate in store for me? For Christ's sake come and see me, Makar
Alexievitch! For Christ's sake come and see me soon!
September 18th.
MY BELOVED BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,--Today there took place in this
house a most lamentable, a most mysterious, a most unlooked-for
occurrence. First of all, let me tell you that poor Gorshkov has
been entirely absolved of guilt. The decision has been long in
coming, but this morning he went to hear the final resolution
read. It was entirely in his favour. Any culpability which had
been imputed to him for negligence and irregularity was removed
by the resolution. Likewise, he was authorised to recover of the
merchant a large sum of money. Thus, he stands entirely
justified, and has had his character cleansed from all stain. In
short, he could not have wished for a more complete vindication.
When he arrived home at three o'clock he was looking as white as
a sheet, and his lips were quivering. Yet there was a smile on
his face as he embraced his wife and children. In a body the rest
of us ran to congratulate him, and he was greatly moved by the
act. Bowing to us, he pressed our hands in turn. As he did so I
thought, somehow, that he seemed to have grown taller and
straighter, and that the pus-drops seemed to have disappeared
from his eyelashes. Yet how agitated he was, poor fellow! He
could not rest quietly for two minutes together, but kept picking
up and then dropping whatsoever came to his hand, and bowing and
smiling without intermission, and sitting down and getting up,
and again sitting down, and chattering God only knows what about
his honour and his good name and his little ones. How he did
talk--yes, and weep too! Indeed, few of ourselves could refrain
from tears; although Rataziaev remarked (probably to encourage
Gorshkov) that honour mattered nothing when one had nothing to
eat, and that money was the chief thing in the world, and that
for it alone ought God to be thanked. Then he slapped Gorshkov on
the shoulder, but I thought that Gorshkov somehow seemed hurt at
this. He did not express any open displeasure, but threw
Rataziaev a curious look, and removed his hand from his shoulder.
ONCE upon a time he would not have acted thus; but characters
differ. For example, I myself should have hesitated, at such a
season of rejoicing, to seem proud, even though excessive
deference and civility at such a moment might have been construed
as a lapse both of moral courage and of mental vigour. However,
this is none of my business. All that Gorshkov said was: "Yes,
money IS a good thing, glory be to God!" In fact, the whole time
that we remained in his room he kept repeating to himself: "Glory
be to God, glory be to God!" His wife ordered a richer and more
delicate meal than usual, and the landlady herself cooked it, for
at heart she is not a bad woman. But until the meal was served
Gorshkov could not remain still. He kept entering everyone's room
in turn (whether invited thither or not), and, seating himself
smilingly upon a chair, would sometimes say something, and
sometimes not utter a word, but get up and go out again. In the
naval officer's room he even took a pack of playing-cards into
his hand, and was thereupon invited to make a fourth in a game;
but after losing a few times, as well as making several blunders
in his play, he abandoned the pursuit. "No," said he, "that is
the sort of man that I am--that is all that I am good for," and
departed. Next, encountering myself in the corridor, he took my
hands in his, and gazed into my face with a rather curious air.
Then he pressed my hands again, and moved away still smiling,
smiling, but in an odd, weary sort of manner, much as a corpse
might smile. Meanwhile his wife was weeping for joy, and
everything in their room was decked in holiday guise. Presently
dinner was served, and after they had dined Gorshkov said to his
wife: "See now, dearest, I am going to rest a little while;" and
with that went to bed. Presently he called his little daughter to
his side, and, laying his hand upon the child's head, lay a long
while looking at her. Then he turned to his wife again, and asked
her: "What of Petinka? Where is our Petinka?" whereupon his wife
crossed herself, and replied: "Why, our Petinka is dead!" "Yes,
yes, I know--of course," said her husband. "Petinka is now in the
Kingdom of Heaven." This showed his wife that her husband was not
quite in his right senses--that the recent occurrence had upset
him; so she said: "My dearest, you must sleep awhile." "I will do
so," he replied, "--at once--I am rather--" And he turned over,
and lay silent for a time. Then again he turned round and tried
to say something, but his wife could not hear what it was. "What
do you say?" she inquired, but he made no reply. Then again she
waited a few moments until she thought to herself, "He has gone
to sleep," and departed to spend an hour with the landlady. At
the end of that hour she returned-- only to find that her husband
had not yet awoken, but was still lying motionless. "He is
sleeping very soundly," she reflected as she sat down and began
to work at something or other. Since then she has told us that
when half an hour or so had elapsed she fell into a reverie.
What she was thinking of she cannot remember, save that she had
forgotten altogether about her husband. Then she awoke with a
curious sort of sensation at her heart. The first thing that
struck her was the deathlike stillness of the room. Glancing at
the bed, she perceived her husband to be lying in the same
position as before. Thereupon she approached him, turned the
coverlet back, and saw that he was stiff and cold-- that he had
died suddenly, as though smitten with a stroke. But of what
precisely he died God only knows. The affair has so terribly
impressed me that even now I cannot fully collect my thoughts. It
would scarcely be believed that a human being could die so
simply--and he such a poor, needy wretch, this Gorshkov! What a
fate, what a fate, to be sure! His wife is plunged in tears and
panic-stricken, while his little daughter has run away somewhere
to hide herself. In their room, however, all is bustle and
confusion, for the doctors are about to make an autopsy on the
corpse. But I cannot tell you things for certain; I only know
that I am most grieved, most grieved. How sad to think that one
never knows what even a day, what even an hour, may bring forth!
One seems to die to so little purpose! .-Your own
MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN.
