MY BELOVED MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,--Do you know, I must quarrel with you. Yes,
good Makar Alexievitch, I really cannot accept your presents, for I know
what they must have cost you--I know to what privations and self-denial
they must have led. How many times have I not told you that I stand in
need of NOTHING, of absolutely NOTHING, as well as that I shall never be
in a position to recompense you for all the kindly acts with which you
have loaded me? Why, for instance, have you sent me geraniums? A little
sprig of balsam would not have mattered so much--but geraniums! Only
have I to let fall an unguarded word--for example, about geraniums--and
at once you buy me some! How much they must have cost you! Yet what a
charm there is in them, with their flaming petals! Wherever did you
get these beautiful plants? I have set them in my window as the most
conspicuous place possible, while on the floor I have placed a bench
for my other flowers to stand on (since you are good enough to enrich me
with such presents). Unfortunately, Thedora, who, with her sweeping and
polishing, makes a perfect sanctuary of my room, is not over-pleased
at the arrangement. But why have you sent me also bonbons? Your letter
tells me that something special is afoot with you, for I find in it so
much about paradise and spring and sweet odours and the songs of birds.
Surely, thought I to myself when I received it, this is as good as
poetry! Indeed, verses are the only thing that your letter lacks,
Makar Alexievitch. And what tender feelings I can read in it--what
roseate-coloured fancies! To the curtain, however, I had never given a
thought. The fact is that when I moved the flower-pots, it LOOPED ITSELF
up. There now!
Ah, Makar Alexievitch, you neither speak of nor give any account of what
you have spent upon me. You hope thereby to deceive me, to make it
seem as though the cost always falls upon you alone, and that there
is nothing to conceal. Yet I KNOW that for my sake you deny yourself
necessaries. For instance, what has made you go and take the room which
you have done, where you will be worried and disturbed, and where you
have neither elbow-space nor comfort--you who love solitude, and never
like to have any one near you? To judge from your salary, I should think
that you might well live in greater ease than that. Also, Thedora tells
me that your circumstances used to be much more affluent than they are
at present. Do you wish, then, to persuade me that your whole existence
has been passed in loneliness and want and gloom, with never a cheering
word to help you, nor a seat in a friend’s chimney-corner? Ah, kind
comrade, how my heart aches for you! But do not overtask your health,
Makar Alexievitch. For instance, you say that your eyes are over-weak
for you to go on writing in your office by candle-light. Then why do so?
I am sure that your official superiors do not need to be convinced of
your diligence!
Once more I implore you not to waste so much money upon me. I know
how much you love me, but I also know that you are not rich.... This
morning I too rose in good spirits. Thedora had long been at work; and
it was time that I too should bestir myself. Indeed I was yearning to
do so, so I went out for some silk, and then sat down to my labours. All
the morning I felt light-hearted and cheerful. Yet now my thoughts are
once more dark and sad--once more my heart is ready to sink.
Ah, what is going to become of me? What will be my fate? To have to be
so uncertain as to the future, to have to be unable to foretell what is
going to happen, distresses me deeply. Even to look back at the past
is horrible, for it contains sorrow that breaks my very heart at the
thought of it. Yes, a whole century in tears could I spend because of
the wicked people who have wrecked my life!
But dusk is coming on, and I must set to work again. Much else should I
have liked to write to you, but time is lacking, and I must hasten. Of
course, to write this letter is a pleasure enough, and could never be
wearisome; but why do you not come to see me in person? Why do you not,
Makar Alexievitch? You live so close to me, and at least SOME of your
time is your own. I pray you, come. I have just seen Theresa. She was
looking so ill, and I felt so sorry for her, that I gave her twenty
kopecks. I am almost falling asleep. Write to me in fullest detail, both
concerning your mode of life, and concerning the people who live with
you, and concerning how you fare with them. I should so like to know!
Yes, you must write again. Tonight I have purposely looped the curtain
up. Go to bed early, for, last night, I saw your candle burning until
nearly midnight. Goodbye! I am now feeling sad and weary. Ah that
I should have to spend such days as this one has been. Again
good-bye.--Your friend,