MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,--Today Thedora came to me with fifteen
roubles in silver. How glad was the poor woman when I gave her three of
them! I am writing to you in great haste, for I am busy cutting out a
waistcoat to send to you--buff, with a pattern of flowers. Also I
am sending you a book of stories; some of which I have read myself,
particularly one called “The Cloak.” ... You invite me to go to the
theatre with you. But will it not cost too much? Of course we might sit
in the gallery. It is a long time (indeed I cannot remember when I last
did so) since I visited a theatre! Yet I cannot help fearing that such
an amusement is beyond our means. Thedora keeps nodding her head, and
saying that you have taken to living above your income. I myself divine
the same thing by the amount which you have spent upon me. Take care,
dear friend, that misfortune does not come of it, for Thedora has also
informed me of certain rumours concerning your inability to meet your
landlady’s bills. In fact, I am very anxious about you. Now, goodbye,
for I must hasten away to see about another matter--about the changing
of the ribands on my bonnet.
P.S.--Do you know, if we go to the theatre, I think that I shall wear my
new hat and black mantilla. Will that not look nice?
July 7th.
MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA--SO much for yesterday! Yes, dearest, we
have both been caught playing the fool, for I have become thoroughly
bitten with the actress of whom I spoke. Last night I listened to her
with all my ears, although, strangely enough, it was practically my
first sight of her, seeing that only once before had I been to the
theatre. In those days I lived cheek by jowl with a party of five young
men--a most noisy crew--and one night I accompanied them, willy-nilly,
to the theatre, though I held myself decently aloof from their doings,
and only assisted them for company’s sake. How those fellows talked to
me of this actress! Every night when the theatre was open, the entire
band of them (they always seemed to possess the requisite money) would
betake themselves to that place of entertainment, where they ascended
to the gallery, and clapped their hands, and repeatedly recalled the
actress in question. In fact, they went simply mad over her. Even after
we had returned home they would give me no rest, but would go on
talking about her all night, and calling her their Glasha, and declaring
themselves to be in love with “the canary-bird of their hearts.” My
defenseless self, too, they would plague about the woman, for I was as
young as they. What a figure I must have cut with them on the fourth
tier of the gallery! Yet, I never got a sight of more than just a corner
of the curtain, but had to content myself with listening. She had a
fine, resounding, mellow voice like a nightingale’s, and we all of us
used to clap our hands loudly, and to shout at the top of our lungs. In
short, we came very near to being ejected. On the first occasion I went
home walking as in a mist, with a single rouble left in my pocket, and
an interval of ten clear days confronting me before next pay-day. Yet,
what think you, dearest? The very next day, before going to work, I
called at a French perfumer’s, and spent my whole remaining capital on
some eau-de-Cologne and scented soap! Why I did so I do not know. Nor
did I dine at home that day, but kept walking and walking past her
windows (she lived in a fourth-storey flat on the Nevski Prospect).
At length I returned to my own lodging, but only to rest a short hour
before again setting off to the Nevski Prospect and resuming my vigil
before her windows. For a month and a half I kept this up--dangling in
her train. Sometimes I would hire cabs, and discharge them in view of
her abode; until at length I had entirely ruined myself, and got into
debt. Then I fell out of love with her--I grew weary of the pursuit....
You see, therefore, to what depths an actress can reduce a decent man.
In those days I was young. Yes, in those days I was VERY young.