July 8th.
MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,--The book which I received from you on
the 6th of this month I now hasten to return, while at the same time
hastening also to explain matters to you in this accompanying letter.
What a misfortune, my beloved, that you should have brought me to such a
pass! Our lots in life are apportioned by the Almighty according to our
human deserts. To such a one He assigns a life in a general’s epaulets
or as a privy councillor--to such a one, I say, He assigns a life of
command; whereas to another one, He allots only a life of unmurmuring
toil and suffering. These things are calculated according to a man’s
CAPACITY. One man may be capable of one thing, and another of another,
and their several capacities are ordered by the Lord God himself. I
have now been thirty years in the public service, and have fulfilled my
duties irreproachably, remained abstemious, and never been detected
in any unbecoming behaviour. As a citizen, I may confess--I confess
it freely--I have been guilty of certain shortcomings; yet those
shortcomings have been combined with certain virtues. I am respected by
my superiors, and even his Excellency has had no fault to find with me;
and though I have never been shown any special marks of favour, I know
that every one finds me at least satisfactory. Also, my writing is
sufficiently legible and clear. Neither too rounded nor too fine, it
is a running hand, yet always suitable. Of our staff only Ivan
Prokofievitch writes a similar hand. Thus have I lived till the grey
hairs of my old age; yet I can think of no serious fault committed. Of
course, no one is free from MINOR faults. Everyone has some of them, and
you among the rest, my beloved. But in grave or in audacious offences
never have I been detected, nor in infringements of regulations, nor in
breaches of the public peace. No, never! This you surely know, even as
the author of your book must have known it. Yes, he also must have
known it when he sat down to write. I had not expected this of you, my
Barbara. I should never have expected it.
What? In future I am not to go on living peacefully in my little corner,
poor though that corner be I am not to go on living, as the proverb has
it, without muddying the water, or hurting any one, or forgetting the
fear of the Lord God and of oneself? I am not to see, forsooth, that
no man does me an injury, or breaks into my home--I am not to take care
that all shall go well with me, or that I have clothes to wear, or that
my shoes do not require mending, or that I be given work to do, or
that I possess sufficient meat and drink? Is it nothing that, where
the pavement is rotten, I have to walk on tiptoe to save my boots? If I
write to you overmuch concerning myself, is it concerning ANOTHER man,
rather, that I ought to write--concerning HIS wants, concerning HIS
lack of tea to drink (and all the world needs tea)? Has it ever been
my custom to pry into other men’s mouths, to see what is being put into
them? Have I ever been known to offend any one in that respect? No, no,
beloved! Why should I desire to insult other folks when they are not
molesting ME? Let me give you an example of what I mean. A man may go on
slaving and slaving in the public service, and earn the respect of his
superiors (for what it is worth), and then, for no visible reason at
all, find himself made a fool of. Of course he may break out now and
then (I am not now referring only to drunkenness), and (for example)
buy himself a new pair of shoes, and take pleasure in seeing his feet
looking well and smartly shod. Yes, I myself have known what it is
to feel like that (I write this in good faith). Yet I am nonetheless
astonished that Thedor Thedorovitch should neglect what is being said
about him, and take no steps to defend himself. True, he is only a
subordinate official, and sometimes loves to rate and scold; yet why
should he not do so--why should he not indulge in a little vituperation
when he feels like it? Suppose it to be NECESSARY, for FORM’S sake,
to scold, and to set everyone right, and to shower around abuse (for,
between ourselves, Barbara, our friend cannot get on WITHOUT abuse--so
much so that every one humours him, and does things behind his back)?
Well, since officials differ in rank, and every official demands that
he shall be allowed to abuse his fellow officials in proportion to his
rank, it follows that the TONE also of official abuse should become
divided into ranks, and thus accord with the natural order of things.
All the world is built upon the system that each one of us shall have to
yield precedence to some other one, as well as to enjoy a certain power
of abusing his fellows. Without such a provision the world could not
get on at all, and simple chaos would ensue. Yet I am surprised that our
Thedor should continue to overlook insults of the kind that he endures.
Why do I do my official work at all? Why is that necessary? Will my
doing of it lead anyone who reads it to give me a greatcoat, or to buy
me a new pair of shoes? No, Barbara. Men only read the documents, and
then require me to write more. Sometimes a man will hide himself away,
and not show his face abroad, for the mere reason that, though he has
done nothing to be ashamed of, he dreads the gossip and slandering which
are everywhere to be encountered. If his civic and family life have to
do with literature, everything will be printed and read and laughed
over and discussed; until at length, he hardly dare show his face in
the street at all, seeing that he will have been described by report as
recognisable through his gait alone! Then, when he has amended his ways,
and grown gentler (even though he still continues to be loaded with
official work), he will come to be accounted a virtuous, decent citizen
who has deserved well of his comrades, rendered obedience to his
superiors, wished no one any evil, preserved the fear of God in his
heart, and died lamented. Yet would it not be better, instead of letting
the poor fellow die, to give him a cloak while yet he is ALIVE--to give
it to this same Thedor Thedorovitch (that is to say, to myself)? Yes,
‘twere far better if, on hearing the tale of his subordinate’s virtues,
the chief of the department were to call the deserving man into his
office, and then and there to promote him, and to grant him an increase
of salary. Thus vice would be punished, virtue would prevail, and the
staff of that department would live in peace together. Here we have an
example from everyday, commonplace life. How, therefore, could you bring
yourself to send me that book, my beloved? It is a badly conceived
work, Barbara, and also unreal, for the reason that in creation such
a tchinovnik does not exist. No, again I protest against it, little
Barbara; again I protest.--Your most humble, devoted servant,