August 5th.
MY DARLING LITTLE BARBARA,--This is well, this is well, my angel! So you
are of opinion that the fact that I have failed to obtain any money does
not matter? Then I too am reassured, I too am happy on your account.
Also, I am delighted to think that you are not going to desert your old
friend, but intend to remain in your present lodgings. Indeed, my heart
was overcharged with joy when I read in your letter those kindly words
about myself, as well as a not wholly unmerited recognition of my
sentiments. I say this not out of pride, but because now I know how much
you love me to be thus solicitous for my feelings. How good to
think that I may speak to you of them! You bid me, darling, not be
faint-hearted. Indeed, there is no need for me to be so. Think, for
instance, of the pair of shoes which I shall be wearing to the office
tomorrow! The fact is that over-brooding proves the undoing of a
man--his complete undoing. What has saved me is the fact that it is not
for myself that I am grieving, that I am suffering, but for YOU. Nor
would it matter to me in the least that I should have to walk through
the bitter cold without an overcoat or boots--I could bear it, I could
well endure it, for I am a simple man in my requirements; but the point
is--what would people say, what would every envious and hostile tongue
exclaim, when I was seen without an overcoat? It is for OTHER folk that
one wears an overcoat and boots. In any case, therefore, I should have
needed boots to maintain my name and reputation; to both of which my
ragged footgear would otherwise have spelled ruin. Yes, it is so,
my beloved, and you may believe an old man who has had many years of
experience, and knows both the world and mankind, rather than a set of
scribblers and daubers.
But I have not yet told you in detail how things have gone with me
today. During the morning I suffered as much agony of spirit as might
have been experienced in a year. ‘Twas like this: First of all, I went
out to call upon the gentleman of whom I have spoken. I started very
early, before going to the office. Rain and sleet were falling, and
I hugged myself in my greatcoat as I walked along. “Lord,” thought I,
“pardon my offences, and send me fulfilment of all my desires;” and as
I passed a church I crossed myself, repented of my sins, and reminded
myself that I was unworthy to hold communication with the Lord God. Then
I retired into myself, and tried to look at nothing; and so, walking
without noticing the streets, I proceeded on my way. Everything had an
empty air, and everyone whom I met looked careworn and preoccupied, and
no wonder, for who would choose to walk abroad at such an early hour,
and in such weather? Next a band of ragged workmen met me, and jostled
me boorishly as they passed; upon which nervousness overtook me, and
I felt uneasy, and tried hard not to think of the money that was
my errand. Near the Voskresenski Bridge my feet began to ache with
weariness, until I could hardly pull myself along; until presently I met
with Ermolaev, a writer in our office, who, stepping aside, halted, and
followed me with his eyes, as though to beg of me a glass of vodka. “Ah,
friend,” thought I, “go YOU to your vodka, but what have I to do with
such stuff?” Then, sadly weary, I halted for a moment’s rest, and
thereafter dragged myself further on my way. Purposely I kept looking
about me for something upon which to fasten my thoughts, with which to
distract, to encourage myself; but there was nothing. Not a single idea
could I connect with any given object, while, in addition, my appearance
was so draggled that I felt utterly ashamed of it. At length I perceived
from afar a gabled house that was built of yellow wood. This, I thought,
must be the residence of the Monsieur Markov whom Emelia Ivanovitch had
mentioned to me as ready to lend money on interest. Half unconscious
of what I was doing, I asked a watchman if he could tell me to whom the
house belonged; whereupon grudgingly, and as though he were vexed at
something, the fellow muttered that it belonged to one Markov. Are ALL
watchmen so unfeeling? Why did this one reply as he did? In any case I
felt disagreeably impressed, for like always answers to like, and, no
matter what position one is in, things invariably appear to correspond
to it. Three times did I pass the house and walk the length of the
street; until the further I walked, the worse became my state of mind.
“No, never, never will he lend me anything!” I thought to myself, “He
does not know me, and my affairs will seem to him ridiculous, and I
shall cut a sorry figure. However, let fate decide for me. Only, let
Heaven send that I do not afterwards repent me, and eat out my heart
with remorse!” Softly I opened the wicket-gate. Horrors! A great ragged
brute of a watch-dog came flying out at me, and foaming at the mouth,
and nearly jumping out his skin! Curious is it to note what little,
trivial incidents will nearly make a man crazy, and strike terror to his
heart, and annihilate the firm purpose with which he has armed himself.
At all events, I approached the house more dead than alive, and walked
straight into another catastrophe. That is to say, not noticing the
slipperiness of the threshold, I stumbled against an old woman who
was filling milk-jugs from a pail, and sent the milk flying in every
direction! The foolish old dame gave a start and a cry, and then
demanded of me whither I had been coming, and what it was I wanted;
after which she rated me soundly for my awkwardness. Always have I found
something of the kind befall me when engaged on errands of this nature.
It seems to be my destiny invariably to run into something. Upon that,
the noise and the commotion brought out the mistress of the house--an
old beldame of mean appearance. I addressed myself directly to her:
“Does Monsieur Markov live here?” was my inquiry. “No,” she replied, and
then stood looking at me civilly enough. “But what want you with him?”
she continued; upon which I told her about Emelia Ivanovitch and
the rest of the business. As soon as I had finished, she called her
daughter--a barefooted girl in her teens--and told her to summon her
father from upstairs. Meanwhile, I was shown into a room which contained
several portraits of generals on the walls and was furnished with a
sofa, a large table, and a few pots of mignonette and balsam. “Shall I,
or shall I not (come weal, come woe) take myself off?” was my thought as
I waited there. Ah, how I longed to run away! “Yes,” I continued, “I had
better come again tomorrow, for the weather may then be better, and I
shall not have upset the milk, and these generals will not be looking at
me so fiercely.” In fact, I had actually begun to move towards the door
when Monsieur Markov entered--a grey-headed man with thievish eyes, and
clad in a dirty dressing-gown fastened with a belt. Greetings over, I
stumbled out something about Emelia Ivanovitch and forty roubles, and
then came to a dead halt, for his eyes told me that my errand had been
futile. “No.” said he, “I have no money. Moreover, what security
could you offer?” I admitted that I could offer none, but again added
something about Emelia, as well as about my pressing needs. Markov heard
me out, and then repeated that he had no money. “Ah,” thought I, “I
might have known this--I might have foreseen it!” And, to tell the
truth, Barbara, I could have wished that the earth had opened under my
feet, so chilled did I feel as he said what he did, so numbed did my
legs grow as shivers began to run down my back. Thus I remained gazing
at him while he returned my gaze with a look which said, “Well now,
my friend? Why do you not go since you have no further business to do
here?” Somehow I felt conscience-stricken. “How is it that you are in
such need of money?” was what he appeared to be asking; whereupon, I
opened my mouth (anything rather than stand there to no purpose at all!)
but found that he was not even listening. “I have no money,” again he
said, “or I would lend you some with pleasure.” Several times I repeated
that I myself possessed a little, and that I would repay any loan
from him punctually, most punctually, and that he might charge me what
interest he liked, since I would meet it without fail. Yes, at that
moment I remembered our misfortunes, our necessities, and I remembered
your half-rouble. “No,” said he, “I can lend you nothing without
security,” and clinched his assurance with an oath, the robber!
How I contrived to leave the house and, passing through Viborskaia
Street, to reach the Voskresenski Bridge I do not know. I only remember
that I felt terribly weary, cold, and starved, and that it was ten
o’clock before I reached the office. Arriving, I tried to clean myself
up a little, but Sniegirev, the porter, said that it was impossible for
me to do so, and that I should only spoil the brush, which belonged to
the Government. Thus, my darling, do such fellows rate me lower than
the mat on which they wipe their boots! What is it that will most
surely break me? It is not the want of money, but the LITTLE worries
of life--these whisperings and nods and jeers. Any day his Excellency
himself may round upon me. Ah, dearest, my golden days are gone. Today I
have spent in reading your letters through; and the reading of them has
made me sad. Goodbye, my own, and may the Lord watch over you!