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