This visit gave the last blow to my self-deception. It became very
evident to me that my aim was not only foolish, but even productive of
evil. Yet, though I knew this, it seemed my duty to continue the project
a little longer: first, because of the article I had written and by my
visits I had raised the expectations of the poor; secondly, because what
I had said and written had awakened the sympathy of some benefactors,
many of whom had promised to assist me personally and with money. And I
was expecting to be applied to by both, and hoped to satisfy them as
well as I was able.
As regards the applications made to me by those who were in need, the
following details may be given: I received more than a hundred letters,
which came exclusively from the "rich poor," if I may so express myself.
Some of them I visited, and some I left unanswered. In no instance did I
succeed in doing any good. All the applications made to me were from
persons who were once in a privileged position (I call such persons
privileged who receive more from others than they give in return), had
lost that position, and were desirous of regaining it. One wanted two
hundred rubles in order to keep his business from going to ruin, and to
enable him to finish the education of his children; another wanted to
have a photographic establishment; a third wanted money to pay his
debts, and take his best clothes out of pawn; a fourth was in need of a
piano, in order to perfect himself and to earn money to support his
family by giving lessons. The majority did not name any particular sum
of money: they simply asked for help; but when I began to investigate
what was necessary, it turned out that their wants increased in
proportion to the help offered, and nothing satisfactorily resulted. I
repeat again, the fault may have been in my want of understanding; but
in any case I helped no one, notwithstanding the fact that I made every
effort to do so.
As for the philanthropists who were to co-operate with me, something
very strange and quite unexpected occurred: of all who promised to
assist with money, and even stated the amount they would give, not one
contributed anything for distribution among the poor.
The promises of pecuniary assistance amounted to about three thousand
rubles; but of all these people, not one recollected his agreement, or
gave me a single kopek. The students alone gave the money which they
received as payment for visiting, about twelve rubles; so that my
scheme, which was to have collected tens of thousands of rubles from the
rich, and to have saved hundreds and thousands of people from misery and
vice, ended in my distributing at random some few rubles offered by the
students, with twenty-five more sent me by the town-council for my
labour as manager, which I positively did not know what to do with.
So ended the affair.
Then, before leaving Moscow for the country, on the Sunday before the
Carnival, I went to the Rzhanoff house in the morning in order to
distribute the thirty-seven rubles among the poor. I visited all whom I
knew in the lodgings, but found only one invalid, to whom I gave
something,--five rubles, I think. There was nobody else to give to. Of
course, many began to beg; but, as I did not know them, I made up my
mind to take the advice of Iván Fedotitch, the tavern-keeper, respecting
the distribution of the remaining thirty-two rubles.
It was the first day of the carnival. Everybody was smartly dressed, all
had had food, and many were drunk. In the yard near the corner of the
house stood an old-clothes man, dressed in a ragged peasant's coat and
bark shoes. He was still hale and hearty. Sorting his purchases, he was
putting them into different heaps,--leather, iron, and other
things,--and was singing a merry song at the top of his voice.
I began to talk with him. He was seventy years of age; had no relatives;
earned his living by dealing in old clothes, and not only did not
complain, but said he had enough to eat, drink, and to spare. I asked
him who in the place were particularly in want. He became cross, and
said plainly that there was no one in want but drunkards and idlers; but
on learning my object in asking, he begged me five kopeks for drink, and
ran to the tavern for it.
I also went to the tavern to see Iván Fedotitch, to ask him to
distribute the money for me. It was full; gayly-dressed tipsy
prostitutes were walking to and fro; all the tables were occupied; many
people were already drunk; and in the small room someone was playing a
harmonium, and two people were dancing. Iván Fedotitch, out of respect
for me, ordered them to leave off, and sat down next me at a vacant
table. I asked him, as he knew his lodgers well, to point out those most
in want, as I was intrusted with a little money for distribution, and
wished him to direct me. The kind-hearted man (he died a year after)
gave me his attention for a time in order to oblige me, although he had
to wait on his customers. He began to think it over, and was evidently
puzzled. One old waiter had overheard us, and took his part in the
conference.
They began to go over his lodgers, some of whom were known to me, but
they could not agree. "Paramonovna," suggested the waiter.
"Well; yes, she does go hungry sometimes; but she drinks."
"What difference does that make?"
"Well, Spiridon Ivanovitch, he has children; that's the man for you."
But Iván Fedotitch had doubts about Spiridon too.
"Akulina, but she has a pension. Ah, but there is the blind man!"
To him I myself objected: I had just seen him. This was an old man of
eighty years of age, without any relatives. One could scarcely imagine
any condition to be worse; and yet I had just seen him lying drunk on a
feather bed, cursing at his comparatively young mistress in the most
filthy language.
They then named a one-armed boy and his mother. I saw that Iván
Fedotitch was in great difficulty owing to his conscientiousness, for he
knew that every thing given away by me would be spent at his tavern. But
as I had to get rid of my thirty-two rubles, I insisted, and we managed
somehow or other to distribute the money. Those who received it were
mostly well-dressed, and we had not far to go to find them: they were
all in the tavern. The one-armed boy came in top-boots and a red shirt
and waistcoat.
Thus ended all my benevolent enterprises; and I left for the country
vexed with everyone, as it always happens when one does something
foolish and harmful. Nothing came of it all, except the train of
thoughts and feelings which it called forth in me, which not only did
not cease, but doubly agitated my mind.