This visit dealt the final blow to my self-delusion. It now appeared
indisputable to me, that what I had undertaken was not only foolish but
loathsome.
But, in spite of the fact that I was aware of this, it seemed to me that
I could not abandon the whole thing on the spot. It seemed to me that I
was bound to carry out this enterprise, in the first place, because by my
article, by my visits and promises, I had aroused the expectations of the
poor; in the second, because by my article also, and by my talk, I had
aroused the sympathies of benevolent persons, many of whom had promised
me their co-operation both in personal labor and in money. And I
expected that both sets of people would turn to me for an answer to this.
What happened to me, so far as the appeal of the needy to me is
concerned, was as follows: By letter and personal application I received
more than a hundred; these applications were all from the wealthy-poor,
if I may so express myself. I went to see some of them, and some of them
received no answer. Nowhere did I succeed in doing any thing. All
applications to me were from persons who had once occupied privileged
positions (I thus designate those in which people receive more from
others than they give), who had lost them, and who wished to occupy them
again. To one, two hundred rubles were indispensable, in order that he
might prop up a failing business, and complete the education of his
children which had been begun; another wanted a photographic outfit; a
third wanted his debts paid, and respectable clothing purchased for him;
a fourth needed a piano, in order to perfect himself and support his
family by giving lessons. But the majority did not stipulate for any
given sum of money, and simply asked for assistance; and when I came to
examine into what was required, it turned out that their demands grew in
proportion to the aid, and that there was not and could not be any way of
satisfying them. I repeat, that it is very possible that this arose from
the fact that I did not understand how; but I did not help any one,
although I sometimes endeavored to do so.
A very strange and unexpected thing happened to me as regards the
co-operation of the benevolently disposed. Out of all the persons who
had promised me financial aid, and who had even stated the number of
rubles, not a single one handed to me for distribution among the poor one
solitary ruble. But according to the pledges which had been given me, I
could reckon on about three thousand rubles; and out of all these people,
not one remembered our former discussions, or gave me a single kopek.
Only the students gave the money which had been assigned to them for
their work on the census, twelve rubles, I think. So my whole scheme,
which was to have been expressed by tens of thousands of rubles
contributed by the wealthy, for hundreds and thousands of poor people who
were to be rescued from poverty and vice, dwindled down to this, that I
gave away, haphazard, a few scores of rubles to those people who asked me
for them, and that there remained in my hands twelve rubies contributed
by the students, and twenty-five sent to me by the City Council for my
labor as a superintendent, and I absolutely did not know to whom to give
them.
The whole matter came to an end. And then, before my departure for the
country, on the Sunday before carnival, I went to the Rzhanoff house in
the morning, in order to get rid of those thirty-seven rubles before I
should leave Moscow, and to distribute them to the poor. I made the
round of the quarters with which I was familiar, and in them found only
one sick man, to whom I gave five rubles. There was no one else there to
give any to. Of course many began to beg of me. But as I had not known
them at first, so I did not know them now, and I made up my mind to take
counsel with Ivan Fedotitch, the landlord of the tavern, as to the
persons upon whom it would be proper to bestow the remaining thirty-two
rubies.
It was the first day of the carnival. Everybody was dressed up, and
everybody was full-fed, and many were already intoxicated. In the court-
yard, close to the house, stood an old man, a rag-picker, in a tattered
smock and bast shoes, sorting over the booty in his basket, tossing out
leather, iron, and other stuff in piles, and breaking into a merry song,
with a fine, powerful voice. I entered into conversation with him. He
was seventy years old, he was alone in the world, and supported himself
by his calling of a rag-picker; and not only did he utter no complaints,
but he said that he had plenty to eat and drink. I inquired of him as to
especially needy persons. He flew into a rage, and said plainly that
there were no needy people, except drunkards and lazy men; but, on
learning my object, he asked me for a five-kopek piece to buy a drink,
and ran off to the tavern. I too entered the tavern to see Ivan
Fedotitch, and commission him to distribute the money which I had left.
The tavern was full; gayly-dressed, intoxicated girls were flitting in
and out; all the tables were occupied; there were already a great many
drunken people, and in the small room the harmonium was being played, and
two persons were dancing. Out of respect to me, Ivan Fedotitch ordered
that the dance should be stopped, and seated himself with me at a vacant
table. I said to him, that, as he knew his tenants, would not he point
out to me the most needy among them; that I had been entrusted with the
distribution of a little money, and, therefore, would he indicate the
proper persons? Good-natured Ivan Fedotitch (he died a year later),
although he was pressed with business, broke away from it for a time, in
order to serve me. He meditated, and was evidently undecided. An
elderly waiter heard us, and joined the conference.
They began to discuss the claims of persons, some of whom I knew, but
still they could not come to any agreement. "The Paramonovna," suggested
the waiter. "Yes, that would do. Sometimes she has nothing to eat. Yes,
but then she tipples."--"Well, what of that? That makes no
difference."--"Well, Sidoron Ivanovitch has children. He would do." But
Ivan Fedotitch had his doubts about Sidoron Ivanovitch also. "Akulina
shall have some. There, now, give something to the blind." To this I
responded. I saw him at once. He was a blind old man of eighty years,
without kith or kin. It seemed as though no condition could be more
painful, and I went immediately to see him. He was lying on a feather-
bed, on a high bedstead, drunk; and, as he did not see me, he was
scolding his comparatively youthful female companion in a frightful bass
voice, and in the very worst kind of language. They also summoned an
armless boy and his mother. I saw that Ivan Fedotitch was in great
straits, on account of his conscientiousness, for me knew that whatever
was given would immediately pass to his tavern. But I had to get rid of
my thirty-two rubles, so I insisted; and in one way and another, and half
wrongfully to boot, we assigned and distributed them. Those who received
them were mostly well dressed, and we had not far to go to find them, as
they were there in the tavern. The armless boy appeared in wrinkled
boots, and a red shirt and vest. With this my charitable career came to
an end, and I went off to the country; irritated at others, as is always
the case, because I myself had done a stupid and a bad thing. My
benevolence had ended in nothing, and it ceased altogether, but the
current of thoughts and feelings which it had called up with me not only
did not come to an end, but the inward work went on with redoubled force.