Read Poor Folk and Other Stories Online
Authors: Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Poor Folk and Other Stories (21 page)
Varvara Alekseyevna, Dear Madam,
I have zealously completed all your errands. Madame Chiffon said she had already had the idea of doing the letters in
tambour;
she said it's more suitable, or something â I don't really know, I didn't understand properly. Oh yes: you wrote something in your letter about the furbelows, and she, too, said something about it. The only thing is, little mother, that I've forgotten what it was. All I remember is that she said an awful lot â the revolting woman! What was it, now? Oh, she'll tell you herself what it was. I'm absolutely exhausted, little mother. I didn't go in to the office today. But don't despair, little mother â I am prepared to go round all the stores for the sake of your peace of mind. You write that you are afraid to look into the future. Well, at seven o'clock this evening all will be revealed to you.
Madame Chiffon herself will call on you in person. So don't despair; have hope, little mother; everything may yet work out for thebest â justyou wait. For some reason I keep seeing those accursed furbelows â oh I can't stand them, those furbelows, furbelows! I would have dropped in to see you, little angel, I would have, honestly I would; in fact, I've been up to the gates of your house a couple of times now. But Bykov is always there! What I mean is that Mr Bykov is such a bad-tempered fellow, so it wouldn't be the right thing to do⦠Well, it doesn't matter!
Your
M
AKAR
D
EVUSHKIN
September
28
Makar Alekseyevich, Sir,
Please, for the love of God, go and see the jeweller and tell him not to make the pearl and emerald earrings. Mr Bykov says it's too extravagant, it will cost too much. he is in a bad mood; he says that it is hurting his pocket enough as it is, and that we are robbing him; and yesterday he said that if he had known there would be all this expense he would never have agreed to marry me in the first place. He says that as soon as the wedding is over we are goingaway â thereare to be no guests, that I needn't expect any dancing or la-di-daing, and that Christmas is still a long way off. That is the way he talks! But, as God's my witness, I don't need all these things. It's Mr Bykov who ordered them. I don't dare to answer him back: he's so hot-tempered. What is to become of me?
V. D.
September 28
Varvara Alekseyevna, my little dove,
I â what I mean is, the jeweller said it's all right; I was going to begin by telling you that I've been taken ill and can't get out of bed.
I would have to go and catch a cold now, at such a busy time when there are so many urgent things to be seen to, the devil take it! I am also writing to inform you that, to complete my store of misfortune, His Excellency has flown off the handle â he lost his temper with Yemelyan Ivanovich, too, and shouted at him, so that the poor fellow was worried nearly to death. So you see, I am keeping you informed of everything. I wanted to tell you something else, too, but I'm afraid of causing you too much trouble. After all, little mother, I'm just a simple, stupid fellow, I just write whatever comes into my head, and you might very well not wish to â well, it doesn't matter!
Your
M
AKAR
D
EVUSHKIN
September 29
Varvara Alekseyevna, my darling!
I saw Fedora today, my little dove. She said you are getting married tomorrow, that the day after you are going away and that Mr Bykov is already hiring the horses. I have already informed you of His Excellency's behaviour, little mother. Oh, there is something else: I have checked the bills from the shop in Gorokhovaya Street; they are all correct, but the things are all very expensive. So why is it you at whom Mr Bykov lets fly his bad temper? Well, be happy, little mother! I am glad; yes, and I will go on being glad, as long as you are happy. I would come to the church service, little mother, but I can't, I have lumbago. I am still worried about our letters: who will deliver them for us now, little mother? Yes! You have been a friend and protector to Fedora, my darling. That is a good deed that you have done, my friend; that is a very good deed that you have done. A good deed! And for each of your good deeds the Lord will bless you. Good deeds do not go unrewarded, and virtue will sooner or later be adorned with the crown of divine justice. Little mother! There is much that I would like to write you â I could spend each and every hour, each and every minute of the day just writing and writing to you! I still have one of your books,
Tales of Belkin.
You know, little mother, I would like to ask you to let me keep it â make me a present of it, my little dove. It's not even that I feel like reading it so much just now. But you know yourself how it is, little mother:
winter is approaching, the evenings will be long, one will be sad, and then one will feel like reading. I am going to move out of my lodging into your old apartment and rent it together with Fedora. I would not part from that honest woman now for anything in the world; what's more, she's such a hard worker. I made a careful inspection of your empty apartment yesterday. Your lace-frame there, and your sewing on it, have not been touched: they are in the corner. I examined your sewing. There were still one or two scraps of cloth lying about. You had begun to wind some of your thread round one of my miserable letters. In the little bureau I found a sheet of paper with the words âMakar Alekseyevich, Sir, I am in a hurry' on it â nothing more. Someone had evidently interrupted you just as you were getting to the most interesting part. Your little bed still stands in the corner, behind the screen⦠My little dove!!! Well, goodbye, goodbye; for the love of God, write me some reply to this miserable letter as soon as you are able.
M
AKAR
D
EVUSHKIN
September
30
Makar Alekseyevich, my precious friend!
It is all done! My lot is cast; I have no knowledge of what it is to be, but I am obedient to the Lord is will. Tomorrow we leave. I bid you goodbye for the last time, my precious one, my friend, my benefactor, my darling! Don't grieve for me, live happily, remember me, and may God is blessing descend on you! I shall remember you often in my thoughts and in my prayers. At last this time is finished! I take into my new life little that is joyful from my memories of the past; all the more precious, then, will be my memory of you, all the more precious will you be to my heart. You are my only friend; you are the only person here who has loved me. I saw it all, I know how you loved me! One smile from me was enough to make you happy, one line of my handwriting. Now you will have to learn how to live without me. How will you manage alone here? Who will you have when I am gone, my good, precious, only friend? I am leaving you the book, my lace-frame, the letter I began, did not write; when you look at those lines, you must imagine the words you would like to hear me say or have me write, all the things I would like to write to
you; and what would I not write to you now! Remember your poor Varenka, who loved you so hard. All your letters are at Fedora's, in the top drawer of the chest-of-drawers. You write that you are ill, and Mr Bykov will not let me go out anywhere today. I will write to you, my friend, I promise I will, but God alone knows what may happen. So let us say goodbye for ever, my friend, my sweet, my darling â for ever!⦠Oh, how I would hug you if you were here! Goodbye, my friend, goodbye, goodbye. Live happily; be well. I shall pray for you always. Oh, how sad I am, how utterly my soul is oppressed. Mr Bykov is calling me. Your eternally loving
V.
PS My soul is so full now, so full of tears⦠My tears are choking
me, breaking me. Farewell.
God, how sad!
Remember, remember your poor Varenka!
Little mother, Varenka, my little dove, my precious! You are going, you are being taken away! I would rather have the heart torn from my breast than have you wrested from me in this fashion! How can you do this? I mean, you are weeping and yet you are going! I have just received a wretched little letter from you, all smudged with tears. From your letter it appears that you don't want to go; that you are being taken away by force; that you are sorry for me; that you love me! What will your life be like now, and with whom will you be spending it? Your little heart will be so sad, so sick and cold in this place you are going to. Anguish will suck it dry, sadness will split it in two. You will die there, they will put you to rest in the damp earth; there will be no one to shed a tear for you there! Mr Bykov will be off coursing hares all the time⦠Oh, little mother, little mother! Why have you decided to do this, how could you have decided to take such a step? What have you done, what have you done, what have you done to yourself? I mean, they will send you to the grave there; they will wear you out with work, my little angel. I mean, you are as weak as a feather, little mother. And where was I? Where were my eyes, fool that I am? How could I not have seen that the child was talking nonsense because her brain was affected by fever? When what I should have done was simply to â but no, fool that I was, I thought nothing, I saw nothing, as though that
were the right thing to do, as though it had nothing to do with me; I even went out looking for furbelows⦠No, Varenka, I will get out of bed; by tomorrow, perhaps, I will be better, and then I will get up!⦠I will throw myself under the wheels of your carriage, little mother! I won't let you go away! No! What is this, after all? By what right is all this taking place? I shall leave with you; I shall run after your carriage, if you won't take me with you, I shall run until I am exhausted, until there is no breath left in my body. Have you any idea of what it is like where you are going, little mother? Perhaps you haven't; well, I can tell you! There there is the steppe, my dear, the steppe, the bare steppe; as bare as the palm of my hand! There there are callous peasant women, uneducated muzhiks, drunkards. There by this time of the year the leaves have fallen from the trees, it rains all the time, it is cold â and that is where you are going! Well, Mr Bykov will have something to keep him busy there: he'll be coursing his hares; but what will you do? Perhaps you want to be a landowner's wife, little mother? But my little angel! Take a look at-yourself and tell me if you think you look like a landowner's wife!⦠Who ever heard of such a thing, Varenka? To whom am I going to write my letters, little mother? Yes, think about that, little mother â ask yourself: âWho's he going to write his letters to?' Who am I going to call âlittle mother â? Who will I be able to call by that affectionate name? How will I ever find you once you are gone, my little angel? I will die, Varenka, I will surely die; my heart will not survive such a misfortune! I have loved you like God's daylight, I have loved you like my own daughter, I have loved everything about you, little mother, my darling! I have lived for you alone! I have worked, copied documents, walked, strolled, and conveyed to you my observations in the form of friendly letters, all because you, little mother, have been living here, opposite me, near me. Perhaps you weren't aware of that, but it was true all the same! Yes, listen, little mother, just think, my dear little dove, how can it be that you shall leave us? My darling, I mean, it is out of the question for you to leave, it is impossible; there is simply not the slightest possibility of such a thing! I mean, look, it is raining, and you are weak, you will catch cold. Your carriage will get wet inside; it will indubitably get wet inside. As soon as you get past the city boundary it will break down; it will break down as sure as eggs are eggs. The carriages they make here in St Petersburg are hopeless! I know those carriage-makers, every one of them; all they do is produce models, toys â it's not solid
workmanship. I swear to you, it's not solid. I will go down on my knees to Mr Bykov, little mother; I will explain everything to him, everything! And you, too, little mother, you must explain to him; explain it to him by force of reason! Tell him that you are staying here, and that it's out of the question for you to go!⦠Oh, why couldn't he have married that Moscow merchant's daughter? That's what he ought to have done. A merchant's daughter would have suited him better, better by far; I don't need to be told why! And I would have kept you here with me. What is he to you anyway, this Bykov? What's suddenly made him so attractive to you? Perhaps it's because he's forever buying you furbelows, perhaps that's why? But I mean, what are furbelows? What good are they? I mean to say, little mother, they're just rubbish! It's a question of a man's life, and yet here you are, little mother, looking for furbelows â for rags! That is what they are, little mother â rags. Look, as soon as I get the next instalment of my salary I'll buy you some furbelows; I will, little mother; I know the very shop; just give me until I get the next bit of my salary, Varenka! Oh, Lord, Lord! So you really are going away into the steppe with Mr Bykov, and you're never coming back! Oh, little mother!⦠No, you must write to me again, write me another little letter about it all; and when you have finished your journey, you must write to me from there. Otherwise, my heavenly angel, this will be my last letter; and, I mean, it's impossible that this letter should be my last. I mean, how can it be, so suddenly, my last? No, I will write, and you will write⦠Otherwise the style I'm developing now won't⦠Oh, my darling, what is style? I mean, I don't even know what I'm writing, I've absolutely no idea, I know nothing of it, I read none of it over, I never correct my style, I write only in order to write, only in order to write as much as possible to you⦠My little dove, my darling, my little mother!
