Poor Folk and Other Stories (19 page)

I beg you, my darling, not to part from me now, not now, when my happiness is complete and I want for nothing. My little dove! Don't pay any attention to what Fedora says – I will do everything you ask; I will behave well and mind my P's and Q is – my respect for His Excellency alone prompts me to do that; we shall write each other happy letters again, we shall confide to each other our thoughts, our joys, and our concerns, if concerns there be; we shall live alongside each other in happiness and concord. We shall study literature… My little angel! My fortunes have changed, and everything has taken a turn for the better. The landlady has become more compliant, Teresa has become more intelligent, even Faldoni is quicker on his feet these days. I have settled my differences with Ratazyayev. I went to him of my own accord, to celebrate. I must admit he's a good fellow, little mother, and all the bad things people have been saying about him are a lot of nonsense. I have now discovered that all that was pernicious slander. He had absolutely no intention of writing about us: he told me that himself. He read me a new thing he's written. And when he called me ‘Lovelace' that time, it wasn't meant as an insult or as some kind of improper epithet: he explained it to me. It's a straight borrowing from foreign literature, and means ‘Mr Quick-On-His-Toes', and if one is to express it more elegantly, in more literary fashion, then it means ‘a fellow with whom one should not meddle' – there! And not whatever it was I thought. It was an innocent joke, my little angel. And there I went, uneducated as I am, and foolishly took offence. And indeed, now I've apologized to him… The weather is first-rate today, Varenka, really fine. Oh, to be sure, there was a bit of drizzle this morning, which felt as though it had been strained through a sieve. But it was nothing! It made the air a bit fresher. I went out and bought a wonderful pair of boots. I strolled along the Nevsky. I
read the
Bee
^*
Oh! But I'm forgetting to tell you the most important part.

You see, this is what happened:

This morning I was talking to Yemelyan Ivanovich and Aksenty Mikhailovich about His Excellency. You know, Varenka, I am not the only person to whom he has been so generous. I am not the only person whom he has shown such favour – he is renowned for his kindheartedness far and wide. From many quarters people sing his praises, and shed tears of gratitude. He brought up an orphan girl in his house. He made all the arrangements for her: married her off to a certain man, a government clerk who lived in His Excellency is home and did special assignments. He got the son of a certain widow a position in a government office, and has done many other benevolent deeds of a similar kind. I considered it my duty, little mother, to make my own small contribution, and I told everyone about what His Excellency had done: I told them everything and concealed nothing. I swallowed my pride. What role could a thing like pride or reputation play in a situation like that? I told it all out loud – to the glory of the doings of His Excellency! I spoke enthusiastically and with ardour, and I did not blush – on the contrary, I was proud to have the occasion to tell such a story. I described it all to them (though I was sensible enough to keep quiet about you, little mother): my landlady, Faldoni, Ratazyayev, Markov, my boots – all of it. One or two of them exchanged smiles with one another; in fact, they all exchanged a few smiles. I expect they just thought there was something ridiculous about the way I looked, or perhaps it was what I told them about my boots – yes, that must have been it. But I don't believe they did it with any malicious intention. It was simply their youth, or the fact that they are rich; I absolutely refuse to believe that they were laughing at what I had to say with any evil or malicious intention. What I mean is that since I was saying it all in relation to His Excellency, they could not possibly have done that, could they, Varenka?

I still have not really recovered from it all, little mother. All these events have simply reduced me to confusion! Do you have firewood? Don't catch cold, Varenka; it is so easy to catch cold. Oh, my little mother, you will be the death of me with those melancholy thoughts of yours. I am entreating with God for you, how I am entreating with Him, little mother! That, for example, you should have woollen stockings and warm underclothes. Look to yourself, my little dove.
If you should need anything, then in the name of the Creator do not offend an old man. Just come straight to me. The bad times are over now. Do not worry on my account. Everything that lies ahead is so good and bright!

Yes, it was a sad time, Varenka! But never mind, it's gone, finished with. The years will roll by, and we will sigh even for that time. I remember the years of my youth. They couldn't have beenbetter – though I frequently had not a copeck in my pocket. I was cold and hungry, but at least I was cheerful. I would walk down the Nevsky of a morning, encounter a pretty little face, and be happy all day afterwards. That was a glorious, glorious time, little mother! It is good to be alive, Varenka! Especially in St Petersburg. Yesterday I repented with tears in my eyes, asking the Lord God to forgive me all the sins I committed in that sad time: my discontent, my liberal ideas, my debauchery and gambling. I mentioned you in my prayers with tender emotion. It was you alone, my little angel, who gave me support, who consoled me, admonished me with your good counsel and your exhortations. I will never be able to forget that, little mother. I have kissed all your letters today, my little dove! Well, goodbye, little mother. I have been told that there are clothes being sold somewhere not far from here. So I shall see what I can find out. Goodbye, then, little angel. Goodbye!

There took place in our lodging-house today an even that was unbearably sad, thoroughly inexplicable and quite unexpected. Our poor Gorshkov (I must tell you this first, little mother) has completely acquitted himself. The court's decision was made public a long time ago, but today he went to hear the final judgement. The case ended very happily for him. Whatever the suspicions of negligence and indiscretion that had been entertained against him, he was cleared of them all. The merchant was ordered to pay him a hefty sum of money, with the result that his circumstances were greatly improved; the stain on his honour was removed, and everything was better for him – in short, he had received the most complete fulfilment of his desires. He arrived home at three o'clock this afternoon. He looked terrible, his face was as white as a sheet, his lips were trembling, yet he was smiling – he embraced his wife and children. We all descended on him in a horde to congratulate him. He was thoroughly moved by our action, bowed in all directions, and shook hands with each of us several times. I even thought he had grown a few inches in height and straightened up, and he didn't have those tears in his eyes as he usually did. He was in such a state of agitation, poor chap. He couldn't keep still for two minutes on the same spot; he would pick up anything he chanced to find, then put it down again, smiling and bowing all the time without cease; he would sit down, stand up, sit down again, start talking – my, how he talked!– saying God only knows what: ‘My honour, my honour, my good name, my children,' and even weeping. Most of us also shed a few tears. Ratazyayev clearly wished to cheer him up, and said: ‘What good's honour, old chap, if you've nothing to eat; it's money, old chap, money that is the main thing; and it's that you should be thanking God for!' – and he slapped him on the shoulder. I thought Gorshkov looked offended; that's to say, he didn't actually express his displeasure openly, but just gave Ratazyayev a funny look and took his hand off his shoulder. He wouldn't have done that before, little mother! But people's characters differ. For example, if I had been so fortunate I would never have acted the proud fellow like that; I mean, my darling, sometimes one bows too much and humiliates oneself for the sole reason that one has suffered a fit of good will and excessive softness of heart… but it is not I we are
talking about here! ‘Yes,' he said,'money's good too; praise be to God, praise be to God!' And after that, during all the time we remained in his room, he kept saying ‘Praise be to God, praise be to God!' His wife ordered a rather special dinner, and lots of it. Our landlady cooked it for them herself. Our landlady is sometimes a kindhearted woman. But until the dinner was ready Gorshkov was unable to sit still. He went to see everyone in their rooms, whether they invited him in or not. He would simply walk in, smile, sit down on a chair, say a few words, or sometimes remain silent – and go away again. When he went to see the warrant-officer he even played cards; they made him join in as fourth hand in their game. He played for a while, then for a little while longer, made a mess of his hand, played three or four rounds and then gave up. ‘No,' he said, ‘but you see I'm just passing, that's all, just passing' – and left their company. When he ran into me in the passage he seized me by both hands and looked me straight in the face, only he did it in a thoroughly odd manner; then he shook my hand and wandered off, smiling all the while, but with a smile that was somehow strange and heavy, like that of a corpse. His wife was weeping for joy; everything in their room was so cheerful, as though it had been arranged for a holiday. They consumed their dinner quickly. After they had eaten, he said to his wife: ‘Listen, my dear, I'm going to take a nap for a while,' and he went to bed. He called his daughter to his side, put his hand on her little head and stroked it for a long, long time. Then he turned to his wife once more: ‘But what about Petenka?' he said. ‘Petya, our Petenka?…' His wife made the sign of the cross over herself and replied that he was dead. ‘Yes, yes, I know, I know it all, Petenka's in the kingdom of heaven now.' His wife could see that he was not himself, that the things which had taken place had completely shaken and astounded him, and she said to him: ‘You ought to sleep for a while, my dear.' ‘Yes, very well, in a moment I will… I'm a bit…' Here he turned away, lay for a while, then turned back again and tried to say something. His wife couldn't make out what it was, and she asked him: ‘What is it you want, my friend?' But he made no reply. She waited for a little. ‘Well,' she thought, ‘he is fallen asleep.' And she went to see the landlady for an hour or so. An hour later she returned – she saw that her husband had not yet woken up, and that he lay there without moving. In the belief that he was asleep, she sat down and began to busy herself with some work or other. She says now that she worked for half an
hour and was so absorbed in her thoughts that she cannot even remember what it was she was thinking about, only that she had forgotten about her husband. Then a sense of alarm suddenly made her wake up, and what struck her most of all was the tomb-like silence in the room. She looked over at the bed and saw that her husband was still lying in the same position. She went over to him, tugged the coverlet aside, looked – and saw that he was cold as cold – he had died, little mother, Gorshkov had suddenly died, as if smitten by a thunderbolt! And what he diedof – Godalone knows. It so overwhelmed me, Varenka, that I still can't get over it even now. It's simply impossible to believe that a man can die with so little fuss. What a poor miserable devil that Gorshkov was! Oh, what a fate, what a fate! His wife was in tears, fairly terrified out of her wits. The girl has gone to hide in a corner somewhere. There's a terrible commotion in their room; a forensic investigation is going to be carried out… I don't know all the details for certain. But I'm sorry for them, oh so sorry! It's so sad to think that one really can have no knowledge of the day or the hour… One will die just like that, for no reason…