Poor Folk and Other Stories

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  I have not asked you for advice. I wanted to think the matter over by myself. The decision you have just read is unalterable, and I am going to tell Bykov of it forthwith – he is pressing me to make a final decision even as it is. He says his business will not wait, he has to leave town, and he can’t postpone it just because of trivia. God knows whether I will be happy, my fate is in His holy, ineffable power, but I have made up my mind. Bykov is said to be a kind man; he will respect me; perhaps I will respect him, too. What more can be expected of our marriage?

  I shall keep you informed of everything, Makar Alekseyevich. I am certain that you will understand the full extent of my anguish. Do not seek to deflect me from my intention. Your exertions will be in vain. Try to weigh over in your own heart all the factors that have prompted me to act in this fashion. I was very anxious at first, but now I am calmer. What lies ahead I do not know. What will be, will be; as God decides!…

  Bykov has arrived; I am leaving this letter unfinished. There was much more which I wanted to tell you. Bykov is in the room!

  V. D.

  September 23

  Varvara Alekseyevna, little mother!

  I hasten to reply to you, little mother; I hasten to tell you, little mother, that I am amazed. This is somehow all wrong… We buried Gorshkov yesterday. Yes, it is right, Varenka, it is right; Bykov has acted honourably; only you are agreeing to his proposal, my darling. Of course, God is will’s in all things; it is right, it must unquestionably be right – that is to say, God’s will must be in this; and the providence of the Heavenly Creator is, of course, blessed and unfathomable, and human fates, too – they are the same. And you have the sympathy of Fedora, too. Of course, now you will be happy, little mother, you will have a sufficiency of everything, my little dove, my little treasure, my beloved, my little angel – only Varenka, why are you doing it so quickly?… Yes, business… Mr Bykov has business to attend to – of course, who hasn’t? he is just as likely to have business to attend to as the next person… I saw him as he was leaving the house after seeing you. He’s a fine figure of a man, a fine figure of a man; even a very fine figure of a man. It’s just that it somehow seems all wrong, it’s not really to do with his being a fine figure of a man but rather with the fact that I’m not myself now. It’s just that how are we going to write letters to each other now? And I, how am I going to manage alone? My little angel, I’m weighing it all over, all of what you have written to me in your letter; I am weighing them all over in my heart, the reasons you give. I had just finished copying the twentieth printer’s sheet, and all the while these happenings had been taking place! Little mother, I mean, here you are setting off on a journey – you’ll need to buy various items, like shoes and a dress, and it just so happens that I know of a shop in Gorokhovaya Street; you remember the one – I described it to you before. But no! How can you, little mother, what are you thinking of? I mean, you can’t go just now – it’s quite impossible, quite out of the question. I mean, you will need to do a great deal of shopping and arrange for a carriage. What’s more, the weather is bad just now; just look out of your window – the rain’s simply pouring down, and it’s such a wetting rain, and you’ll… you’ll get so cold, my little angel; your little heart will get cold! I mean, you’re afraid of strangers, yet here you are setting off with this man. And who will I have once you are gone? I know that Fedora says that great happiness awaits you… but she’s an ungovernable woman and she wants to ruin me. Will you be at the all-night service tonight, little mother? I would go merely in order to look at you. It’s true, little mother, it’s perfectly true that you’re an educated woman, virtuous and sensitive – it’s just that he’d do better to marry the merchant’s daughter! What do you think, little mother? Don’t you think that’s what he ought to do? As soon as it gets dark I shall look in and see you for a little while, my Varenka. It’s getting dark early today, and I shall look in. Little mother, I shall come and see you for a little while today without fail. You’ll be waiting for Bykov to arrive now, but when he leaves, then… Just wait, little mother, and I shall look in…

  MAKAR DEVUSHKIN

  September 27

  Makar Alekseyevich, my friend,

  Mr Bykov has said that I must have three dozen linen chemises. So I must find seamstresses to make at least two dozen as quickly as possible, and we have very little time. Mr Bykov keeps losing his temper, saying that I am making far too much of a fuss about’these rags’. Our wedding is in five days’ time, and we are to travel the day after. Mr Bykov is in a hurry, he says we mustn’t waste so much time on nonsense. I am worn out by all my worries, and can hardly stay on my feet. There is a terrible amount of business to attend to, and I really think it would have been better if this had never come to pass. What is more: we don’t have enough silk or lace, so I shall have to buy some, as Mr Bykov says he doesn’t want his wife to go around looking like a kitchenmaid, and that I really must ‘wipe those landowners’ wives’ noses for them’. That’s how he puts it. So I wonder, Makar Alekseyevich, if you could please go and see Madame Chiffon on Gorokhovaya Street and ask her a) to send us some seamstresses and b) to make the effort and come and see us herself. I am unwell today. It’s so cold in our new apartment, and everything is in such terrible chaos. Mr Bykov’s aunt is so old that she is only barely alive. I am afraid she may die before we manage to get away, but Mr Bykov says it is nothing, she will get over it. Everything in our house is in a dreadful state of turmoil. Mr Bykov is not living on the premises, and so the servants have all gone off, God knows where. Sometimes there is only Fedora to attend to our needs: Mr Bykov’s valet, who looks after everything, has been missing for three days now. Mr Bykov looks in every morning; he’s always in a bad temper and yesterday he administered a beating to the house manager, as a result of which he got into trouble with the police… There has been no one to deliver my letters to you. I am sending this by regular mail. Oh yes! I almost forgot the most important thing. Please tell Madame Chiffon she must change the silk and match it with the pattern we chose yesterday; tell her she must come and show me the new silk she has selected. And tell her also that I have given some thought to the canezou;* that it needs to be crocheted. And in addition: the letters of the monograms on the handkerchiefs must be done in tambour à broder, do you hear? Tambour, and not satin-stitch. See you don’t forget it is to be tambourl Oh, and there’s something else I’d almost forgotten: please, for the love of God, tell her that the leaves on the cape are to be sewn in relief, and the tendrils and thorns in cordonnet, and then the collar is to be done in lace or wide furbelows. Please make sure you tell her this, Makar Alekseyevich.

  Your

  V. D.

  PS I feel so guilty about troubling you with my errands. It was only the other day that you spent the whole morning running around for my sake. But what can I do? The house is in chaos, and I am unwell. So please don’t be annoyed with me, Makar Alekseyevich. I’m so depressed! Oh, what will become of me, my friend, my dear, good Makar Alekseyevich? I’m afraid to look into the future. I have a certain premonition of what will happen, and am living in a kind of daze.

  PPS Please for the love of God, my friend, don’t forget any of what I have told you in this letter. I’m so afraid you may get it wrong. Remember: tambour à broder, not satin-stitch.

  V. D.

  Septembe 27

  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 – 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 – 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 mo
ther – 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 – justyou wait. For some reason I keep seeing those accursed furbelows – 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

  MAKAR DEVUSHKIN

  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 – 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 – 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 – 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 – well, it doesn’t matter!

  Your

  MAKAR DEVUSHKIN

  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 – 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 – 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 ‘Makar Alekseyevich, Sir, I am in a hurry’ on it – 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.

  MAKAR DEVUSHKIN

  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 – 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 – 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 – 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 – ask yourself: ‘Who’s he going to write his letters to?’ Who am I going to call ‘little mother ‘? 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 – 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 – for rags! That is what they are, little mother – 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!