Poor Folk: Chapter 27

Chapter 27

August 3rd.

MY ANGEL, BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,--I hasten to inform you, 0h light of
my life, that my hopes are rising again. But, little daughter of
mine--do you really mean it when you say that I am to indulge in
no more borrowings? Why, I could not do without them. Things
would go badly with us both if I did so. You are ailing.
Consequently, I tell you roundly that I MUST borrow, and that I
must continue to do so.

Also, I may tell you that my seat in the office is now next to
that of a certain Emelia Ivanovitch. He is not the Emelia whom
you know, but a man who, like myself, is a privy councillor, as
well as represents, with myself, the senior and oldest official
in our department. Likewise he is a good, disinterested soul, and
one that is not over-talkative, though a true bear in appearance
and demeanour. Industrious, and possessed of a handwriting purely
English, his caligraphy is, it must be confessed, even worse than
my own. Yes, he is a good soul. At the same time, we have never
been intimate with one another. We have done no more than
exchange greetings on meeting or parting, borrow one another's
penknife if we needed one, and, in short, observe such bare
civilities as convention demands. Well, today he said to me,
"Makar Alexievitch, what makes you look so thoughtful?" and
inasmuch as I could see that he wished me well, I told him all--
or, rather, I did not tell him EVERYTHING, for that I do to no
man (I have not the heart to do it); I told him just a few
scattered details concerning my financial straits. "Then you
ought to borrow," said he. "You ought to obtain a loan of Peter
Petrovitch, who does a little in that way. I myself once borrowed
some money of him, and he charged me fair and light interest."
Well, Barbara, my heart leapt within me at these words. I kept
thinking and thinking, --if only God would put it into the mind
of Peter Petrovitch to be my benefactor by advancing me a loan!"
I calculated that with its aid I might both repay my landlady and
assist yourself and get rid of my surroundings (where I can
hardly sit down to table without the rascals making jokes about
me). Sometimes his Excellency passes our desk in the office. He
glances at me, and cannot but perceive how poorly I am dressed.
Now, neatness and cleanliness are two of his strongest points.
Even though he says nothing, I feel ready to die with shame when
he approaches. Well, hardening my heart, and putting my
diffidence into my ragged pocket, I approached Peter Petrovitch,
and halted before him more dead than alive. Yet I was hopeful,
and though, as it turned out, he was busily engaged in talking to
Thedosei Ivanovitch, I walked up to him from behind, and plucked
at his sleeve. He looked away from me, but I recited my speech
about thirty roubles, et cetera, et cetera, of which, at first,
he failed to catch the meaning. Even when I had explained matters
to him more fully, he only burst out laughing, and said nothing.
Again I addressed to him my request; whereupon, asking me what
security I could give, he again buried himself in his papers, and
went on writing without deigning me even a second glance. Dismay
seized me. "Peter Petrovitch," I said, "I can offer you no
security," but to this I added an explanation that some salary
would, in time, be due to me, which I would make over to him, and
account the loan my first debt. At that moment someone called him
away, and I had to wait a little. On returning, he began to mend
his pen as though he had not even noticed that I was there. But I
was for myself this time. "Peter Petrovitch," I continued, "can
you not do ANYTHING?" Still he maintained silence, and seemed not
to have heard me. I waited and waited. At length I determined to
make a final attempt, and plucked him by the sleeve. He muttered
something, and, his pen mended, set about his writing. There was
nothing for me to do but to depart. He and the rest of them are
worthy fellows, dearest--that I do not doubt-- but they are also
proud, very proud. What have I to do with them? Yet I thought I
would write and tell you all about it. Meanwhile Emelia
Ivanovitch had been encouraging me with nods and smiles. He is a
good soul, and has promised to recommend me to a friend of his
who lives in Viborskaia Street and lends money. Emelia declares
that this friend will certainly lend me a little; so tomorrow,
beloved, I am going to call upon the gentleman in question. . . .
What do you think about it? It would be a pity not to obtain a
loan. My landlady is on the point of turning me out of doors, and
has refused to allow me any more board. Also, my boots are
wearing through, and have lost every button--and I do not possess
another pair! Could anyone in a government office display greater
shabbiness? It is dreadful, my Barbara--it is simply dreadful!

MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN.

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