Poor Folk: Chapter 45

Chapter 45

September 23rd.

MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,--I have not written to you these
three days past for the reason that I have been so worried and
alarmed.

Three days ago Bwikov came again to see me. At the time I was
alone, for Thedora had gone out somewhere. As soon as I opened
the door the sight of him so terrified me that I stood rooted to
the spot, and could feel myself turning pale. Entering with his
usual loud laugh, he took a chair, and sat down. For a long while
I could not collect my thoughts; I just sat where I was, and went
on with my work. Soon his smile faded, for my appearance seemed
somehow to have struck him. You see, of late I have grown thin,
and my eyes and cheeks have fallen in, and my face has become as
white as a sheet; so that anyone who knew me a year ago would
scarcely recognise me now. After a prolonged inspection, Bwikov
seemed to recover his spirits, for he said something to which I
duly replied. Then again he laughed. Thus he sat for a whole
hour- -talking to me the while, and asking me questions about one
thing and another. At length, just before he rose to depart, he
took me by the hand, and said (to quote his exact words):
"Between ourselves, Barbara Alexievna, that kinswoman of yours
and my good friend and acquaintance--I refer to Anna Thedorovna -
is a very bad woman " (he also added a grosser term of
opprobrium). "First of all she led your cousin astray, and then
she ruined yourself. I also have behaved like a villain, but such
is the way of the world." Again he laughed. Next, having remarked
that, though not a master of eloquence, he had always considered
that obligations of gentility obliged him to have with me a clear
and outspoken explanation, he went on to say that he sought my
hand in marriage; that he looked upon it as a duty to restore to
me my honour; that he could offer me riches; that, after
marriage, he would take me to his country seat in the Steppes,
where we would hunt hares; that he intended never to visit St.
Petersburg again, since everything there was horrible, and he had
to entertain a worthless nephew whom he had sworn to disinherit
in favour of a legal heir; and, finally, that it was to obtain
such a legal heir that he was seeking my hand in marriage.
Lastly, he remarked that I seemed to be living in very poor
circumstances (which was not surprising, said he, in view of the
kennel that I inhabited); that I should die if I remained a month
longer in that den; that all lodgings in St. Petersburg were
detestable; and that he would be glad to know if I was in want of
anything.

So thunderstruck was I with the proposal that I could only burst
into tears. These tears he interpreted as a sign of gratitude,
for he told me that he had always felt assured of my good sense,
cleverness, and sensibility, but that hitherto he had hesitated
to take this step until he should have learned precisely how I
was getting on. Next he asked me some questions about YOU; saying
that he had heard of you as a man of good principle, and that
since he was unwilling to remain your debtor, would a sum of five
hundred roubles repay you for all you had done for me? To this I
replied that your services to myself had been such as could never
be requited with money; whereupon, he exclaimed that I was
talking rubbish and nonsense; that evidently I was still young
enough to read poetry; that romances of this kind were the
undoing of young girls, that books only corrupted morality, and
that, for his part, he could not abide them. "You ought to live
as long as I have done," he added, "and THEN you will see what
men can be."

With that he requested me to give his proposal my favourable
consideration--saying that he would not like me to take such an
important step unguardedly, since want of thought and impetuosity
often spelt ruin to youthful inexperience, but that he hoped to
receive an answer in the affirmative. "Otherwise," said he, "I
shall have no choice but to marry a certain merchant's daughter
in Moscow, in order that I may keep my vow to deprive my nephew
of the inheritance.--Then he pressed five hundred roubles into my
hand--to buy myself some bonbons, as he phrased it--and wound up
by saying that in the country I should grow as fat as a doughnut
or a cheese rolled in butter; that at the present moment he was
extremely busy; and that, deeply engaged in business though he
had been all day, he had snatched the present opportunity of
paying me a visit. At length he departed.

For a long time I sat plunged in reflection. Great though my
distress of mind was, I soon arrived at a decision.... My friend,
I am going to marry this man; I have no choice but to accept his
proposal. If anyone could save me from this squalor, and restore
to me my good name, and avert from me future poverty and want and
misfortune, he is the man to do it. What else have I to look for
from the future? What more am I to ask of fate? Thedora declares
that one need NEVER lose one's happiness; but what, I ask HER,
can be called happiness under such circumstances as mine? At all
events I see no other road open, dear friend. I see nothing else
to be done. I have worked until I have ruined my health. I cannot
go on working forever. Shall I go out into the world? Nay; I am
worn to a shadow with grief, and become good for nothing. Sickly
by nature, I should merely be a burden upon other folks. Of
course this marriage will not bring me paradise, but what else
does there remain, my friend--what else does there remain? What
other choice is left?

I had not asked your advice earlier for the reason that I wanted
to think the matter over alone. However, the decision which you
have just read is unalterable, and I am about to announce it to
Bwikov himself, who in any case has pressed me for a speedy
reply, owing to the fact (so he says) that his business will not
wait nor allow him to remain here longer, and that therefore, no
trifle must be allowed to stand in its way. God alone knows
whether I shall be happy, but my fate is in His holy, His
inscrutable hand, and I have so decided. Bwikov is said to be
kind-hearted. He will at least respect me, and perhaps I shall be
able to return that respect. What more could be looked for from
such a marriage?

I have now told you all, Makar Alexievitch, and feel sure that
you will understand my despondency. Do not, however, try to
divert me from my intention, for all your efforts will be in
vain. Think for a moment; weigh in your heart for a moment all
that has led me to take this step. At first my anguish was
extreme, but now I am quieter. What awaits me I know not. What
must be must be, and as God may send....

Bwikov has just arrived, so I am leaving this letter unfinished.
Otherwise I had much else to say to you. Bwikov is even now at
the door! ...

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