Poor Folk: Chapter 6

Chapter 6

April 25th

MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,--Today I met my cousin Sasha. To
see her going to wrack and ruin shocked me terribly. Moreover, it
has reached me, through a side wind, that she has been making
inquiry for me, and dogging my footsteps, under the pretext that
she wishes to pardon me, to forget the past, and to renew our
acquaintance. Well, among other things she told me that, whereas
you are not a kinsman of mine, that she is my nearest relative;
that you have no right whatever to enter into family relations
with us; and that it is wrong and shameful for me to be living
upon your earnings and charity. Also, she said that I must have
forgotten all that she did for me, though thereby she saved both
myself and my mother from starvation, and gave us food and drink;
that for two and a half years we caused her great loss; and,
above all things, that she excused us what we owed her. Even my
poor mother she did not spare. Would that she, my dead parent,
could know how I am being treated! But God knows all about it. .
. . Also, Anna declared that it was solely through my own fault
that my fortunes declined after she had bettered them; that she
is in no way responsible for what then happened; and that I have
but myself to blame for having been either unable or unwilling to
defend my honour. Great God! WHO, then, has been at fault?
According to Anna, Hospodin [Mr.] Bwikov was only right when he
declined to marry a woman who-- But need I say it? It is cruel to
hear such lies as hers. What is to become of me I do not know. I
tremble and sob and weep. Indeed, even to write this letter has
cost me two hours. At least it might have been thought that Anna
would have confessed HER share in the past. Yet see what she
says! ... For the love of God do not be anxious about me, my
friend, my only benefactor. Thedora is over apt to exaggerate
matters. I am not REALLY ill. I have merely caught a little cold.
I caught it last night while I was walking to Bolkovo, to hear
Mass sung for my mother. Ah, mother, my poor mother! Could you
but rise from the grave and learn what is being done to your
daughter!

B. D.

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