When you are poor, and you are lucky enough to have a job, you still have anxiety, because any stable situation can be overthrown in a moment! In the following passage we have an example of the whole mental trip of being in dire straits.
At this point in the sequence of events recounted in the correspondence between the two protagonists, the writer of this letter is still at least ten days away from when his salary is to be paid, and has taken an advance on his pay, owes money, is overdue on his rent and clothing repairs.....
September 9
Varvara Alekseyevna, Little Mother!
I am beside myself as I write this to you. I am thoroughly agitated by a terrible thing which has happened. My head is whirling round. I feel as though everything were spinning around me. Oh, my darling, what a thing I have to tell you now! This we did not foresee. No, I do not believe that I did not foresee it; I foresaw it all. My heart sensed it in advance! I even dreamed of something similar the other night.
This is what happened! I shall tell you without regard for style, just as the Good Lord puts the words into my head. I went to the department today. I arrived, sat down, and started to write. I should also tell you, little mother, that I had been writing the day before as well. Well, it was like this: Timofey Ivanovich came to me yesterday with an order for a document which was required in a hurry. 'Please copy it cleanly, swiftly and carefully, Makar Alekseyevich,' he said. 'It's to be signed today.' I should observe, little angel, that I was not quite myself yesterday, and had no interest in anything; such were the sadness and depression that had overtaken me. My heart was cold and my soul was dark; my memory held nothing but you, my poor little treasure. Well, so I got down to the task of copying; I did the work cleanly and well, except that--I don't know how to explain it to you, whether it was the work of the Unclean One, whether it had been preordained by some secret Fate, or whether it simply had to happen that way--I left out a whole line; Lord knows what sense it must have made, it simply didn't make any. There was a delay over the delivery of the document, and it wasn't handed to His Excellency for signature until today. I reported for work this morning at the usual time and stationed myself beside beside Yemelyan Ivanovich. I should observe to you, my dear, that I have recently begun to feel twice as ashamed and apologetic as I used to. I've recently begun to find it impossible to look at anyone. If anyone's chair so much as gives a creak, I feel more dead than alive. That was how it was today: I sat huddled up, not making a sound, like a hedgehog, with the result that Yefim Akimovich (there never was such a bully) said so that everyone could hear: 'What are you sitting there looking so scared for, Makar Alekseyevich?' And he made such a face that absolutely everyone near us split their sides with laughter, at my expense, of course. They laughed, and they laughed! I stuck my fingers in my ears and shut my eyes, just sat there, not moving. That's what I usually do; that way they usually desist sooner. Suddenly I heard noise, the sound of running footsteps, fuss and bustle; I listened--surely my ears must be deceiving me? My name was being called, someone was asking for me, for Devushkin. My heart began to quiver within me, and I still don't really know why I was so scared; all I know is that I was more scared than I have ever been in my life before. I became rooted to my chair--as though nothing were wrong, as though I were not even there. But again the voice started up, coming nearer and nearer. At last it was right next to my ear: 'Devushkin! Devushkin! Where's Devushkin?' I raised my eyes: before me stood Yevstafy Ivanovich; he said: 'Makar Alekseyevich, you've to go to His Excellency, at the double! You've made a mistake in a document!' That was all he said, but it was enough, little mother, don't you think! I went numb, froze, lost all feeling; and began to walk, more dead than alive. I was escorted through one room, through a second, then a third, into a study--I stood before His Excellency! It's impossible for me to give you a positive account of the thoughts that passed through my mind at that moment. I saw His Excellency standing there, and they were all standing around him. I don't think I bowed; I forgot. Struck dumb, I merely stood there, my lips trembling and my legs shaking. And I had reason to be struck dumb, little mother. For one thing, I was ashamed of myself; I took a glance in a mirror to the right of me, and what I saw in it nearly sent me out of my mind. And for another, I have always tried to do my job as though I myself were not actually there. So that it was hardly likely that His Excellency could know of my existence. Perhaps he might have heard in passing, as it were, that there was a member of the staff named Devushkin in the department, but he would never have had any close dealings with him.
Angrily, he began:'What's the meaning of this, sir? Where was your concentration? An important document, urgently required, and you go and spoil it. What's the meaning of it, eh?' At that point His Excellency turned to Yevstafy Ivanovich. I could only hear certain isolated words and phrases: 'Negligence! Indiscretion! You will get us into trouble!' For some reason I suddenly had an urge to open my mouth. I wanted to beg forgiveness, but could not, I wanted to flee, but dared not attempt to, and then...then, little mother, something happened that even now makes the pen want to fall from my hand. One of my metal buttons--the devil take it--a button which had been hanging from my uniform by a thread--suddenly fell off (I must have brushed against it by accident), bounced on the floor with a ping, and rolled straight, just like that, the accursed object, to His Excellency's feet--and this while everyone was completely silent, too! There went any hope I might have had of excusing myself, of making an apology, of accounting for my misdeed--all the things I had been preparing to say to His Excellency! What happened next was dreadful. His Excellency at once fastened his attention on my appearance and on what I was wearing. I recalled what I had seen in the mirror: I rushed to retrieve the button! I lost my head! I stooped down and tried to get hold of the button, but it spun and rolled, in short, I couldn't catch hold of it, and gave a fine display of dexterity in the process. Then I suddenly felt the last of my strength desert me, and knew that all, all was lost! My entire reputation was ruined, I was finished as a human being! And then, for not reason at all, I started to hear the voices of Teresa and Faldoni, and my ears began to ring. At last I managed to retrieve the button, got to my feet, straightened myself up, and had I not been such a fool I would have stood to attention and kept still. But oh, no: I began pressing the button against the torn off threads, as though that would make it stay on again; and, what's more, I smiled, and smiled again. At first His Excellency turned away, but then he glanced at me again--I could hear him saying to Yevstafy Ivanovich: 'What on earth?...Look at the state he's in!...How does he...What does he...' Oh, my darling, the sound of those words! I heard Yevstafy Ivanovich say: 'He has a good record, has never put a foot wrong--exemplary conduct, draws a reasonable salary, in accordance with his grade...' 'Well, do something to ease his position,' said His Excellency. 'Give him something in advance.' 'But he's already been paid,' Yevstafy Ivanovich replied. 'He's been paid in advance for ages now. He must be having some difficulties or other--but he's always shown good conduct, and he's got a good record, a spotless record.' I burned, my little angel, I burned with the fires of hell! I died inwardly! 'Well,' His Excellency said in a loud voice, 'it must be copied out again, and quickly; Devushkin, come here and copy it out again, without mistakes this time; and listen...' At that point His Excellency turned to the other people present and issued various instructions; then they all went their separate ways. No sooner had they dispersed than His Excellency hurriedly took out his pocketbook and produced a hundred ruble* note from it. 'Here,' he said. 'It's the least I can do, look on it as you please...'--and he shoved it into my hand. My angel, I gave a start of shock, my whole being was shaken; I don't know what came over me--I tried to kiss his hand. But he blushed all over, my little dove, and--I depart from the truth by not one hair's breath, my darling--he took my unworthy hand and shook it, shook it properly as though it were the hand of someone who was his equal, someone equal in rank to himself, a general. 'Off you go,' he said, it's the least I can do...Don't make any more mistakes, but on this occasion we'll manage to get by.'
Now, little mother, this is what I have decided: I ask you and Fedora--and if I had any children, I would ask them, too--to say your prayers henceforth in the following manner: to pray, not for your fathers, but for His Excellency, and to do so each day and every day until the end of your lives! I also want to say this, little mother--and I say it solemnly, listen carefully, little mother: I swear that no matter how afflicted by mental agony I was in the cruel days of our misfortunes when I looked at you, at the miseries you had to suffer, and at myself, at my degradation and my incompetence, in spite of all that I swear that the hundred rubles are less dear to me than the fact that His Excellency himself deigned to shake my unworthy hand, wretch and drunkard that I am! By doing that he restored me to himself. By that action he has resurrected my spirit, has made my life sweeter for ever, and I am firmly convinced that, no matter how grievously I may have sinned in the eyes of the All-Highest, my prayer for the happiness and prosperity of His Excellency will reach His throne...
Little mother! I am now in a dreadful state of mental disarray and agitation! My heart is thumping as if it wanted to leap out of my breast. At the same time, I seem to have lost all my energy. I am sending you forty-five paper rubles; I am giving the landlady twenty, and leave thirty-five for myself: I'll spend twenty on setting my clothes to rights, and keep fifteen for daily expenses. The only thing is that all these events which took place this morning have shaken my being to its foundations. I am going to go to bed. But I feel peaceful, very peaceful. Only there is a crack in my soul, and I can hear it trembling, quivering, stirring deep inside me. I shall come and see you: but for the moment I am simply intoxicated by all these sensations...God sees it all, my little mother, my priceless little dove!
Your worthy friend,
Makar Devushkin
____________
Anyway, that does it for "Poor Folk"; I am almost done reading the second story in the collection, entitled "The Landlady". This next story is an intense character study in almost Gothic style; the descriptions and dream-like texture of the story had me expecting the whole thing to turn into a vampire story--it hasn't as of the 95% point in the story. So I'm liking the mood created by this story, and I may make use some of the elements of this story for one of my science fiction stories.
*100 rubles was slightly more than three month's wages.
Novo Visum,
Neue Ansicht.
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