“Yes, Viéra Pavlovna, I have. I have been a very bold girl; I had not the slightest shame, and I used to be always drunk. And that’s the reason that I am ill, Viéra Pavlovna, because with my weak lungs I used to drink too much.”
This was the third case of the kind that had come under Viéra Pavlovna’s observation. These girls, who had behaved themselves with perfect propriety since their acquaintance with her, told her that hitherto they had been leading bad lives. The first time she was amazed at such a confession; but, after reasoning it over for several days, she asked herself: “How about my own life? The filth in which I grew up was also very bad. However, it did not stick to me; and there are probably thousands of women who have grown up in purity in families worse than mine. Is there anything strange in the fact that those whom a happy chance has brought out from such degradation are not ruined?”
She listened to the second confession, and was not surprised, because the girl who made it had kept intact all the noble peculiarities of a human being—generosity, capability for genuine service, and softness of heart—had even preserved a great part of her innocence.
“Nastasia Borísovna, I have heard such confessions as you want to make; and it was hard for both of us—for her who spoke and for me who listened. I shall respect you not less, but rather more, than before, when now I know that you have endured a great deal; but I understand the whole story without listening. Let us not speak about it; there is no need for you to confess before me. I myself have spent many years in great sorrows; I am trying not to think about them, and I don’t like others to speak about them; it’s too hard.”
“No, Viéra Pavlovna; I have a different feeling about it. I want to tell you what a good man he is; I want someone to know how grateful I am to him; and whom can I tell it to if not to you? What kind of a life I led, of course there is no need of speaking about that—it was of the same stamp as that of all such poor creatures. I only want to tell you how I became acquainted with him. It is so pleasant for me to talk about him; and besides, I am going to live in his house, and you must know why I am going to leave the shop.”
“If telling this story will give you any pleasure, Anastasia Borísovna, I will gladly listen. Let me get my work first.”
“Yes; but it is impossible for me to work. How kind these girls have been, to let me have such work as agreed with my health. I shall be grateful to them all, to each one. Tell them, Viéra Pavlovna, that I asked you to thank them for me. I was walking on the Nevsky, Viéra Pavlovna; it was rather early when I went out. A student was walking along, and I accosted him. He did not reply, but crosses to the other side of the street. Then he sees that I am following him; I grasped him by the arm. ‘No,’ said I, ‘I am not going to let you go, you are such a handsome little fellow.’ ‘But I beg of you to let go of me,’ he says. ‘No, come along with me.’ ‘I do not care to.’ ‘Well, then, I will go with you. Where are you going? I shall not leave you on any account!’ I was such a shameless girl, much worse than anybody else.”
“Perhaps, from the very reason, Anastasia Borísovna, that you were at heart more modest, more conscientious.”
“Yes, it may be so. At least, I have seen this in others; not at that time, of course, but afterwards, I understood it. When I told him that I was going with him, at all events, he laughed, and said, ‘If you want to, come along; but it will be useless.’ He wanted to teach me a lesson, as he told me afterwards; it was disagreeable to him to have me clinging to him. And so I went along, and I told him all sorts of absurdities, but he kept silent; and so we went to his rooms. For a student he lived then very comfortably; he used to get from his pupils about twenty rubles a month, and he lived all by himself. I stretched out on his sofa, and said: ‘Nu, where is your wine?’ ‘No,’ says he, ‘I shall give you no wine; but you can have tea, if you want.’ ‘With whiskey,’ I said. ‘No, without whiskey.’ I began to do all sorts of foolish things, to be utterly shameless. He sat down and looked at me; but he did not show any interest, so offensive was it to him. Nowadays you can find such young men, Viéra Pavlovna; since that time young men have been growing morally better, but then it was a very rare thing. I began to get angry, and I scolded him. ‘Since you are such a stick!’ I said, ‘so I am going.’ ‘What is the use of going now? you may as well have some tea; my landlady will bring the samovar right in. But don’t abuse me.’ And all the time he addressed me formally [with vui, you]. He said, ‘You had better tell me who you are, and how you came to do such things.’ I began to tell him everything that came into my mind. We make up stories to suit ourselves, and that’s the reason no one ever believes us; but there are some, in spite of all that, whose stories are not made up; there are among us wellborn and well-educated girls. He listened, and said: ‘No; you have made up your story poorly. I should like to
