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I am not living…. But who is to blame for that? Why am I staying on here, in Petersburg? what am I doing here? why am I wearing away day after day? why don’t I go into the country? What is amiss with our steppes? has not one free breathing space in them? is one cramped in them? A strange craze to pursue dreams, when happiness is perhaps within reach! Resolved! I am going, going to-morrow, if I can. I am going home–that is, to you,–it’s just the same; we’re only twenty versts from one another. Why, after all, grow stale here! And how was it this idea did not strike me sooner? Dear Marya Alexadrovna, we shall soon see each other. It’s extraordinary, though, that this idea never entered my head before! I ought to have gone long, long ago. Good-bye till we meet, Marya Alexandrovna.

July 9.

I purposely gave myself twenty-four hours for reflection, and am now absolutely convinced that I have no reason to stay here. The dust in the streets is so penetrating that my eyes are bad. To-day I am beginning to pack, the day after to-morrow I shall most likely start, and within ten days I shall have the pleasure of seeing you. I trust you will welcome me as in old days. By the way, your sister is still staying at your aunt’s, isn’t she?

Marya Alexandrovna, let me press your hand warmly, and say from my heart, Good-bye till we meet. I had been getting ready to go away, but that letter has hastened my project. Supposing the letter proves nothing, supposing even Ninetta would not please any one else, me for instance, still I am going; that’s decided now. Till we meet, yours,

A. S.

XIII

FROM MARYA ALEXANDROVNA TO ALEXEY PETROVITCH

VILLAGE OF X—–,July 16, 1840.

You are coming here, Alexey Petrovitch, you will soon be with us, eh? I will not conceal from you that this news both rejoices and disturbs me…. How shall we meet? Will the spiritual tie persist which, as it seems to me, has sprung up between us? Will it not be broken by our meeting? I don’t know; I feel somehow afraid. I will not answer your last letter, though I could say much; I am putting it all off till our meeting. My mother is very much pleased at your coming…. She knew I was corresponding with you. The weather is delicious; we will go a great many walks, and I will show you some new places I have discovered…. I especially like one long, narrow valley; it lies between hillsides covered with forest…. It seems to be hiding in their windings. A little brook courses through it, scarcely seeming to move through the thick grass and flowers…. You shall see. Come: perhaps you will not be bored.

M.B.

P.S.–I think you will not see my sister; she is still staying at my aunt’s. I fancy (but this is between ourselves) she is going to marry a very agreeable young man–an officer. Why did you send me that letter from Naples? Life here cannot help seeming dingy and poor in contrast with that luxuriance and splendour. But Mademoiselle Ninetta is wrong; flowers grow and smell sweet–with us too.

XIV

FROM MARYA ALEXANDROVNA TO ALEXEY PETROVITCH

VILLAGE OF X—-, January 1841.

I have written to you several times, Alexey Petrovitch … you have not answered. Are you living? Or perhaps you are tired of our correspondence; perhaps you have found yourself some diversion more agreeable than what can be afforded for you by the letters of a provincial young lady. You remembered me, it is easy to see, simply from want of anything better to do. If that’s so, I wish you all happiness. If you do not even now answer me, I will not trouble you further. It only remains for me to regret my indiscretion in having allowed myself to be agitated for nothing, in having held out a hand to a friend, and having come for one minute out of my lonely corner. I must remain in it for ever, must lock myself up–that is my apportioned lot, the lot of all old maids. I ought to accustom myself to this idea. It’s useless to come out into the light of day, needless to wish for fresh air, when the lungs cannot bear it. By the way, we are now hemmed in all round by deadly drifts of snow. For the future I will be wiser…. People don’t die of dreariness; but of misery, perhaps, one might perish. If I am wrong, prove it to me. But I fancy I am not wrong. In any case, good-bye. I wish you all happiness.