I’m not going to offer you sympathy either.
In sympathising with others, people for the most part
want to get rid, as quick as they can, of an unpleasant
feeling of involuntary, egoistic regret.... I
understand genuine, warm sympathy ... but such sympathy
you would not accept from just any one.... Do,
please, get angry with me.... If you’re
angry, you’ll be sure to read my missive to the
end.
But what right have I to write to you, to talk of
my friendship, of my feelings, of consolation?
None, absolutely none; that I am bound to admit, and
I can only throw myself on your kindness.
Do you know what the preface of my letter’s
like? I’ll tell you: some Mr. N. or
M. walking into the drawing-room of a lady who doesn’t
in the least expect him, and who does, perhaps, expect
some one else.... He realises that he has come
at an unlucky moment, but there’s no help for
it.... He sits down, begins talking...goodness
knows what about: poetry, the beauties of nature,
the advantages of a good education...talks the most
awful rot, in fact. But, meanwhile, the first
five minutes have gone by, he has settled himself comfortably;
the lady has resigned herself to the inevitable, and
so Mr. N. or M. regains his self-possession, takes
breath, and begins a real conversation—to
the best of his ability.
In spite, though, of all this rigmarole, I don’t
still feel quite comfortable. I seem to see your
bewildered—even rather wrathful—face;
I feel that it will be almost impossible you should
not ascribe to me some hidden motives, and so, like
a Roman who has committed some folly, I wrap myself
majestically in my toga, and await in silence your
final sentence....
The question is: Will you allow me to go on writing
to you?—I remain sincerely and warmly devoted
to you,
ALEXEY S.
FROM MARYA ALEXANDROVNA TO ALEXEY PETROVITCH
VILLAGE OF X——, March 22,
1840.
DEAR SIR,
ALEXEY PETROVITCH,
I have received your letter, and I really don’t
know what to say to you. I should not even have
answered you at all, if it had not been that I fancied
that under your jesting remarks there really lies hid
a feeling of some friendliness. Your letter made
an unpleasant impression on me. In answer to
your rigmarole, as you call it, let me too put to
you one question: What for? What have I
to do with you, or you with me? I do not ascribe
to you any bad motives ... on the contrary, I’m
grateful for your sympathy ... but we are strangers
to each other, and I, just now at least, feel not
the slightest inclination for greater intimacy with
any one whatever.—With sincere esteem, I
remain, etc.,
MARYA B.
FROM ALEXEY PETROVITCH TO MARYA ALEXANDROVNA
ST. PETERSBURG, March 30.
