All this is very fine, granted, you will say ... but
not practicable in reality. Why not practicable?
I have hitherto imagined, and I hope I shall never
cease to imagine, that in God’s world everything
honest, good, and true is practicable, and will sooner
or later come to pass, and not only will be realised,
but is already being realised. Let each man only
hold firm in his place, not lose patience, nor desire
the impossible, but do all in his power. But
I fancy I have gone off too much into abstractions.
I will defer the continuation of my reflections till
the next letter; but I cannot lay down my pen without
warmly, most warmly, pressing your hand, and wishing
you from my soul all that is good on earth.
P.S.—By the way, you say it’s
useless for you to wait, that you have nothing to
hope for; how do you know that, let me ask?
FROM MARYA ALEXANDROVNA TO ALEXEY PETROVITCH
VILLAGE OF X——, June 30,
1840.
How grateful I am to you for your letter, Alexey Petrovitch!
How much good it did me! I see you really are
a good and trustworthy man, and so I shall not be
reserved with you. I trust you. I know you
would make no unkind use of my openness, and will
give me friendly counsel. Here is the question.
You noticed at the end of my letter a phrase which
you did not quite like. I will tell what it had
reference to. There is one of the neighbours
here ... he was not here when you were, and you have
not seen him. He ... I could marry him if
I liked; he is still young, well-educated, and has
property. There are no difficulties on the part
of my parents; on the contrary, they—I know
for a fact—desire this marriage. He
is a good man, and I think he loves me ... but he is
so spiritless and narrow, his aspirations are so limited,
that I cannot but be conscious of my superiority to
him. He is aware of this, and as it were rejoices
in it, and that is just what sets me against him.
I cannot respect him, though he has an excellent heart.
What am I to do? tell me! Think for me and write
me your opinion sincerely.
But how grateful I am to you for your letter!...
Do you know, I have been haunted at times by such
bitter thoughts.... Do you know, I had come to
the point of being almost ashamed of every feeling—not
of enthusiasm only, but even of faith; I used to shut
a book with vexation whenever there was anything about
hope or happiness in it, and turned away from a cloudless
sky, from the fresh green of the trees, from everything
that was smiling and joyful. What a painful condition
it was! I say, was ... as though it were
over!
I don’t know whether it is over; I know hat
if it does not return I am indebted to you for it.
Do you see, Alexey Petrovitch, how much good you have
done, perhaps, without suspecting it yourself!
By the way, do you know I feel very sorry for you?
We are now in the full blaze of summer, the days are
exquisite, the sky blue and brilliant.... It
couldn’t be lovelier in Italy even, and you are
staying in the stifling, baking town, and walking
on the burning pavement. What induces you to
do so? You might at least move into some summer
villa out of town. They say there are bright
spots at Peterhof, on the sea-coast.
