Russian Literature – Children Books – Russian Poetry – Ivan Turgenev – A Correspondence – Contents
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XI
From Márya Alexándrovna to Alexyéi Petróvitch
Village of … no, June 30, 1840.
How grateful I am to you for your letter, Alexyéi Petróvitch! How much good it has done me! I see that you really are a good and trustworthy man, and therefore I shall not dissimulate before you. I trust you. I know that you will not make a bad use of my frankness and that you will give me friendly advice. That is the point.
You noticed at the end of my letter a phrase which did not entirely please you. This is what it referred to. There is a neighbour here … he was not here in your day, and you have not seen him. He … I might marry him, if I wished; he is a man who is still young, cultured, wealthy. There are no obstacles on the side of my relatives; on the contrary, they—I know this for certain—desire this marriage; he is a fine man, and I think he loves me…. But he is so languid and petty, all his desires are so narrow, that I cannot help recognising my superiority over him; he feels this, and seems to take delight in it, and precisely that repels me from him; I cannot respect him, although 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 sometimes been visited by such bitter thoughts…. Do you know, I have gone so far as almost to feel ashamed of every—I will not say exalted—but of every trustful feeling. I have shut my book in vexation when it spoke of hope and happiness; I have turned away from the cloudless sky, from the fresh verdure of the trees, from everything that smiled and was glad. What a painful condition this was! I say “was” … as though it had passed!
I do not know whether it has passed; I know that if it does not return I shall be indebted to you for it. You see, Alexyéi Petróvitch, how much good you have done, perhaps without yourself suspecting it! Now, in the very heart of summer, the days are magnificent, the sky is blue, bright…. It cannot be more beautiful in Italy. But you are sitting in a stifling and dusty town, you are walking on the scorching pavements. What possesses you to do it? You ought, at least, to remove to a villa somewhere. They say that beyond Peterhoff, on the seashore, there are charming places.
I should like to write more to you, but it is impossible: such a sweet perfume has been wafted up to me from the garden that I cannot remain in the house. I shall put on my hat and go for a stroll…. Farewell until another time, kind Alexyéi Petróvitch.
Yours truly,
M. B.
P.S. I have forgotten to tell you … just imagine: that wit, of whom I recently wrote you,—just imagine: he has made me a declaration of love, and in the most fiery terms! At first I thought that he was making fun of me; but he wound up with a formal proposal. What do you think of that, after all his calumnies? But he is positively too old. Last night, to pique him, I sat down at the piano in front of the open window in the moonlight, and played Beethoven. It was so delightful to me to feel its cold light on my face, so consolatory to send forth upon the perfumed night air the noble sounds of music, athwart which, at times, the song of the nightingale was audible! It is a long time since I have been so happy, but do you write to me concerning the thing I asked you about in the beginning of my letter: it is very important.
< < < Chapter X
Chapter XII > > >
Russian Literature – Children Books – Russian Poetry – Ivan Turgenev – A Correspondence – Contents
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