_From Alexyéi Petróvitch to Márya Alexándrovna_
PETERSBURG, April 7th.
I write again to you, although I foresee that, without your approval, I
shall speedily hold my peace. I must admit that you cannot fail to feel
a certain distrust of me. What of that? Perhaps you are right. Formerly
I would have declared to you (and, probably, would have believed my own
words) that, since we parted, I had “developed,” had advanced; with
condescending, almost affectionate scorn I would have referred to my
past; with touching boastfulness I would have initiated you into the
secrets of my present, active life ... but now, I assure you, Márya
Alexándrovna, I consider it shameful and disgusting to allude to the way
in which my vile self-love once on a time fermented and amused itself.
Fear not: I shall not force upon you any great truths, any profound
views; I have none--none of those truths and views. I have become a nice
fellow,--truly I have. I’m bored, Márya Alexándrovna--so bored that I
can endure it no longer. That is why I am writing to you.... Really, it
seems to me that we can come to an agreement....
However, I positively am in no condition to talk to you until you
stretch out your hand to me, until I receive from you a note with the
one word “Yes.”--Márya Alexándrovna, will you hear me out?--that is the
question.
Yours truly,
A. S.
V
_From Márya Alexándrovna to Alexyéi Petróvitch_
VILLAGE OF ... NO, April 14.
What a strange man you are! Well, then--“yes.”