ST. PETERSBURG, _May_ 28, 1840.
Marya Alexandrovna, you are a splendid person ... you ... your letter
revealed the truth to me at last! My God! what suffering! A man is
constantly thinking that now at last he has reached simplicity, that
he's no longer showing off, humbugging, lying ... but when you come to
look at him more attentively, he's become almost worse than before. And
this, too, one must remark: the man himself, alone that is, never
attains this self-recognition, try as he will; his eyes cannot see his
own defects, just as the compositor's wearied eyes cannot see the slips
he makes; another fresh eye is needed for that. My thanks to you, Marya
Alexandrovna.... You see, I speak to you of myself; of you I dare not
speak.... Ah, how absurd my last letter seems to me now, so flowery and
sentimental! I beg you earnestly, go on with your confession. I fancy
you, too, will be the better for it, and it will do me great good. It's
a true saying: 'A woman's wit's better than many a reason,' and a
woman's heart's far and away--by God, yes! If women knew how much
better, nobler, and wiser they are than men--yes, wiser--they would
grow conceited and be spoiled. But happily they don't know it; they
don't know it because their intelligence isn't in the habit of turning
incessantly upon themselves, as with us. They think very little about
themselves--that's their weakness and their strength; that's the whole
secret--I won't say of our superiority, but of our power. They lavish
their soul, as a prodigal heir does his father's gold, while we exact a
percentage on every worthless morsel.... How are they to hold their own
with us?... All this is not compliments, but the simple truth, proved
by experience. Once more, I beseech you, Marya Alexandrovna, go on
writing to me.... If you knew all that is coming into my brain! ... But
I have no wish now to speak, I want to listen to you. My turn will come
later. Write, write.--Your devoted,