What am I to do, my dear? Here it won’t be possible for me to escape his pursuit. He has already managed to charm my grandmother. He’ll call on us—again there will be declarations, complaints, vows—and to what end? He’ll obtain my love, my declaration—then reflect on the disadvantages of the marriage, leave under some pretext, abandon me—and I…What a terrible future! For God’s sake, give me your hand: I’m drowning.
7. SASHA’S REPLY
How much better it is to relieve your heart with a full confession! None too soon, my angel! What was the point of not admitting to me what I had long known: * * * and you are in love—what’s wrong with that? All the best to you. You have a gift for looking at things from God knows what side. You’re asking for trouble—beware of bringing it upon yourself. Why shouldn’t you marry * * *? Where are the insuperable obstacles? He’s rich and you’re poor—a trifle! He’s rich enough for two—what more do you want? He’s an aristocrat; but aren’t you also an aristocrat by name, by upbringing?
Not long ago there was an argument about ladies of high society. I learned that R. once declared himself on the side of the aristocracy because they are better shod. So, then, isn’t it obvious that you are an aristocrat from head to foot?
Forgive me, my angel, but your heartfelt letter made me laugh. * * * came to the country to see you. How terrible! You’re perishing; you ask my advice. Can it be you’ve turned into a provincial heroine? My advice is: Get married as quickly as possible in your wooden church and come back to us, so that you can appear as Fornarina in the tableaux vivants that are being organized at the S.’s.9 Joking aside, your knight’s deed has moved me. Of course, in the old days, for the sake of a favorable glance, a lover would go to fight for three years in Palestine; but in our day, for a man to go three hundred miles from Petersburg to see the mistress of his heart truly means a lot. * * * deserves a reward.
8. VLADIMIR * * * TO HIS FRIEND
Do me a favor, spread the rumor that I’m on my deathbed, I intend to overstay and want to observe all possible proprieties. It’s already two weeks that I’ve been living in the country, and I don’t notice how the time flies. I’m resting from Petersburg life, which I’m terribly sick of. Not to love the country is forgivable in a young girl just released from her convent cage, or to an eighteen-year-old kammerjunker. Petersburg is the front hall, Moscow is the maids’ quarters, but the country is our study. A decent man passes of necessity through the front hall and rarely glances into the maids’ quarters, but sits down in his study. That’s how I’ll end up. I’ll retire, get married, and go off to my Saratov estate. Being a landowner is the same as being in the service. Managing three thousand souls, whose well-being depends entirely on us, is more important than commanding a platoon or copying diplomatic dispatches…
The neglect in which we leave our peasants is unforgivable. The more rights we have over them, the more responsibilities we have towards them. We leave them to the mercy of a swindling steward, who oppresses them and robs us. We run through our future earnings in debts, ruin ourselves; old age finds us in need and worry.
There lies the cause of the rapid decline of our nobility: the grandfather was rich, the son is in need, the grandson goes begging. Ancient families fall into insignificance; new ones arise and by the third generation vanish again. Fortunes merge, and no family knows its ancestors. What does such political materialism lead to? I don’t know. But it is time to block its path.
I never could behold without sorrow the humiliation of our historic families; no one among us values them, starting with those who belong to them. But then what pride of memory can you expect from people who inscribe on a monument: To Citizen Minin and Prince Pozharsky? Which Prince Pozharsky? What is this Citizen Minin? There was a high-ranking boyar, Prince Dmitri Mikhailovich Pozharsky, and there was a tradesman Kozma Minich Sukhoruky, elected representative by the whole state.10 But the fatherland forgot even the actual names of its deliverers. The past does not exist for us. A pathetic people!
An aristocracy of functionaries will not replace the hereditary aristocracy. The family memories of the nobility should be the historical memories of the people. But what family memories do the children of a collegiate assessor have?11
In speaking in favor of the aristocracy, I am not posing as an English lord; my origin, though I am not ashamed of it, does not give me any right to that. But I agree with La Bruyère: Affecter le mépris de la naissance est un ridicule dans le parvenu et une lâcheté dans le gentilhomme.*3 12
I have thought all this over, living on someone else’s estate, looking at the way petty landowners run things. These gentlemen are not in the service and run their little estates themselves, but I must say, God grant that they go to ruin, like our kind. What savagery! For them the times of Fonvizin have not yet passed! The Prostakovs and Skotinins still flourish among them!13
That, however, does not apply to my relative, whose guest I am. He is a very kind man, his wife is a very kind woman, his daughter is a very kind girl. You see, I’ve become very kind. In fact, since I’ve been in the country, I’ve become utterly benevolent and tolerant—the effect of my patriarchal life and of Liza * * *’s presence. I was downright bored without her. I came to persuade her to go back to Petersburg. Our first meeting was splendid. It was my aunt’s name day. All the neighbors gathered. Liza turned up, too—and could hardly believe her eyes when she saw me. She couldn’t help thinking I had come there only for her sake. At any rate I tried to make her feel that. Here my success went beyond my expectations (which means a lot). The old ladies are enraptured with me, the younger ladies simply swarm around me—“And that’s because they’re patriots.”14 The men are utterly displeased with my fatuité indolente,*4 which is still a novelty here. They are all the more furious because I am extremely courteous and decorous, and they cannot understand precisely what my insolence consists in, though they do feel that I am insolent. Good-bye. What are our friends up to? Servitor di tutti quanti.*5 Write to me at the village of * * *.
9. THE FRIEND’S REPLY
I have carried out your commission. Yesterday in the theater I announced that you have come down with a nervous fever and probably are no longer of this world—so enjoy your life while you have not yet resurrected.
Your moral reflections on the management of estates make me glad for you. So much the better is
Un homme sans peur et sans reproche,
Qui n’est ni roi, ni duc, ni comte aussi.*6 15
The position of Russian landowner is, in my opinion, most enviable.
Ranks are a necessity in Russia, if only at posting stations, where you cannot obtain horses without them.
—
Having set out upon a serious discussion, I quite forgot that you cannot be bothered with that now—you are busy with your Liza. Why on earth do you pose as M. Faublas and eternally mess about with women?16 It’s not worthy of you. In this respect you are behind the times and are straying towards the ci-devant*7 hoarse-voiced guardsman of 1807.17 For the moment it’s only a shortcoming, but soon you will be more ridiculous than General G. Wouldn’t it be better to accustom yourself ahead of time to the strictness of maturity and voluntarily renounce your fading youth? I know that I am preaching in vain, but such is my role.
Your friends all send their greetings and greatly regret your untimely end—among others your former lady friend, who has come back from Rome in love with the pope. How like her that is and how it should delight you! Won’t you come back and be a rival cum servus servorum dei?*8 That would be just like you. I’ll expect you any day now.