August 19th.
MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA, -Yes, I AM ashamed to meet you, my
darling--I AM ashamed. At the same time, what is there in all
this? Why should we not be cheerful again? Why should I mind the
soles of my feet coming through my boots? The sole of one's foot
is a mere bagatelle--it will never be anything but just a base,
dirty sole. And shoes do not matter, either. The Greek sages used
to walk about without them, so why should we coddle ourselves
with such things? Yet why, also, should I be insulted and
despised because of them? Tell Thedora that she is a rubbishy,
tiresome, gabbling old woman, as well as an inexpressibly foolish
one. As for my grey hairs, you are quite wrong about them,
inasmuch as I am not such an old man as you think. Emelia sends
you his greeting. You write that you are in great distress, and
have been weeping. Well, I too am in great distress, and have
been weeping. Nay, nay. I wish you the best of health and
happiness, even as I am well and happy myself, so long as I may
remain, my darling,--Your friend,
MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN.
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