e sake I will call him Vassily. He
is the chief here and an excellent man. Our stay is only of a temporary
nature; we will move on when the time for action comes. But, however,
judging by events so far, the time is hardly likely ever to come!
Vladimir, I am horribly miserable. I must tell you before everything
that although Mariana and I ran away together, we have so far been
living like brother and sister. She loves me and told me she would be
mine if I feel I have the right to ask it of her.

Vladimir, I do not feel that I have the right! She trusts me, believes
in my honour--I cannot deceive her. I know that I never loved nor will
ever love any one more than her (of that I am convinced), but for all
that, how can I unite her fate forever with mine? A living being to
a corpse? Well, if not a complete corpse, at any rate, a half-dead
creature. Where would one's conscience be? I can hear you say that if
passion was strong enough the conscience would be silent. But that is
just the point; I am a corpse, an honest, well-meaning corpse if
you like, but a corpse nevertheless. Please do not say that I always
exaggerate. Everything I have told you is absolutely true. Mariana is
very reserved and is at present wrapped up in her activities in which
she believes, and I?

Well, enough of love and personal happiness and all that. It is now
a fortnight since I have been going among "the people," and really it
would be impossible to imagine anything more stupid than they are. Of
course the fault lies probably more in me than in the work itself. I
am not a fanatic. I am not one of those who regenerate themselves by
contact with the people and do not lay them on my aching bosom like a
flannel bandage--I want to influence them. But how? How can it be done?
When I am among them I find myself listening all the time, taking things
in, but when it comes to saying anything--I am at a loss for a word! I
feel that I am no good, a bad actor in a part that does not suit him.
Conscientiousness or scepticism are absolutely of no use, nor is a
pitiful sort of humour directed against oneself. It is worse than
useless! I find it disgusting to look at the filthy rags I carry about
on me, the masquerade as Vassily calls it! They say you must first
learn the language of the people, their habits and customs, but rubbish,
rubbish, rubbish, I say! You have only to BELIEVE in what you say
and say what you like! I once happened to hear a sectarian prophet