dearest little barbara,—it is you who have committed a fault—and one which must weigh heavily upon your conscience. indeed, your last letter has amazed and confounded me,—so much so that, on once more looking into the recesses of my heart, i perceive that i was perfectly right in what i did. of course i am not now referring to my debauch (no, indeed!), but to the fact that i love you, and to the fact that it is unwise of me to love you—very unwise. you know not how matters stand, my darling. you know not why i am bound to love you. otherwise you would not say all that you do. yet i am persuaded that it is your head rather than your heart that is speaking. i am certain that your heart thinks very differently.

what occurred that night between myself and those officers i scarcely know, i scarcely remember. you must bear in mind that for some time past i have been in terrible distress—that for a whole month i have been, so to speak, hanging by a single thread. indeed, my position has been most pitiable. though i hid myself from you, my landlady was forever shouting and railing at me. this would not have mattered a jot—the horrible old woman might have shouted as much as she pleased—had it not been that, in the first place, there was the disgrace of it, and, in the second place, she had somehow learned of our connection, and kept proclaiming it to the household until i felt perfectly deafened, and had to stop my ears. the point, however, is that other people did not stop their ears, but, on the contrary, pricked them. indeed, i am at a loss what to do.

really this wretched rabble has driven me to extremities. it all began with my hearing a strange rumour from thedora—namely, that an unworthy suitor had been to visit you, and had insulted you with an improper proposal. that he had insulted you deeply i knew from my own feelings, for i felt insulted in an equal degree. upon that, my angel, i went to pieces, and, losing all self-control, plunged headlong. bursting into an unspeakable frenzy, i was at once going to call upon this villain of a seducer—though what to do next i knew not, seeing that i was fearful of giving you offence. ah, what a night of sorrow it was, and what a time of gloom, rain, and sleet! next, i was returning home, but found myself unable to stand upon my feet. then emelia ilyitch happened to come by. he also is a tchinovnik—or rather, was a tchinovnik, since he was turned out of the service some time ago. what he was doing there at that moment i do not know; i only know that i went with him.... surely it cannot give you pleasure to read of the misfortunes of your friend—of his sorrows, and of the temptations which he experienced?... on the evening of the third day emelia urged me to go and see the officer of whom i have spoken, and whose address i had learned from our dvornik. more strictly speaking, i had noticed him when, on a previous occasion, he had come to play cards here, and i had followed him home. of course i now see that i did wrong, but i felt beside myself when i heard them telling him stories about me. exactly what happened next i cannot remember. i only remember that several other officers were present as well as he. or it may be that i saw everything double—god alone knows. also, i cannot exactly remember what i said. i only remember that in my fury i said a great deal. then they turned me out of the room, and threw me down the staircase—pushed me down it, that is to say. how i got home you know. that is all. of course, later i blamed myself, and my pride underwent a fall; but no extraneous person except yourself knows of the affair, and in any case it does not matter. perhaps the affair is as you imagine it to have been, barbara? one thing i know for certain, and that is that last year one of our lodgers, aksenti osipovitch, took a similar liberty with peter petrovitch, yet kept the fact secret, an absolute secret. he called him into his room (i happened to be looking through a crack in the partition-wall), and had an explanation with him in the way that a gentleman should—no one except myself being a witness of the scene; whereas, in my own case, i had no explanation at all. after the scene was over, nothing further transpired between aksenti osipovitch and peter petrovitch, for the reason that the latter was so desirous of getting on in life that he held his tongue. as a result, they bow and shake hands whenever they meet.... i will not dispute the fact that i have erred most grievously—that i should never dare to dispute, or that i have fallen greatly in my own estimation; but, i think i was fated from birth so to do—and one cannot escape fate, my beloved. here, therefore, is a detailed explanation of my misfortunes and sorrows, written for you to read whenever you may find it convenient. i am far from well, beloved, and have lost all my gaiety of disposition, but i send you this letter as a token of my love, devotion, and respect, oh dear lady of my affections.—your humble servant,

makar dievushkin.