M. BUT. Lopukhina (2 September 1832 r. From St. Petersburg to Moscow)

2 September.
In that moment I began to draw something for you; and I will send it to you maybe in this letter - you know, Dear friend, how I write to you - at times! - a letter sometimes last several days, - a thought she comes to me I will put; something remarkable to engrave there in my mind - I will share with you - are you happy with this? –
That's several weeks now that we are separate, perhaps for a long time, because I do not see anything too comforting in the future, and yet I'm still the same, despite malignant assumptions of some people I will not name. - Finally, do you think that I was thrilled to see Наталью Алексеевну, because it comes from our region; - because Moscow is and will always be my home. - I was born, I have suffered many, and I was too happy! - these three things would have done much better not to happen ... but what to do!
Miss Annette told me that we had not erased the famous head on the wall! - poor ambition! - it pleased me ... and how! - this strange passion to leave all traces of his passage! - a man of ideas, however great it may be worth to be repeated in a material object, with the only merit of understanding the soul of some; - it is necessary that men are not born to think, and a strong and free idea is for them so rare! –
I volunteered intended to bury you in my letters and to; this is not good or even philanthropic friendly, but everyone must follow its destination.
Here are some verses, I made at the seaside:

Long and winding road
In the mist of the blue sea. –
What he seeks in the distant country?
What he threw in his native land?

* * *
play a wave, the wind whistles,
And the mast bends skrypit;
Alas! - he is not looking for happiness,
And not from happiness runs! –

* * *
Jet underneath lighter blue,
Above it a golden ray of sunshine: –
And he, rebellious, asks the storm,
As if in storms there is peace!

- Farewell, goodbye - I do not feel well: a happy dream, a divine dream spoiled my day ... I can neither speak, not read, or write - strange that dreams! A lining of life, which is often better than reality ... because I do not at all share the opinion of those who say that life is but a dream; I very strongly feel its reality, its empty engaging! - I can never detach myself enough to despise good heart; because my life - it's me, me, talking to you, - which in a moment can become anything, a name, ie nothing yet. - God knows, if after life, me exist! It's terrible, when you think it can happen one day, where I can not say: me! - à cette idée l'univers n'est qu'un piece de boue. –
Adieu; do not forget to remember me to your brother and your sisters - because I do not suppose my cousin back. –
- Tell me, dear Miss Mary, if Mr. cousin Evreinoff made you my letters; and how you find it, because in this case I chose you for my thermometer.
– Adieu.
Yours Lerma.
P. S. I just wish you a small question - but she refuses to go out of my pen. - If you guess me - well, I will be happy; - if not - then, this means that even if I had told you the question, are you would not answer.
This is the kind of question that maybe you do not doubt! –

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