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once again not to be angry with me and to be assured of the constant esteem and devotion with which I have the honour to remain,
    Your most humble servant,
    V ARVARA D OBROSELOVA
    April 12
    Varvara Alekseyevna, Madam,
    Oh, my little mother, whatever is the matter with you? Each time you frighten me in the same way. In each of my letters I tell you to look after yourself, to wrap yourself up, not to go out in the bad weather, to observe caution in all things – but, my little angel, you do not listen to me! Oh, my little dove, you are like some child! Imean, you are frail, frail as a little wisp of straw, I know it. The slightest little breeze, and you go and catch a chill. So you must be on your guard, take care of yourself, avoid risks and not bring your friends grief and despondency.
    You express the wish, little mother, to learn the details of my everyday life and all that surrounds me. With joy I hasten to carry out your wish, my darling. I shall begin from the beginning, dearest: that way it will be more orderly! In the first instance, the staircases at the front side of our house are positively handsome; the main staircase is particularly so – it is clean, light, wide, all cast-iron and mahogany. On the other hand, don’t inquire about the back stairs: they are winding, damp and dirty, with steps broken and the walls so greasy that your hand sticks when you lean against them. On every landing there are chests, broken chairs and cupboards, old clothes hung up, windows with panes knocked out; tubs stand around filled with all kinds of evil stuff: dirt, sweepings, eggshells and fishes’ bladders; a bad smell… in short – nasty.
    I have already described the arrangement of the rooms; there is no denying that it is a convenient one – that is true, but for some reason they are rather stuffy; it’s not that there’s a bad smell as such – there’s rather, if I may put it this way, a slightly rotten, sweet-sour smell. The first time you smell it it doesn’t seem awfully prepossessing, but it’s really nothing at all; you have only to be in our house for a minute or two and it passes, and you don’t notice it passing because you yourself smell bad – your clothes, your hands, everything… well, and so you get used to it. The siskins in our house are dying off like anything. The warrant-officer is presently buying our fifth – they simply can’t live in our air, and that’s the truth of it. Our kitchen is a large one, spacious and light. It’s true that it does get a bit smoky in the mornings, when people are cooking their fish or beef and pouring and spilling stuff everywhere, but in the evenings it’s heaven. In our kitchen there’s always some old underwear hanging on a line; and since my room is close by, in fact almost adjoins the kitchen, the smell does bother me a bit; but never mind: one lives and makes the best of it.
    In our house, Varenka, the noise begins very early in the morning: the noise of people getting out of bed, walking about, knocking on doors – all who have to are bestirring themselves, in order to go to work or to engage in their own business; everyone sets about having morning tea. Our samovars are for the mostpart owned by the landlady; there are not enough of them, so we all use them by turn; and woe betide anyone who takes his teapot out of turn! I did that the first time, and… but why write about it? I got to know everyone here at the same time. The warrant-officer was the first person whose acqaintance I made; he is an open fellow, and he told me everything about himself: his father, his mother, his sister, who is married to an assessor in Tula, * and about the town of Kronstadt. He promised to take me under his wing and invited me to have tea with him right then and there. I found him in the room where the people in our house usually play cards. There I was served with tea and those present insisted