have threshed and sold the rye. Until then I shall be living on "The Bear"
and mushrooms, of which there are endless masses here. By the way, I have
never lived so cheaply as now. We have everything of our own, even our own
bread. I believe in a couple of years all my household expenses will not
exceed a thousand roubles a year.

When you learn from the newspapers that the cholera is over, you will know
that I have gone back to writing again. Don't think of me as a literary man
while I am in the service of the Zemstvo. One can't do two things at once.

You write that I have given up Sahalin. I cannot abandon that child of
mine. When I am oppressed by the boredom of belles-lettres I am glad to
turn to something else. The question when I shall finish Sahalin and when I
shall print does not strike me as being important. While Galkin-Vrasskoy
reigns over the prison system I feel very much disinclined to bring out my
book. Of course if I am driven to it by need, that is a different matter.

In all my letters I have pertinaciously asked you one question, which of
course you are not obliged to answer: "Where are you going to be in the
autumn, and wouldn't you like to spend part of September and October with
me in Feodosia or the Crimea?" I have an impatient desire to eat, drink,
and sleep, and talk about literature--that is, do nothing, and at the same
time feel like a decent person. However, if my idleness annoys you, I can
promise to write with or beside you, a play or a story.... Eh? Won't you?
Well, God be with you, then.

The astronomer has been here twice. I felt bored with her on both
occasions. Svobodin has been here too. He grows better and better. His
serious illness has made him pass through a spiritual metamorphosis.