See what a long letter I have written, even though I don't feel sure
that the letter will reach you. Imagine my cholera-boredom, my
cholera-loneliness, and compulsory literary inactivity, and write to me
more, and oftener. Your contemptuous feeling for France I share. The
Germans are far above them, though for some reason they are called
stupid. And the Franco-Russian Entente Cordiale I am as fond of as
Tolstoy is. There's something nastily suggestive about these cordialities.
On the other hand I was awfully pleased at Virchow's visit to us.

We have raised a very nice potato and a divine cabbage. How do you manage
to get on without cabbage-soup? I don't envy you your sea, nor your
freedom, nor the happy frame of mind you are in abroad. The Russian summer
is better than anything. And by the way, I don't feel any great longing to
be abroad. After Singapore, Ceylon, and perhaps even our Amur, Italy and
even the crater of Vesuvius do not seem fascinating. After being in India
and China I did not see a great difference between other European countries
and Russia.

A neighbour of ours, the owner of the renowned Otrad, Count X, is staying
now at Biarritz, having run away from the cholera; he gave his doctor only
five hundred roubles for the campaign against the cholera. His sister, the
countess, who is living in my section, when I went to discuss the provision
of barracks for her workmen, treated me as though I had come to apply for a
situation. It mortified me, and I told her a lie, pretending to be a rich
man. I told the same lie to the Archimandrite, who refuses to provide
quarters for the cases which may occur in the monastery. To my question
what would he do with the cases that might be taken ill in his hostel, he
answered me: "They are persons of means and will pay you themselves...." Do
you understand? And I flared up, and said I did not care about payment, as
I was well off, and that all I wanted was the security of the monastery....