This is the fourth year I have been living at Melihovo. My calves have
turned into cows, my copse has grown at least a yard higher, my heirs will
make a capital bargain over the timber and will call me an ass, for heirs
are never satisfied.




MELIHOVO,
March 30, 1895.


... We have spring here but there are regular mountains of snow, and there
is no knowing when it will thaw. As soon as the sun hides behind a cloud
there begins to be a chill breath from the snow, and it is horrible. Masha
is already busy in the flower-beds and borders. She tires herself out and
is constantly cross, so there is no need for her to read Madame Smirnov's
article. The advice given is excellent; the young ladies will read it, and
it will be their salvation. Only one point is not clear: how are they going
to get rid of the apples and cabbages if the estate is far from the town,
and of what stuff are they going to make their own dresses if their rye
does not sell at all, and they have not a halfpenny? To live on one's land
by the labour of one's own hands and the sweat of one's brow is only
possible on one condition; that is, if one works oneself like a peasant,
without regard for class or sex. There is no making use of slaves nowadays,
one must take the scythe and axe oneself, and if one can't do that, no
gardens will help one. Even the smallest success in farming is only gained
in Russia at the price of a cruel struggle with nature, and wishing is not
enough for the struggle, you need bodily strength and grit, you want