was entirely dependent. His position was such that
he could hardly dream of ever getting away from there. He was a man of
very poor health, timid, of limited capacity, but of an extraordinarily
pure nature. He did not interest himself in politics, but read anything
that came in his way, played on the flute as a resource against
boredom, and was afraid of young ladies. Silin was passionately fond
of Nejdanov--he had an affectionate heart in general. Nejdanov did not
express himself to anyone as freely as he did to Vladimir Silin; when
writing to him he felt as if he were communicating to some dear and
intimate soul, dwelling in another world, or to his own conscience.
Nejdanov could not for a moment conceive of the idea of living together
again with Silin, as comrades in the same town. He would probably have
lost interest in him, as there was little in common between them, but he
wrote him long letters gladly with the fullest confidence. With others,
on paper at any rate, he was not himself, but this never happened when
writing to Silin. The latter was not a master in the art of writing, and
responded only in short clumsy sentences, but Nejdanov had no need of
lengthy replies; he knew quite well that his friend swallowed every
word of his, as the dust in the road swallows each drop of rain, that
he would keep his secrets sacredly, and that in his hopeless solitude he
had no other interests but his, Nejdanov's, interests. He had never told
anyone of his relation with Silin, a relation that was very dear to him.

"Well, my dear friend, my pure-hearted Vladimir!" Thus he wrote to
him; he always called him pure-hearted, and not without good cause.
"Congratulate me; I have fallen upon green pasture, and can rest awhile
and gather strength. I am living in the house of a rich statesman,
Sipiagin, as tutor to his little son; I eat well (have never eaten
so well in my life!), sleep well, and wander about the beautiful
country--but, above all, I have for a time crept out from under the wing
of my St. Petersburg friends. At first it was horribly boring, but I
feel a bit better now. I shall soon have to go into harness again, that
is, put up with the consequences of what I have undertaken (the reason
I was allowed to come here). For a time, at any rate, I can enjoy the
delights of a purely animal existence, expand in the waist, and write
verses if the mood seizes me. I will give you my observations another
time. The estate seems to