If I did not get game and sauce, or a roast wing of chicken, I really don’t know what would become of me. Sauce and gruel is also all right; but carrots, turnips or artichokes can never be anything but nasty.”

A very uneven style. One sees at once it is not a human being writing: it begins all right, but before you have got far the dog will out. Let us try one more letter. It looks rather long. Hum! and it gives no date:

“Ah, my dear, how one feels the approach of spring! My heart beats as if I were all the time expecting some one. There is a ceaseless ringing in my ears, so that I often stand for minutes at a time with one leg in the air, listening at the door. I won’t conceal from you that I have many suitors. Often I sit at the window and look at them. If only you knew how ugly some of them are! One is the most ungainly of mongrel curs, dreadfully stupid, stupidity writ large on his face. He walks up and down the street with an air of importance, imagining that he is a very find gentleman, and that you admire him as soon as you see him. Not a bit of it. I actually paid no attention to him, just as though I had not seen him. But what a terrible Great Dane stops before my window sometimes! If he were to stand up on his hind legs, which I expect the uneducated fellow cannot do, he would be a whole head taller than my Sophie’s Papa, who is himself quite tall, and rather stout. The idiot must be dreadfully rude. I growled at him, and he paid no attention: did not so much as wince. With his tongue out and his huge ears dangling, he remained standing before my window,—such a boor! But do you really suppose, ma chère, that my heart is insensitive to all overtures? Ah, no! If only you could see one young man climbing over our fence, Trésor by name . . . Ah, ma chère, what a sweet little snout he has!”

I say! what damned nonsense! How do they contrive to fill their letters with such rubbish? Give me a human being! I want to see a human being, I demand spiritual sustenance, in which my soul might find food and delight; and instead, I get this rubbish . . . Let us turn another page, on the chance of finding something better:

“Sophie was sitting at the table, sewing something. I was looking out of the window because I like watching the passers-by, when all of a sudden a footman came in and announced: ‘Teplov.’ ‘Ask him in,’ cried Sophie and embraced me. ‘Madgie! Madgie! if only you knew who that is: a dark young man, a Gentleman of the Chamber, and such eyes! Black as jet!’ And Sophie ran off to her room. A minute later a young Gentleman of the Chamber with black whiskers came in, walked up to the looking-glass, smoothed his hair, and looked about the room. I growled a little and returned to my place. Sophie soon came back and returned a gay curtsy to his bow. I went on innocently looking out of the window, pretending to notice nothing. But I took care to hold my head a little to one side, so as to hear what they were saying.