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and more I lose faith in the free will man
is supposed to possess. I have an almost
physical sensation of my powerlessness to
change one iota of my fate, struggle as I may.
Now I am almost resigned; I work because
I cannot help it, but I have given up
hoping, even wishing, anything. You have
no idea to what a degree I have become
indifferent to everything. . . . But enough of
this; let us talk about other things. I am
delighted that you like my Polish story, and I
need not say how pleased I should be, if you
would translate it into Swedish. . . .
‘I have also written a long tale about my
childhood and my sister, her first steps on the
literary career, and our connection with
Dostojevsky. . . .’
In August she writes from Sèvres, where she
had settled with her daughter and a few Russian
friends:—
‘I have just received a letter from your
brother, telling me that I shall probably meet
you on my return to Sweden. I confess that I
am selfish enough to feel delighted at this
prospect. . . .
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