“With my usual habit of worrying and upsetting myself about things, I am now troubled because I did not get to Brailov in time--immediately after your departure. I am afraid this may have caused some inconvenience to your servants. But what could I do? I wish someone could explain to me the origin of that curious exhaustion which comes upon me almost every evening, about which I have already written to you. I cannot say it is altogether disagreeable, because it usually ends in a heavy, almost lethargic sleep, and such repose is bliss. Nevertheless the attacks are tiresome and unpleasant, because of the vague anxiety, the undefinable yearning, which take an inconceivably strong hold upon my spirit, and end in a positive longing for Nirvana--_la soif du néant_. Probably the cause of this psychological phenomenon is of quite a prosaic nature; I think it is not so much a mental ailment as a result of bad digestion, a sequel of my catarrh of the stomach. Unluckily we cannot get over the fact that the material influences the spiritual! Too often, alas! a pickled gherkin too much has played the most important part in the highest functions of the human intellect. Forgive me, dear friend, for boring you with these continual complaints about my health, which are out of place, for in reality I am a perfectly sound man, and the little ailments about which I grumble are not serious. I only want repose, and I shall certainly find it in Brailov. Good Lord! how I long for the dear house and the dear neighbourhood!” _To N. F. von Meck._ “BRAILOV, _August_ 14_th_ (26_th_), 1878.