The Remaining Works of Benedictus de Spinoza

The Melenki relative was a kind, dreamy soul; young women are generally incomparably more expansive than our own brother; they possess a warmth that always warms, a sympathy always ready to love; in them, feelings are rarely suppressed by egoism, and they lack a calculating masculine mind. During one of her visits, she fondled me, caressed me; she felt sorry that I was so lonely, so without a greeting; she began to treat me, a thirteen-year-old boy, as if I were a grown-up; I loved her with all my heart for this; I offered her my small hand with fervor, swore friendship and love, and now, 13 years later, I am ready to stretch out my hand again—but how many circumstances, people, and miles have crowded between us! She flew in like a bright ghost from the banks of the Klyazma and disappeared for a long time afterward; then I wrote epistles to Melenki every week, and in those epistles were preserved all the dreams and beliefs of that time. She did not remain in debt; she answered every letter and lavished with extraordinary generosity nouns and adjectives for the description of the Melenki surroundings, her room with its green curtains and purple gillyflowers on the windows. But I was little satisfied with letters and waited with impatience for her own arrival; it was decided that she would come to us for six whole months; I counted the days on my fingers... And then, one winter evening, I am sitting with Vasily Evdokimovich; he talks about the four kinds of poetry and washes down each kind with kvass. Suddenly, noise, kisses, loud talks of joy, her voice... I opened the door; they were dragging little bundles and cardboard boxes along the hall; my cheeks flushed with joy, I no longer listened to what Vasily Evdokimovich was saying about didactic poetry (perhaps that is why I still do not understand it, although since then I have had occasion to read Petrosilius’s poem "On Porcelain"); a few minutes later, she came to my little room, and after the insulting "Oh, how you have grown!" she asked what we were doing. I proudly answered: "analyzing poetic works." I even remember the red merino dress in which she appeared before me then. But, alas! Times have changed: she braided her hair; this offended me, me with my à l'enfant child-like (referring to a style of collar) collars—the new hairstyle was so