Vyatka

Братъ мнѣ непишетъ, пологая что его письма по обыкновенію, для меня неинтересны—Въ чумное время дѣло другое; радъ письму проколотому; знаешь что покрайней мѣрѣ живъ—и то хорошо. Если вы въ Калугѣ, я пріѣду къ Вамъ черезъ Пензу; если вы въ Москвѣ, т. е. въ Московской деревнѣ то пріѣду къ Вамъ черезъ Вятку, Архангельскъ и Петербургъ. Ей богу не шучу — но напишите мнѣ гдѣ вы а письмо адресуйте Лук: Уѣздъ въ село Абрамово для пересылки въ Болдино. Скорѣй дойдетъ. Простите. Цалую ручки у матушки; кланяюсь въ поясъ сестрицамъ.

My brother doesn’t write to me, thinking that his letters, as usual, don’t interest me. In a time of plague it’s a different matter. You are glad to get a letter even with holes punched in it. At least you know the writer is alive, and that’s something. If you are in Kaluga, I will come to you by way of Penza. If you are in Moscow, that is, at your family’s estate near Moscow, I will come to you by way of Vyatka, Arkhangelsk, and Petersburg. So help me God, I’m not joking. But write and tell me where you are, and address the letter: Lukoyanov District, village of Abramovo, to be forwarded to Boldino. It will get here sooner. Goodbye. I kiss your mother’s hands, and bow low to your sisters.