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Project 1917 is a series of events that took place a hundred years ago as described by those involved. It is composed only of diaries, letters, memoirs, newspapers and other documents

When we waited, in suicidal
Thoughts, for our German guests,
When the cold, Byzantine idol
Filled the Church with greed and pest See more

That voice, with silence disputing,
Has triumphed a little bit more.
Like sorrow or song in me brooding
Is the winter before the war. See more

Whether I end up in Paris or in Bezhentsk, this winter is shaping up to be equally unpleasant. The only place where I was able to breathe easy was Petersburg. But, since they started the monthly tradition of covering the pavements in the blood of citizens, it’s lost some of it’s charm in my eyes.

Dear Anichka, you must no doubt be angry that I’ve not written you for so long, but I was purposely waiting for my fate to be decided. Now it has been. See more

My dear Kolya,

Mother has finally received your letter from Paris. I am happy that you are staying in France. I think I don’t have to describe how badly I want to come to you. I beg you - try to arrange it, show me that yiu are my friend. See more

I am pulling flax and writing bad poetry.

The village is pure heaven. The peasants swear that our house stands on their bones. They’ve mowed down our meadow, but when management arrived from town to investigate they tearfully begged, “Mother mistress, forgive us, this is the last time!” Some socialists! Total darkness rules people’s minds.  

I’m living very well, every day I meet with someone interesting, laugh, write poetry and make new interesting literary connections. 

Today I will be spending the evening at the house of one Yeats, an English Vyacheslav. I have also been promised a meeting with Chesterton, who, it turns out, is just over 40 but has written around 20 books. He is either greatly loved or utterly despised, but acknowledged by all.

It’s going to be the same as the Great French Revolution, perhaps even worse.

I don’t think much about the revolution. There is only one thought, one wish: to meet Anna Andreevna. I crossed the Neva on foot to avoid the barricades erected around the bridges. I remember a prison escapee, a boy aged about eighteen and seized by panic, who asked me for directions to the Varshavskiy train station. Staggering, I made my way to the house of Szreznevskiy, rung the bell and Anna Andreevna opened the door. “You? On a day like this? Officers are kidnapped on the streets”. – “I removed my epaulettes”. See more

I spent the day as follows: in the morning I went to the embroiderer’s to inquire concerning a new dress. Then I wanted to take a cab home. The first cabbie I saw was an old man, who answered: “sorry, madam, I’m not going there…. There’s gunfire on the bridge”.

Age: 28
Lives in: Petrograd, Russian Empire
Occupation: Poet
Married to
It is complicated with

Today:

+9
in Petrograd
-1
in Moscow