You, our descendents, who will not know our times - if only you could understand all the horror of existence in a country in chaos, existing only through inertia, with no people, no system, no organisation and without even any future. Think of what this means for Russia, to have no future! We are living in darkness and have no idea of the time, we know only that time is passing, and with each moment we pass further into the night and into devastation. Where is the limit, where is the end? It is like the plague of darkness over Egypt. We can neither laugh, nor cry - both are pointless. Try to exist in this pitch darkness, and if you cannot - you must die. Old people are killing themselves, and young people are drinking, while they still can. But supplies everywhere are running out. It is torture.
What I think lies behind all of events which are now taking place is an age-old drunkenness among the people and a sudden sobering-up. Everything that is happening is the fruits of a long, defiling drunkenness and an awful hangover.
Prayed to God and decided to go to Vernadsky, to offer my services to the government and my library to Saratov. There is no other solution. Will go to ambassadors, will offer my services to foreign governments: to the English, to the French, to the Americans, but before all, to Vernadsky. Who knows, it may work out. Now Saratov needs everything.
The people are entirely passive. There is only one phrase on anyone’s lips: we don’t care. Whether there is Kerensky or KornilovCommander in Chief of the Petrograd command - from 18 March 1917, order, calm, food, does not concern them. Yet on the other hand the mood is fearful, anxious and nervous.
Poor Russia! Madness of workers, stupidity of the government, rowdiness of the deputies, escalating food crisis in Petrograd, growing animosity of peaceful and calm people are creating high tension in society. I believe there will be an explosion in the near future. See more
Cossak revolutions, the St. George Cross holders’ leagues are nothing, but they can spark a flame. Germans are pressing in Riga and hurrying Russia up.
I have to buy coffee, the price of which has gone up by 30%. I am going to buy 14 pounds of coffee, 20 pounds of malt, and 16 pounds of chicory. This should last the year. It seems, after all, that coffee will form the larger part of our diet, and while my mixture of malt and coffee is, of course, less inspiring than pure coffee, it is undoubtedly more nutritious. Only a well-stocked parlour will save us.
It is becoming so difficult to live—I cannot even convey it. Prices, people, queues, portions—everything is eerie, frightening. And there is so much that is entirely unobtainable, which is even more frightening. And the harvest so far is barely middling. What on earth will happen in the winter and especially in the spring?
Gained by all sorts of tricks 18 pounds of flour; to get sugar is not yet possible, I will try tomorrow. If I get it, I'll buy a pood, or even more: there is a sugar hunger ahead.