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
She was seemingly touched by my visit. We went to her room. She lied down on the couch. For a while we discussed the significance on the ongoing revolution. She was anxious and said that great changes in our lives should be expected. “It’s going to be the same as the Great French Revolution, perhaps even worse.” – “Let’s stop talking about that”. We sat in silence. She lowered her head. “We are not going to meet again. You will leave”. – “I shall visit you. Look: your ring”. I unbuttoned my messjacket and revealed her black ring hanging on a chain around my neck. Anna Andreevna touched the ring. “That’s good, it’s going to save you”. I pressed her hand against my chest. “Always wear it”. – “Yes, always. This ring is sacred”, - I whispered. Her eyes blurred with something infinitely feminine, she extended her hands towards me. I was engulfed by a flame of incorporeal joy, kissed those hands and stood up. Anna Andreevna smiled affectionately. “That’s better”, - she said.
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”.