There's no bread. There are queues everywhere, several blocks long. A rationing system has been introduced. See more
Newspapers write about horrors happening in Riga: before the German invasion the brutality of "comrades" (the word used to describe troublemakers in the army) exceeded all limits - they were robbing, murdering, raping people. Their own people!
Sitting before me was a general, his very full-bodied wife (wearing fur) and a cadet (their son, apparently). A beggar boy entered. He began tearfully begging for a cent. No one even moved a finger. Not the general's family, nor anyone else. See more
General's wife even shot him an arrogant, spiteful look (I'm sure he represented the revolution for her). I felt paralyzed, and, once I finally reached out for my wallet, the boy was already gone. I overheard some gentleman mockingly telling the boy:
-Come wash dishes for me!
-Yeah, right! As if he'll go! - another neighbour laughed.
I felt very nasty. It's a tiny moment, but it describes our whole life these days.
The "Democratic Conference" has opened in the Alexandrinsky Theatre. It's still going. Too bad. Today it seems paralyzed. Kerensky is also paralyzed. There's no government. The Democratic Conference wants to establish some sort of a "pre-parliament". One can guess the outcome, but... I can't be bothered to.
I was rewriting Tanya's letters to me, had a conversation with V.F. Bulgakov. I'm very happy to see him, and we have a lot of common memories.
When we waited, in suicidal
Thoughts, for our German guests,
When the cold, Byzantine idol
Filled the Church with greed and pest See more
When the capital of Peter
Stood forlorn, bereft of will,
Like a drunken slut, she teetered,
There for all to have their fill,
I heard a voice. A soothing call,
It said: "Come here, live with me.
Abandon Russia. Leave it all
Forever! Let that madness be."
"I'll wash your bloody hands and purge
Your chest from all the dreadful shame;
I'll bury your demeaning scourge
Beneath a new and brighter name."
I calmly covered with my hands
My ears so I'd not befoul
With shameful, unbecoming plans
My weeping, pained, mourning soul.
Everyone loves me here. They gave me a separate room with a good bed. I compose music, read and think about my friend Doppe! If only he could be just as clever: go to work as a clerk, flirt with the inspector’s daughter and give piano lessons to the doctor’s children. He would have remained in the infirmary and enjoyed life!
Dear Konstantin Sergeevich!
First of all - hello! From the bottom of my heart I send you the most sincere and loving greeting. Then, while looking at your portrait, I sometimes anxiously think about how you endure the chaotic events that life is full off, and I would very much like to receive news from you (even just a couple words) and about you, about Maria Petrovna and all your beloved ones. Maybe you are going to do it someday? See more
I’ll be terribly, terribly glad. And thirdly, I appeal to you with a big request: the workers of the Russo-Baltic Shipyard in Revel came to me and asked me to help them organise the theatrical peace.
If you are interested in what I’m doing right now - I am fully committed to working on the People’s Home of the former Emperor, Nicholas II. I could write about it in more detail, if your prefer. I shake your hand firmly.
Hello to everyone.
I've been reading the whole day. Natasha's come back for lunch and invited KerimKerim khan Irevanski (1885–1919) - officer, cavalryman, friend of Grand Duke Mikhail Alexandrovich along with her - I haven't seen him since August 29 of last year.
Who stole the mementos of Pushkin?
In the whirlwind of the events of the revolution the story of the destruction of the Pushkin Museum in the Alexandrov Lyceum flashed almost imperceptibly. See more
In the first days of the revolution, the museum was subjected to “requisition”. A search was conducted there. After a while, the museum’s administration discovered the loss of Pushkin’s items. The things lost included: the bullet, which, according to legend, was found in the waistcoat of the wounded poet, golden scissors, a ring and other things. The ring, which was glorified by the poet in one of his poems, has a special talisman, and, according to legend, belonged to rarities exported from the East. On the ring’s rim there was an inscription from Talmud.