The other day we had a gratifying letter from Moscow (we shall soon send you a copy, although the text is uninteresting). They write that the mood of the masses is a good one, that chauvinism is clearly declining and that probably our day will come. The organisation, they say, is suffering from the fact that the adults are at the front, while in the factories there are young people and women. See more
There is also a letter from Kollontai, who has returned to Norway from America. N. Iv. and Pavlov had won Novy Mir, she says (I get this paper very irregularly), but ... Trotsky arrived, and this scoundrel at once ganged up with the Right wing of Novy Mir against the Left Zimmerwaldists!! That’s it!! That’s Trotsky for you!! Always true to himself = twists, swindles, poses as a Left, helps the Right, so long as he can....
Nadya is ill: she has caught bronchitis and has a temperature. It looks as though she will be in bed for some time. I called in the doctor today.
It’s Maslenitsa. And there’s no food to be had. We barely managed to get ourselves some milk. As for meat, Masha’s attempt to get hold of some proved wholly unsuccessful. Marfusha was next to be sent, and after spending an age in the queue she got four pounds of the stuff (bones included). See more
There’s nothing to make pancakes from, and nothing to eat them with. Moscow’s all dark, the streetlights remain unlit. Crooks, of course, are robbing people under the cover of darkness. This is such a difficult time! The servants are just barely surviving, but they’re not the only ones – even our cat Barsik has become thin as a skeleton. There’s nothing to eat, so he eats potatoes. Today, I sacrificed forty kopeks for his sake, so Masha could go out and find some entrails for him. He’s her favourite, but when you have nothing for yourself, you have nothing to give. He’s already exterminated all the mice. I feel sorry for the poor cat.
Alpine ski squad on patrol.
The general mood in Petrograd is subdued. People are openly criticising the tsar. Due to heavy snowstorms, tens of thousands of freight cars are stuck on the tracks, with the bread and fuel situation in the capital and other major cities becoming particularly severe as a result.
We’re on our way from Paris to Rome to work on the ballet "Parade".
About to head off for the baths. Street by street we’re getting to know the city, wandering around without coats. Picasso arrives soon.
Rome is bewitching. I succumbed to the charms of its streets on the very first morning. We arrived by train following a journey accompanied by countless adventures, the very least of which was yesterday’s sleepless night.
Sat at home with Alexei in the playroom with Mama and Anya. Uncle Mimi drank tea. Clearly it was very cold. Papa read "August Cadets" about grandpapa. It was awfully sweet.
England is deeply indifferent toward us. But it cares so much about the war, which it understands to some degree.