Tea this afternoon at the S—s'. Mrs. S. proves to be a most delightful Russian woman, very highly connected. She and her sister showed us beautiful boyar costumes and jewellery, and promised to go shopping with us later when we were ready to buy mementos.
G. and I dined at the Praga and went to theCharity Bazaar at the Savoy Theatre. We found our hostess of last night presiding at a very tawdry booth, but herself quite a landmark in another great Russian headdress of pearls. She received us with warmth and annexed some of our money in an unscientific gamble called Krasnaya Karta. She asked us to take her to supper in a few minutes. A sapreliminary we went over and had our horoscopes read by that round-faced gypsy, Miss Natasha who told me a very good fortune, including the fact that the affairs of the heart were going well and that the greatest success in that line would attend a long voyage I should soon take. (Mind you, she doesn't know I'm planning to marry.) Then Mme.M. joined us and we went to the supper room. It was jammed and we couldn't get a table. She wandered around visiting and shaking hands with people, and finally settled down at the Governor General's table and forgot all about us. Her name is Russian for Frost, and there is something in a name this time. G. and I executed a quiet ''sneak" for home and bed.
I have learnt a few folk songs and sometimes we get together and give them a bash. While I would hardly call my life monotonous, I am certainly working a lot, so I often get tired and am not feeling at my best. The cold weather continues to bear heavily on us. I will probably stay in Moscow over the summer, as I need to continue with my work. While it will almost certainly be hot and uncomfortable in the city, I really want to earn some more money.
In the evening we’ll have pancakes.
Would you like to conduct “The Firebird” and “Feu d’Artifice” at a charity concert to be held in Rome, Naples and Milan between the 9th and 26th of April? The Italian ambassador in Berne will be able to lend his assistance.
Plekhanov has published a most curious interview in Jesolo. In it he assures his readers that Russian peasant women are so patriotic that they refuse to become engaged to those who return from the front without glorious tales of heroism. And so it goes, on and on and in equally jingoistic style.
Feeling rather despondent. Things at the newspaper are not so good, there is a lot of absurd editorial nonsense that would take too long to write about. Stupidity, too. This, together with the censorship, is making the paper very mediocre and childish. Too many sarcastic sketches. But we will continue to fight and not lose hope. I’m as stubborn as a mule in this sense: once I devote myself to something I don’t see anything else, and now, unless I am writing for Russkaya Volya or fighting with Russkaya Volya or talking about Russkaya Volya, I feel I have nothing to live for. It’s absurd!
The Senegalese are getting on very well with the Russian soldiers. A shared child-like simplicity of spirit, naivety and kindness has brought them together. They spoke, as it were, over each other’s heads, not understanding a word and yet spending hours together communicating in smiles over bottles of beer. The good-natured Russians say: “don’t get hung up on his black skin. What kind of soul he’s got, that’s what you need to look at”.
Dear, dear Mama, I received your card, dearest! Why are you sad? Don’t be! These two months will fly by, and we will see each other in May. I’m feeling sad too. For some reason, for a week now, my work has not been going well. I thought I would have something to bring by spring, to make you happy. But it seems not. I am afraid of such blocks, for which only I myself am to blame. Something inside seizes up and I get stuck. I hug you tight and send kisses to Pappa, Shura and the girls.
Yours, Borya
The German scum are not letting up with their merciless war on shipping, sinking cargo and murdering innocent passengers. While they make no secret of their intention of dominating Europe and swallowing up the territories of Belgium, Poland, England and Russia one by one, while they stand united in their unshakeable egoism, here each of us thinks only of his own petty problems.