Kschessinsky’s house on the Kamenny Prospekt has been taken over by a gang, an insignificant gang of communists with Lenin at their head, who appear on the terrace every morning to inspire the people to steal from and murder the bourgeois.
In vain has the owner of the house appealed to the authorities to remove the trespassers. Their answer is always the same: “resorting to force against citizens is inappropriate in a free country”.
In the evening I wandered and wandered. White Nights and women. I’m right at home in this dark and lonely abyss we call St Petersburg 1917, Russia 1917. Where are you carrying me, life? The day, the white nights, arouse me like a heavy draught of wine.
Where is the Russian army? There is no army! Go into the trenches, and you will see only an armed crowd, corrupted by a dangerously patchy political education and utterly incapable of either defense or attack!
It was a clear, warm day. After my walk I gave Alexei a geography lesson. We went out into the garden at 2:15. I worked all the time with the others in the vegetable garden; Alexis and the girls planted various things in the beds which we had prepared. At 5 o'clock we returned home perspiring. See more
After tea I read. At 7:00 I went out with Tatiana, Marie and Anastasia and went for a ride on the bicycle until 7:15. The evening went as always.
It is difficult to imagine what must have been going on in Kerensky’s mind when, in the space of a few short weeks and months, the revolution had thrust him into such dizzying heights as he found himself. In his soul he must have been forced to admit that all the homage paid him, the idolisation, See more
could not have been anything besides an instance of crowd psychosis, that he, Kerensky, could not possibly have possessed either the mental or moral qualities, nor have achieved such things, as could justify such hysterical and triumphant admiration.