A conference in Moscow has started (there—a partial strike, here—quiet). Kerensky gave a long speech. If you don’t consider his acquired tied tongue, his usual speech: full of pathos, and in parts not so bad. But already inopportune, for it was not businesslike, but festive.
The spectacle of the street. A line forms at the tobacconist: then soldiers procure cigarettes by the case, settle on the sidewalk, and start to sell them, individually, to pedestrians. Very resourceful. “Revolutionary People,” an evening newspaper of the socialist revolutionaries, in response publishes a heated protest by a war veteran (a comfrey, a person from the trenches). See more
A dog was drowned in the Moika, with a stone around his neck. The yard cleaner complains about the bourgeois: they get dogs and then kill them, not wanting to feed them anymore. Madam L. made a comment that this, judging by its appearance, should not be a bourgeois dog.
I looked around this house and the other one, which is completely unprepared. I’ve been unpacking things and putting our rooms in order. Then I rested. There was a thunderstorm in the afternoon.
We got up a little early, and the last things were quickly packed. At 10:30 I went with the children, the commandant and the officers to our new dwelling. We surveyed the entire house from basement to roof. We occupied the 2nd. floor and the sitting room beneath it. At 12 o'clock the furniture arrived, and a priest sprinkled all the rooms with holy water. See more
We had lunch and dinner in our new house. We set about to examine the house in which we are living. Ifeny of the rooms were still not furnished and had an unattractive look. Then we went to the socalled garden, a poor vegetable garden. We examined the kitchen and the sentry's quarters. Everything had a strange, abandoned appearance. I unpacked our things in the reading and dressing rooms, which are half mine and half Alix's. We passed the evening together. We played bezik.
Nights and days are hot, dry, and even wonderful, and in politics it's the same: drowning Russia is floundering and letting out bubbles. And on the shore, the spectators and those commiserating: descend, chum, to the bottom. See more
Currently, they are floundering in Moscow, at a conference, and Bolshevik Veresayev starts a protest. And everyone expects fights: a fight in Helsingfors over the Sejm, a fight with Ukraine and pitiful Vinnichenko, a fight amongst themselves. A fight in general. But, nonetheless, Russia is not going to drown in this dirty puddle, even though it will get filthy as a pig.
The feeling of overall confusion and anticipation of a catastrophe overtook me with a particular force in the hall of the Bolshoi Theater. See more
All members of the meeting came ready with opinions, and of course, no one could have found common ground, and in this way the importance of the conference boiled down to a demonstration, one more time, of how the paths of revolution have diverged and what abyss lies before the country.