Thankfully, the beautiful weather of the past few days has returned, though I still feel myself to be “good for nothing,” as they say in English.
The ladies have departed for Yalta. Sonya Den came by for tea—she has received a postcard from Tobolsk from little Olga. She writes that the ride was smooth, but they then had to spend an entire week on board the ship because those rascals didn’t even bother to prepare a house for them. How outrageous, how scandalous! And it is frightfully cold there. The poor things! How awful and despicable it all is!
I would like to express my deepest gratitude to the entire Holy Council for the high honor you have awarded me in selecting me as the Council’s Chairman. I have hope that in the difficult mission ahead, the Lord God will not forget me in his aid, for the matter in which we are serving is a matter of God. See more
I will also depend upon your powerful, steadfast, and wise cooperation. With that in mind, I ask your forgiveness for the blunders I may commit. Your forgiveness will serve me well, as this is the first time I will serve as the Chairman of such an honorable body.
The world proletarian revolution is clearly maturing. The question of its relation to the state is acquiring practical importance. The elements of opportunism that accumulated over the decades of comparatively peaceful development have given rise to the trend of social-chauvinism which dominated the official socialist parties throughout the world. See more
This trend - socialism in words and chauvinism in deeds (Plekhanov, Potresov, Breshkovskaya, Rubanovich, and, in a slightly veiled form, Tsereteli, Chernov and Co. in Russia; Scheidemann. Legien, David and others in Germany; Renaudel, Guesde and Vandervelde in France and Belgium; Hyndman and the Fabians in England, etc., etc.) - is conspicuous for the base, servile adaptation of the "leaders of socialism" to the interests not only of "their" national bourgeoisie, but of "their" state, for the majority of the so-called Great Powers have long been exploiting and enslaving a whole number of small and weak nations. And the imperialist war is a war for the division and redivision of this kind of booty.
This evening, after supper, I walked about the deck for a long time, thinking of our navy, of you, and of the dark, unknown future. The night is hazy. See more
From time to time there is rain, and from time to time a full moon glances out from behind the clouds, and then it becomes entirely bright, and the outlines of the Irish coast come into view. It is odd to be at sea without taking part in a campaign, the signaling and the maneuvering, but what can one do. Sweet Anna Vasilievna, what are you doing this evening? You are most likely still in the countryside, and autumn is beginning where you are, too—it is possible that the weather is exactly as it is here. How badly I want to be able to see you sometimes. I can only remember the past, those days when I did see you, and dream about those that “someday, perhaps” may come to be.
Late August. In the mornings, the sun makes its way into the cell in long, slanting rays. You watch the rays avidly, lovingly. While that ray is in your cell, it is as though you have a most welcome guest. Then higher, higher—it slips along the ceiling, gets caught for a moment in the bars on the window. And disappears… the cell is empty. The welcome guest has departed. At eleven, the prison superintendent arrives.