Already through the Iberian Gate a human river was flowing, and the vast Red Square was spotted with people, thousands of them. I remarked that as the throng passed the Iberian Chapel, where always before the passerby had crossed himself, they did not seem to notice it….
The Holy Orthodox Church had withdrawn the light of its countenance from Moscow, the nest of irreverent vipers who had bombarded the Kremlin. Dark and silent and cold were the churches; the priests had disappeared. There were no popes to officiate at the Red Burial, there had been no sacrament for the dead, nor were any prayers to be said over the grave of the blasphemers.
My God! How I long for a true daylight, true sun, true day...
The inhabitants of a certain village in the Tul’skaia gubernia splendidly buried, and at public expense, the daughter of its former landowner who was killed in the war. They even erected a chapel above the grave et cetera. Recently they set about pillaging the property, exhumed the grave, opened the coffin and took the boots off the corpse.
My state of mind. My attitudes to the unfolding events. A strange serenity. I somehow regarded it all as inevitable, as something that must boil over and run its course, and there somehow wasn’t anyone whose fate was a source of concern for me. Nina Meshcherskaya did cross my mind on several occasions, but she was now married. See more