And the other chap will probably answer her, as I did. How
tactless!
My God! Long and uninteresting life looks to me! Does it only look, or
did it become?... I must sleep all of this off!
37
My sole connection with the rest of the world is my work in
the Princess' garden. A dull, tiresome, uninteresting work, in
fact--labor. As a diversion--the corpulent cook. My God! If she would
only wash oftener!...
When I come home--I look out of the small window; the landscape is
magnificent: about twenty yards of virgin soil with Spring grass on it
and the barn on the horizon. Behind--the fence, over which I see the
tops of the heads of passers-by.
"Suave mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis spectare laborem...." I
forget how it runs further! My latin gets weak. I wish I had Virgil,
or even "Commentarii de Bello Gallico." I'd be arrested and tried if I
asked for them in a book store....
If only I could obtain some money, and buy a decent suit and get
away,--to Vladivostok, and then through America to France. It seems as
though France is all. It is life. It is salvation from my miseries.
In the evenings I try to arrange in shape my documents and writings
after the looting. For the documents I could be well paid, here,--but
I do not want that. Let the Russia of to-morrow see what has been done
by our present leaders, and by those who gave us to the scaffold.
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