She must have had the help of the man with the specs—she would not be able to understand my scratching. They must have been busy all day! But what really gets me wild—almost all of my letters to Goroshkin are here! How did she get them? I understand why Goroshkin’s letters missed me—she got them!... Now I understand what she meant by saying that I was trying to double cross her! In fact Lucie is right,—and that’s why it’s maddening. I wonder what Goroshkin and Marchenko think of me? To whom I must seem a swine! And what a bad way of her’s, to leave my letters—a present for me!
She did what she wanted, this creature of intrigues and no personality: with “lips of fire and heart of stone.” She got in me a good guardian of her barn, a good transport agent for her Britishers and Letts, she tangled me up in such a way that I could not report on her, she enjoyed the privileges of local Soviet’s protection through me,—in short all she wanted.... And here I am alone from now on,—Good-by”—that’s all. She left me this little note—and a bitter feeling that formerly I was not alone,—and now I am. For these sensations of lonesomeness a man should never start companionships,—whether with a woman, or a dog, or even a goldfish. The one who is alone—is alone. The one that becomes alone—feels doubly rotten....
“Quidquid ages—prudenter agas, et respice finem”—and I was a fool,—here I am alone like Shelly’s moon, and “pardessus-le-marche”—robbed! Am I not an old ass?
She will laugh with her silvery laughter in somebody else’s house, she will mend somebody else’s socks, and sit on somebody else’s lap. The “other chap from Monte Carlo,” will be asked whether he remembers me. 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.... M. Kerensky’s letter to Grimm—alone would make me happy if some day its contents are known....