20.11.1914.
Hooray! I found a lesson - therefore, I stay in St. Petersburg and can continue my studies. Twenty-five kelikovyh (the rubles), breakfast and lunch. Very close by. The boy is nine years old, it seems, dull. Yesterday I felt happy all day long.
Are you asking about the mood of the public in connection with the latest political events? Yes, there were riots and one-day strikes, but only among students, and I have not heard about the workers. Now, perhaps, the case is being handled in an underground way. Maybe the socialists will do something together. But this is an incredibly serious matter and requires the most thoughtful way of doing things. However, every country dreams about it. Solving the problems that gave rise to this war and those that were born with it is titanic work. That's why it would be an unforgivable crime to limit ourselves to domestic politics...
I continue yesterday's letter. It is incredibly difficult to live! I am ashamed of my inaction. You know what I'm talking about, but there isn't a single free minute! Here is my day - everything is like one: in the morning - up to two - on the courses, from two to nine - in class (not at this time I "bring up" the boy, but he is such a tomboy!). In the evening I come tired and spend hours studying up to eleven languages for rest. And then up to two - mathematics. Are there any political interests here?
30.11.1914. Petrograd.
My dear, for God's sake inform me immediately - will you come for Christmas or not? And don't be sorry, don't remind me that I asked you about it.
03.02.1915. Petrograd.
Don't be angry, dear. I swear, I didn't mean to offend you. I had the money, I decided to repay the old debt and sent it to you without giving it any importance.
Write to me again. How do you feel about what you are doing? What do you think?
Shura figured out how to do your job and finally whispered your regards to me when I was asleep. But I sleep very sensitively, and she had to show me the lines you wrote about me. Thank you, thank you! She and I live in the same apartment, but in different rooms. This is my closest friend. And I can't imagine what it would have been like without her in such a difficult time!
14.03.1915. St. Petersburg.
When not written, one should take "writing" - a new tool that is said to work perfectly in such cases. It seems that this is the first time I've taken this remark to myself - and it doesn't help me to "write"! Haven't I become infected with your bad habit?
I saw you in a dream today, sick and angry at me, and now I rushed to the pen and paper. Seriously, how is your health? Aren't you overworked? It is not difficult to judge about the state of mind. Whose heart doesn't hurt nowadays? Around is a mess, and all efforts to get out of the vicious circle are in vain. It is impossible to convey all the nonsense of what is happening, and not to embrace it with your pathetic mind. Of course, it wouldn't be worth living if it weren't for art!
Back in February, I began to attend Sunday classes of the Society of Artists' Encouragement. I study in a nature class. Of course, the technique is desperately lame, but I still seem to be making progress. I dare not hope (and still hope) that these classes are the beginning of what I have always dreamed of. Add to that the club that your schoolmates have started - we invite a model to share and draw twice a week - and appreciate the pleasure that these classes bring to me.
The other day I listened to Kachalova, who read "Nightmare" by Ivan from "The Karamazov Brothers". That's when I realized all the hopelessness, all the hopelessness of Russia! I thought that after that evening, when two huge talents merged into one, there was hardly a single soul in the hall, not affected by the "God" that tortured Ivan.
What is new in Kazan? We still have winter. There is a lot of snow and frost. Old-timers say that they do not remember such a late winter in St. Petersburg. Shura sends her regards. Kuzya is very often with us. It seems that I have already written to you that it is as good, economic and pinkish-cheeked as Shura. Looking at them, I would like to quote Pushkin:
We are exactly double nuts
Under a single shell.
This shell, which, unfortunately, I am completely devoid of, protects them from all their great and small disappointments. And when I have to defend myself, the nut turns into a hedgehog and exposes the needles. They get married in the spring.
I know we can't see each other before you finish your exams, but can't... Okay! See you when you want to.
I will probably go home soon, to Perm," Peter gave me a hard time with his bustle, noise, colorfulness, electricity, roaring and motor reflectors, with his hurry, sharpness and change of fugitive impressions. The time of white nights is approaching. I'm tired of them, I can't gather my thoughts while it's bright, and I'm waiting to light a lamp to study. Spring is a dangerous void! Most suicides - in the white nights. I want to go somewhere in the wilderness, in the bear's corner, not to hear anything, not to see, and even to sleep well. I'm tired of not having a hard time, but of fighting my own soul.
Don't know how to apply to life, all I want to put my own to it, and this "my own", brought up in dreams, is too fragile and splits into pieces at the first collision.
Where will you be called up? Will you enroll in the school or freely definable? If the first one - then where?
Cute, cute, write soon, I miss you so much.
To be continued...