I am floating on the Kama, but I can’t fix the exact locality; I believe we
are near Tchistopol. I cannot extol the beauties of the scenery either, as
it is hellishly cold; the birches are not yet out, there are still patches
of snow here and there, bits of ice float by--in short, the picturesque has
gone to the dogs. I sit in the cabin, where people of all sorts and
conditions sit at the table, and listen to the conversation, wondering
whether it is not time for me to have tea. If I had my way I should do
nothing all day but eat; as I haven’t the money to be eating all day long I
sleep and sleep. I don’t go up on deck, it’s cold. By night it rains and by
day there is an unpleasant wind.
Oh, the caviare! I eat it and eat and never have enough.
... It is a pity I did not think to get myself a little bag for tea and
sugar. I have to order it a glass at a time, which is tiresome and
expensive. I meant to buy some tea and sugar to-day at Kazan, but I
over-slept myself.
Rejoice, O mother! I believe I stop twenty-four hours at Ekaterinburg, and
shall see the relations. Perhaps their hearts may be softened and they will
give me three roubles and an ounce of tea.
From the conversation I am listening to at this moment, I gather that the
members of a judicial tribunal are travelling with me. They are not gifted
persons. The merchants, who put in their word from time to time seem,
however, intelligent. One comes across fearfully rich people.
Sterlets are cheaper than mushrooms; you soon get sick of them. What more
is there for me to write about? There is nothing.... There is a General,
though, and a lean fair man. The former keeps dashing from his cabin to the
deck and back again, and sending his photograph off somewhere; the latter
is got up to look like Nadson, and tries thereby to give one to know that
he is a writer. Today he was mendaciously telling a lady that he had a book
published by Suvorin; I, of course, put on an expression of awe.
My money is all safe, except what I have eaten. They won’t feed me for
nothing, the scoundrels.
I am neither gay nor bored, but there is a sort of numbness in my soul. I
like to sit without moving or speaking. To-day, for instance, I have
scarcely uttered five words. That’s not true, though: I talked to a priest
on deck.
We begin to come across natives; there are lots of Tatars: they are a
respectable and well-behaved people.
I beg Father and Mother not to worry, and not to imagine dangers which do
not exist.
* * * * *
Excuse me for writing about nothing but food. If I did not write about food
I should have to write about cold, for I have no other subjects.
* * * * *
April 29, 1890.