BERLIN,
Sunday, June 6, 1904.
... I write to you from Berlin, where I have been now for twenty-four
hours. It turned very cold in Moscow after you went away; we had snow, and
it was most likely through that that I caught cold. I began to have
rheumatic pains in my arms and legs, I did not sleep for nights, got very
thin, had injections of morphia, took thousands of medicines of all sorts,
and remember none of them with gratitude except heroin, which was once
prescribed me by Altschuller....
On Thursday I set off for foreign parts, very thin, with very lean skinny
legs. We had a good and pleasant journey. Here in Berlin we have taken a
comfortable room in the best hotel. I am enjoying being here, and it is a
long time since I have eaten so well, with such appetite. The bread here is
wonderful, I eat too much of it. The coffee is excellent and the dinners
beyond description. Anyone who has not been abroad does not know what good
bread means. There is no decent tea here (we have our own), there are no
hors d’oeuvres, but all the rest is magnificent, though cheaper than with
us. I am already the better for it, and to-day I even took a long drive in
the Thiergarten, though it was cool. And so tell Mother and everyone who is
interested that I am getting better, or indeed have already got better; my
legs no longer ache, I have no diarrhoea, I am beginning to get fat, and am
all day long on my legs, not lying down....
BERLIN,
June 8.
. . . The worst thing here which catches the eye at once is the dress of
the ladies. Fearfully bad taste, nowhere do women dress so abominably, with
such utter lack of taste. I have not seen one beautiful woman, nor one who
was not trimmed with some kind of absurd braid. Now I understand why taste
is so slowly developed in Germans in Moscow. On the other hand, here in
Berlin life is very comfortable. The food is good, things are not dear, the
horses are well fed--the dogs, who are here harnessed to little carts, are
well fed too. There is order and cleanliness in the streets....
BADENWEILER,
June 12.
I have been for three days settled here, this is my address--Germany,
Badenweiler, Villa Fredericke. This Villa Fredericke, like all the houses
and villas here, stands apart in a luxuriant garden in the sun, which
shines and warms us till seven o’clock in the evening (after which I go
indoors). We are boarding in the house; for fourteen or sixteen marks a day
we have a double room flooded with sunshine, with washing-stands,
bedsteads, etc., with a writing-table, and, best of all, with excellent
water, like Seltzer water. The general impression: a big garden, beyond the
garden, mountains covered with forest, few people, little movement in the
street. The garden and the flowers are splendidly cared for. But to-day,
apropos of nothing, it has begun raining; I sit in our room, and already
begin to feel that in another two or three days I shall be thinking of how
to escape.
I am still eating butter in enormous quantities and with no effect. I can’t
take milk. The doctor here, Schworer, married to a Moscow woman, turns out
to be skilful and nice.
We shall perhaps return to Yalta by sea from Trieste or some other port.
Health is coming back to me not by ounces but by stones. Anyway, I have
learned here how to feed. Coffee is forbidden to me absolutely, it is
supposed to be relaxing; I am beginning by degrees to eat eggs. Oh, how
badly the German women dress!
I live on the ground floor. If only you knew what the sun is here! It does
not scorch, but caresses. I have a comfortable low chair in which I can sit
or lie down. I will certainly buy the watch, I haven’t forgotten it. How is
Mother? Is she in good spirits? Write to me. Give her my love. Olga is
going to a dentist here....
June 16.
I am living amongst the Germans and have already got used to my room and to
the regime, but can never get used to the German peace and quiet. Not a
sound in the house or outside it; only at seven o’clock in the morning and
at midday there is an expensive but very poor band playing in the garden.
One feels there is not a single drop of talent in anything nor a single
drop of taste; but, on the other hand, there is order and honesty to spare.
Our Russian life is far more talented, and as for the Italian or the
French, it is beyond comparison.
My health has improved. I don’t notice now as I go about that I am ill; my
asthma is better, nothing is aching. The only trace left of my illness is
extreme thinness; my legs are thin as they have never been. The German
doctors have turned all my life upside down. At seven o’clock in the
morning I drink tea in bed--for some reason it must be in bed; at half-past
seven a German by way of a masseur comes and rubs me all over with water,
and this seems not at all bad. Then I have to lie still a little, get up at
eight o’clock, drink acorn cocoa and eat an immense quantity of butter. At
ten o’clock, oatmeal porridge, extremely nice to taste and to smell, not
like our Russian. Fresh air and sunshine. Reading the newspaper. At one
o’clock, dinner, at which I must not taste everything but only the things
Olga chooses for me, according to the German doctor’s prescription. At four
o’clock the cocoa again. At seven o’clock supper. At bedtime a cup of
strawberry tea--that is as a sleeping draught. In all this there is a lot
of quackery, but a lot of what is really good and useful--for instance, the
porridge. I shall bring some oatmeal from here with me....
June 21.
Things are going all right with me, only I have begun to get sick of
Badenweiler. There is so much German peace and order here. It was different
in Italy. To-day at dinner they gave us boiled mutton--what a dish! The
whole dinner is magnificent, but the maitres d’hotel look so important that
it makes one uneasy.
June 28.
... It has begun to be terribly hot here. The heat caught me unawares, as I
have only winter suits here. I am gasping and dreaming of getting away. But
where to go? I should like to go to Italy, to Como, but everyone is running
away from the heat there. It is hot everywhere in the south of Europe. I
should like to go from Trieste to Odessa by steamer, but I don’t know how
far it is possible now, in June and July.... If it should be rather hot it
doesn’t matter; I should have a flannel suit. I confess I dread the railway
journey. It is stifling in the train now, particularly with my asthma,
which is made worse by the slightest thing. Besides, there are no sleeping
carriages from Vienna right up to Odessa; it would be uncomfortable. And we
should get home by railway sooner than we need, and I have not had enough
holiday yet. It is so hot one can’t bear one’s clothes, I don’t know what
to do. Olga has gone to Freiburg to order a flannel suit for me, there are
neither tailors nor shoemakers in Badenweiler. She has taken the suit
Dushar made me as a pattern.
I like the food here very much, but it does not seem to suit me; my stomach
is constantly being upset. I can’t eat the butter here. Evidently my
digestion is hopelessly ruined. It is scarcely possible to cure it by
anything but fasting--that is, eating nothing--and that’s the end of it.
And the only remedy for the asthma is not moving.
There is not a single decently dressed German woman. The lack of taste
makes one depressed.
Well, keep well and happy. My love to Mother, Vanya, George, and all the
rest. Write!