MY BELOVED BARBARA,--Today I have undergone a variety of
experiences. In the first place, my head has been aching, and
towards evening I went out to get a breath of fresh air along the
Fontanka Canal. The weather was dull and damp, and even by six
o'clock, darkness had begun to set in. True, rain was not
actually falling, but only a mist like rain, while the sky was
streaked with masses of trailing cloud. Crowds of people were
hurrying along Naberezhnaia Street, with faces that looked
strange and dejected. There were drunken peasants; snub-nosed old
harridans in slippers; bareheaded artisans; cab drivers; every
species of beggar; boys; a locksmith's apprentice in a striped
smock, with lean, emaciated features which seemed to have been
washed in rancid oil; an ex-soldier who was
