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 streaked¹ 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 harridans³ in slippers⁴; bareheaded artisans; cab drivers; every species of beggar; boys; a locksmith’s apprentice⁵ in a striped smock, with lean, emaciated⁶ features which seemed to have been washed in rancid oil; an ex-soldier who was offering penknives and copper⁷ rings for sale; and so on, and so on. It was the hour when one would expect to meet no other folk than these. And what a quantity of boats there were on the canal. It made one wonder how they could all find room there. On every bridge were old women selling damp gingerbread or withered⁸ apples, and every woman looked as damp and dirty as her wares⁹. In short, the Fontanka is a saddening spot for a walk, for there is wet granite¹⁰ under one’s feet, and tall, dingy¹¹ buildings on either side of one, and wet mist below and wet mist above. Yes, all was dark and gloomy there this evening.