Memoirs

“In the middle of winter of 1799 we arrived in the provincial city of Kazan. I was eight years old. The frosts were biting; although two rooms in a small house belonging to Captain Aristova were booked for us in advance, we didn’t find our apartment right away. It was, however, located on a good street called ‘Georgianskaya.’

We arrived in the evening in a simple rope cart, on our three horses (the cook and maid had arrived before us); we moved after feeding, and for a long time we drove around the city, asking about the apartment, standing around for a long time due to the village lackeys’ stupidity. And I remember how terribly cold I was, that the apartment was cold, that the tea didn’t warm me, and that I went to sleep shivering like with fever. Even more I remember that my mother, who loved me passionately, was also shaking—but not from the cold, rather from fear that her beloved child, her little Seryozhenka, would catch a cold…”