books to be seen--not, alas, the works of Albov, of Barantsevitch, and of
Chekhov, but of all sorts of anonymous authors who write and publish
abroad. I saw "Renan," "The Mysteries of the Winter Palace," and so on. It
is strange that here one is free to read anything and to say what one
likes. Understand, O ye peoples, what the cabs are like here! The devil
take them! There are no droshkys, but they are all new, pretty carriages
with one and often two horses. The horses are splendid. On the box sit
dandies in top-hats and reefer jackets, reading the newspaper, all
politeness and readiness to oblige.

The dinners are good. There is no vodka; they drink beer and fairly good
wine. There is one thing that is nasty: they make you pay for bread. When
they bring the bill they ask, _Wie viel brodchen?_--that is, how many rolls
have you devoured? And you have to pay for every little roll.

The women are beautiful and elegant. Indeed, everything is diabolically
elegant.

I have not quite forgotten German. I understand, and am understood.

When we crossed the frontier it was snowing. In Vienna there is no snow,
but it is cold all the same.

I am homesick and miss you all, and indeed I am conscience-stricken, too,
at deserting you all again. But there, never mind! I shall come back and
stay at home for a whole year. I send my greetings to everyone, everyone.

I wish you all things good; don't forget me with my many transgressions. I
embrace you, I bless you, send my greetings and remain,