The hilly country has ceased and we have once more reached the flat plains. This morning the guard brought a man into my carriage and asked me if I minded his sitting there. I said I did not mind. I offered him some tea. The man made no answer, and looked at me with a vacant stare. Then the guard laid him down at full length, and said, “This man is the assistant station-master at Manchuria station. He is drunk, but you need not be alarmed; he will be quite quiet.” He was quiet; at Manchuria station he woke up from his stupor automatically, as though from frequent habit.
August 22nd.
We arrived at Manchuria station last night. The chaos that always reigns there is terrific. I had the utmost difficulty in obtaining permission to continue my journey. The officials said I needed an extra paper, besides those I had with me, from the Chief of the Staff in Kharbin. The initial difficulty was to get one’s ticket, as the crowd was dense and long. What quantities of people seem to be drawn to Manchuria, like filings to a magnet! An officer got me my ticket, and just when I had utterly despaired of being able to travel further, the gendarme brought me my permission to proceed. Then came the struggle for a place in a third-class carriage. This was successfully got through. I obtained an upper berth across the window. The compartment is crammed with people.
August 23rd.
We are travelling through the hills of northern Manchuria. News has arrived of the summoning of a new Duma. Now people say there will not be peace, and the war will become a national war because it will have the consent of the people. Others contest this; there are hot discussions. I have moved into a second-class carriage in which there is a photographer and a captain. I had my fortune told with cards by a lady in the train. She said I should soon meet a lot of friends and experience a change of fortune for the better.
August 28th.
We arrived at Kharbin the day before yesterday. The town seems to have got much bigger than when I left it last year. The climate has not improved, nor have the prices at the hotel diminished. I have already met some old friends of last year at the bank and at the staff. There is a new restaurant opposite the bank, where a band plays the overture to “William Tell” without ceasing. Kharbin is empty. It appears that Linievitch does not allow officers to come here except on pressing errands. I dislike Kharbin more than any place I have ever seen in the world. The one topic is, of course, the peace negotiations. The matter is hotly discussed; some are in favour of peace, others vehemently against it. The news is contradictory. I have asked for leave to go to the front. I shall have to wait some days before I receive it.
August 31st.
I am laid up in bed, and Mr. Ostrovski of the Russo-Chinese bank has just been to see me. He has come from the staff, where they told him that news had been received from St. Petersburg that there would not be peace. Orders had come to dispatch everything available to the front with all possible speed and to get ready for an offensive movement.
September 1st.