ime, she is putting on, in
twenty-four hours, her entire green dress, from head to foot. * * *
This whole preparation for war is somewhat premature, and is causing
us unnecessary expense. I hope we shall come to our senses finally
before setting all Europe on fire, for the sake of obliging some
little princes, and, at our own cost, helping Austria in glory out of
her embarrassment. We cannot allow Austria either to be annihilated
or, through brilliant victory, to be strengthened in her feeling of
self-confidence and to make us the footstool of her greatness. But
there is plenty of time for either case before we take the plunge, and
many a piece of Lombard water can be dyed red, for things will not go
forward so easily as hitherto when the Austrians have once placed
themselves in their line of forts, as they should have done at the
first. * * *

It is a misfortune that I always write to you in a steaming hurry; now
the foxy face of the chancery servant, who is in the police pay,
besides, is before me again already, and is hurrying me up, and
everything I wanted to say is shrivelling before the fellow, who is
useful, however. I was just thinking of much more that I wanted to
write, and now I do not know anything except that I should like to
beat him. * * * In the greatest love,

Your most faithful v.B.

Moscow, June 6, '59.

A sign of life, at least, I want to send you from here, my dear, while
I am waiting for the samovar, and a young Russian in a red shirt is
struggling, with vain attempts, to light a fire; he blows and sighs,
but it will not burn. After complaining so much before about the
scorching heat I waked up today between Twer and here, and thought I
was dreaming when I saw the land and its fresh green covered far and
wide with snow. Nothing surprises me any more so when I could no
longer be in doubt about the fact I turned quietly on my other side to
continue sleeping and rolling on, although the play of the
green-and-white colors in the morning red was not without charm. I do
not know whether the snow still lies about Twer; here it is all
melted, and a cool, gray rain is drizzling down on the sheet of roofs.
Russia certainly has a perfect right to claim green as her color. Of
the four hundred and fifty miles hither I slept away one hundred and
eighty, but of the other two hundred and seventy every hand's-breadth
was green, of all shades. Cities and villages, especially houses, with
the exception of the