I made my way through the back door to my room. My nurse-valet was sleeping on the floor and I was obliged to step over him; he woke up, saw me, and reported that my mother was angry with me, and had wanted to send after me again, but that my father had restrained her. I never went to bed without having bidden my mother good night and begged her blessing. There was no help for it! I told my valet that I would undress myself and go to bed unaided,—and extinguished the candle. But I did not undress and I did not go to bed.

I seated myself on a chair and sat there for a long time, as though enchanted. That which I felt was so new and so sweet…. I sat there, hardly looking around me and without moving, breathing slowly, and only laughing silently now, as I recalled, now inwardly turning cold at the thought that I was in love, that here it was, that love. Zinaída’s face floated softly before me in the darkness—floated, but did not float away; her lips still smiled as mysteriously as ever, her eyes gazed somewhat askance at me, interrogatively, thoughtfully and tenderly … as at the moment when I had parted from her. At last I rose on tiptoe, stepped to my bed and cautiously, without undressing, laid my head on the pillow, as though endeavouring by the sharp movement to frighten off that wherewith I was filled to overflowing….

I lay down, but did not even close an eye. I speedily perceived that certain faint reflections kept constantly falling into my room…. I raised myself and looked out of the window. Its frame was distinctly defined from the mysteriously and confusedly whitened panes. “‘Tis the thunder-storm,”—I thought,—and so, in fact, there was a thunder-storm; but it had passed very far away, so that even the claps of thunder were not audible; only in the sky long, indistinct, branching flashes of lightning, as it were, were uninterruptedly flashing up. They were not flashing up so much as they were quivering and twitching, like the wing of a dying bird. I rose, went to the window, and stood there until morning…. The lightning-flashes never ceased for a moment; it was what is called a pitch-black night. I gazed at the dumb, sandy plain, at the dark mass of the Neskútchny Park, at the yellowish façades of the distant buildings, which also seemed to be trembling at every faint flash…. I gazed, and could not tear myself away; those dumb lightning-flashes, those restrained gleams, seemed to be responding to the dumb and secret outbursts which were flaring up within me also. Morning began to break; the dawn started forth in scarlet patches. With the approach of the sun the lightning-flashes grew paler and paler; they quivered more and more infrequently, and vanished at last, drowned in the sobering and unequivocal light of the breaking day.

And my lightning-flashes vanished within me also. I felt great fatigue and tranquillity … but Zinaída’s image continued to hover triumphantly over my soul. Only it, that image, seemed calm; like a flying swan from the marshy sedges, it separated itself from the other ignoble figures which surrounded it, and as I fell asleep, I bowed down before it for the last time in farewell and confiding adoration….

Oh, gentle emotions, soft sounds, kind and calming of the deeply-moved soul, melting joy of the first feelings of love,—where are ye, where are ye?

Ivan Turgenev, First Love

Two good quotes isn’t bad for any novel, especially one blessedly short.

Accusations of mismanagement and incompetence brought out a strain of patriotism in his countrymen like nothing else.

and

The underside of the log began to glow, and then it took fire again and pulsed around the ends with an energy that seemed desperate almost. Light flickered over the man slumbered in the deep chair, falling over his legs and chest, making him seem for a moment, with his face in shadow and the human likeness obscured, like some beast of the jungle, barred and striped, at rest in its lair.

Barry Unsworth, Land of Marvels

In contrast to the nineteenth century, when revolutionary robberies of any type were extremely rare, and a dissolute life-style was not prevalent among extremists, the phenomenon of the revolutionary bandit became so widespread as to warrant a separate examination in the chapter entitled, in accordance with a popular cliché of the period, “The ‘Seamy Side* of the Revolution.” As part of this discussion, it will be demonstrated that in addition to the criminal element attracted to the radical camp, an unusually large number of individuals with clearly pathological disturbances also joined the revolutionary ranks. This is particularly evident not only from the stream of mental breakdowns and the acknowledged suicidal urge18 widespread among the Russian terrorists, but also from the fact that many of them exhibited unquestionably sadistic behavior, committing acts of striking cruelty. An equally important fact neglected in the scholarly literature is that the new type of terrorist did not hesitate to employ the assistance of juveniles, who participated widely in combat activities following the outbreak of revolution in 1905.

ANNA GEIFMAN. THOU SHALT KILL: REVOLUTIONARY TERRORISM IN RUSSIA, 1894-1917

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“Abdel Wahab suggests she had affairs or at least an ongoing relationship with the royal chamberlain Ahmed Pasha Hassanein but this might be exaggerated.” Oh, I hope they did. He: aviator, desert explorer, Olympic fencer, royal tutor, diplomat. She: singer, actress, femme fatale, spy. Oh, yes.

Interestingly, Hage’s book mentions neither of the two. Alexandria was two worlds living side by side without interacting, like sleepwalkers.

Early spring. A cold, sunny day. The forest is still bare. Grey trunks glow with silver and gold in the sunlight. Between them, blue sky and brilliant white clouds and dark looming mountains opposite, across the valley, across the river. I recall another such day, cold and bright, and me walking in the woods, in the mountains. And even though that was almost 40 years ago, on another continent, I remember vividly how it felt to be there then, walking in that still bare forest, in early spring, on a cold, sunny day.