Wednesday, 14 May 1873

Before seven, I ate a plate of strawberries. At nine, Mlle Collignon and I walked to the Howards' (violet dress). I was in a bad mood, for at and after lunch there had been trouble about the English language. It is Mlle Collignon who should be forced to speak it, and instead they martyrize me to the point of exhaustion.
I begged that we go to Vienna; I gave a thousand reasons; at last I said I do not want to spend the summer in Nice. I wept, I pleaded; I was in a sad, bored mood; I had no desire to do anything, to speak to anyone.
I began walking with an angry, or rather a bored, air. My face was dark. Ah! when one thinks how miserable man is! On arriving, still on the avenue leading to their house, I had to try to change my expression, my mood; I had to smile, to look cheerful, pleased to see them, etc.
Every animal can, when it pleases, make whatever face it wants. It is not obliged to smile when it wants to weep. When it does not wish to see its fellows, it does not see them. And man — slave of everything and everyone! And yet I myself inflict this on myself; I myself love society; I love going out; I love having people come. This is the first time I go against my desire — and how many times shall I do so later? How many times, wanting to stay, shall I be obliged to go; wanting to weep, obliged to smile! And it is I myself who chose this life, this life in society. Ah! but then I shall have no more sorrow — when I am grown, when he is
with me. I shall always be cheerful and well-disposed. Now it is because I want to go to Vienna and cannot, and a thousand other things I cannot do for myself; but then I shall have my own will. I shall be able to do what I want, go where I want; the means will allow it, and if one manages one's affairs well, and with God's help, one always has enough. And then, with him — can I be unhappy? He will not oppose my wishes — that is to say, we shall have the same. I shall yield to him, he to me; one can live happily. They will say I want perfection; but it can exist. It does not, because no one has taken the trouble — or rather, all have thought it so difficult to attain that they do not even try. And sometimes what seems so... It may look at the distance so far as that the very hope
of attaining it seems but a vain chimera. Never mind, bear hopefully on, and the distance will lessen palpably with every step.
I shall therefore always be content, happy.
Mme Savelieff died last night at eleven. At two in the afternoon, Maman and Dina went to the pannykhida today. In the evening at eight, Maman and I went there; many ladies were present. What could one say of this scene? Grief to the right, grief to the left, grief on the ceiling, grief on the floor, grief expressed in every chair, grief in the candlelight, grief in the very air. Mme Patton (her daughter) had hysterics after the pannykhida. The baby wept too (everyone did). I kissed her hands, led her, sat her beside me. I wanted to say a few words of consolation, but I could not — and what consolation! Only time! What I said before seemed good to me, and then I found it harsh and stupid. I said that no one is as much to be pitied as the old man who remains alone, alone, alone. Ah! my God, what can one do? Everything must end. There is my reasoning — but if one of ours were to die, I would not put it into practice.
At the Howards', fairly amused; they did everything they could — what good children; I love them so.

Notes

In English in the original.
Orthodox memorial service for the dead.