Monday, 9 June 1873

At church (grey cloth dress, new hat). It is Trinity Sunday; the church was all adorned with flowers and greenery. They offered a solemn prayer in which the priest prayed for the forgiveness of sins. He enumerated them all. Then he prayed on his knees. Everything he said in this prayer applied so well to mine that I remained motionless, listening and seconding that prayer. I prayed well in church for only the second time. The first was New Year's Day. For the mass has become so routine, and then the things they say in it are not of every day, of everyone. I go to mass because everyone goes. But I do not pray. The prayers and hymns they sing do not answer what my heart and soul say — they prevent me from praying in freedom; whereas these solemn prayers in which the priest spoke of things that touch everyone, and where each person finds something that applies to his own feelings — those penetrate me.
After church, at Mme Teplakoff's — she wanted us to lunch at her house; Maman ate, but I am odd: I cannot eat away from home, or only in a hotel. Mme Teplakoff is a very amiable woman, a woman of the world above all. She knows how to conduct herself, is pleasant without boring people, and always finds something to say. I like persons of this sort — I have no need to search to the depths of her heart; I see that she is amiable, kind, not stupid, says she loves me, and that is all I need. A few friends are enough; the rest, provided they are good and amiable to me, and I am satisfied. She gave me a cactus flower, saying she wished to give this flower to me because she loves me very much — so that I should remember her affection, though we see each other rarely. I dried this flower.
From the house where we found M. Nennkoff, we went to the Pattons, who are staying at the Villa Savelieff while their house is arranged. I am astonished that Mme Patton can live in a house where the groans of her dying mother seem still to echo. She complained to Maman that it is dreadful for her to live in this house. What a brute this Patton is, to make her live there! We found them on the terrace; the children came running to meet us and invited us (Dina and me) to go to the garden for a few minutes. Dinner was announced — a pity, for they are very nice and I was beginning to grow fond of them; I even have the desire to go see them. We left them then.
All the rest of the day was spent looking for an apartment — and still nothing. I am so tired of it that I can no longer feel my arms or legs.
At dinner a general quarrel, as every day. Grand-papa is upset over Mlle Collignon's departure. He is nasty, irritable, and picks quarrels with everyone. Oh! my God, how tired I am of this life — how unhappy, how I wish I could live in peace, without these horrible, unbearable, dreadful quarrels!!!!
It is already two months that I have not been myself. Something weighs on me; I am troubled by a sad foreboding — I am wretched! Oh! how much would I give to recover the happiness of the past. I was quite satisfied and content, and now here I am — I know not why — unhappy and bored. Everything seems to abandon me; I cannot even dream. It is like another life: the past seems a dream, the present is sad, very sad. I cannot explain this melancholy to myself — nothing has happened to me, and yet! What will become of me, I do not know. But it is so very hard for me.
Maman feels the same sadness. Oh! my God, guard us from all misfortune! Protect us! Do not abandon us!
It is to Thee I turn when I am unhappy. Thou alone canst make me happy and protect me from all harm. Be once more merciful. Restore to me peace, tranquillity. It is to You I appeal, oh! my God.
My voice rises to the Most High; without ceasing I cry out to Him. My voice rises to the Most High, that He may deign to hear me. Oh! Holy Virgin Mary, have pity on me. Protect me with your holy prayer.