Tuesday, 12 August 1873

A dressmaker came and brought several outfits; my aunt and Dina ordered a dress each. I am waiting for Paris.
Yesterday, having finished my journal, I asked my aunt:
“Well then, are we going to Paris?”
She told me no, in a very decided manner. I insist; she refuses still. I began to despair and to feel ashamed of my confidence in my own power. But as I had promised to make no scene, I conducted the siege very gently — I merely begged! But my aunt was simply growing furious; I do not know what came over her. She says we have not enough money, but it is not true — we still have several thousand francs, and to stay in Paris and buy two or three dresses, it is enough. After half an hour of chaos — for I could say nothing but “I beg you, please, let us go,” etc. — I manage to reason with her, to calculate the hotel, the carriage, etc., and I prove that we have more than enough; but then she begins another story, that because of the lawsuit and all sorts of things, she cannot. She declares at last, very firmly, that she does not want to. I continue to beg her in a very humble voice; I wanted to explode, but my promise held me back. She returns again to the money; I demonstrate again that we have enough; I beg, I nearly weep, and at last I triumph! At first she said, when I begged her to say we would go, that she would tell me tomorrow, that I must go to bed. From these words I could conclude that I was triumphing. Then, when I insisted, she said yes. Everything comes to pass as I wish. I was even very astonished at this victory — the enemy had seemed so strong. And immediately the desire weakened. We embraced and I fell asleep, all joyful.
It is astonishing how fortune favours me! God wants to test me — whether, in giving me everything, I would want yet more, and if I were never satisfied, then He will punish me as in the fable of The Golden Fish. But I shall take good care not to deserve that punishment; I shall be content when I have what I ask for every day in my prayers. How happy I am! Everything succeeds for me — how can I not hope that the rest will come?
Francine has taken my dress to alter. At the Exposition (grey linen dress, good). It is pouring rain; I adore the rain but I do not like overcast skies. At four o’clock, home. Paul came back and we had no idea what had become of him. The weather is superb, a little sunshine, the rain has stopped — a delicious day. Dinner at the hotel (grey woollen dress, bad) — this grey is disfiguring.
After dinner we went to Spitzer’s to try on the dresses for Dina and my aunt. They have pretty models from Laferrière, very chic. But I am set on Paris.
Paul has adopted an insufferable manner of an old grumbler — of a madman, an invalid, or an idiot. I hope he will not keep it up for long; it would be unbearable. In the evening we took a short carriage ride; the air is delicious.

Notes

The Russian tale of the fisherman, the golden fish and the greedy old woman, best known in Pushkin’s verse version (The Tale of the Fisherman and the Fish, 1833). ↩