Sunday, 27 December 1874

At last I went to church, with Dina (white dress).
I spoke to no one except Woerman, who asked after Maman’s health.
It is cold and grey, dusty and windy, as in March. I am more and more naked — all that remains to me that is fit to be seen is “the satin costume the good Lord gave me.”
At the concert with Florence and Dina. We laughed — the little one is not too downcast and speaks freely of all sorts of things. The worst of it all right now is that I have nothing to wear.
In the evening comes my most honoured uncle Georges. Well! would you believe it — that man is taken with me.
We begin by talking business and end in a storm, for at every word I said he wailed a hundred lamentations, accompanied by howls.
“Only the grave straightens the hunchback,” as they say in Russia.
Now, I am not the grave, and therefore I cannot straighten these people — but I bear them no ill will on that account, quite the contrary.

Notes

Russian proverb: people do not change their essential nature. ↩