Friday, 1 January 1875

New Year! My God, extend Your protection over me for this coming year, and receive my humble thanks for Your blessings during the one that has just passed.
The mad Gambart, or the idiotic Gambart, or the ill-mannered Gambart, or the impertinent Gambart — he came while I was having my morning tea. He asked how Maman was, and when I told him she was ill he did not come inside the house but remained a few minutes in the garden, was very agreeable, and promised to come back to wish us a happy new year in twelve days — the Russian New Year.
I cannot understand this man — after having been more than agreeable, more than attentive at Spa, in Paris, in Nice, after a few days he turns cold, gives afternoon receptions without inviting us, and then here he is again — the devil knows why.
Maman is a little better — she takes advantage of this slight improvement and dashes off to Monte-Carlo with my aunt and Walitsky. I walk with Dina (white dress) and send Foster a bouquet, and Madame de Mouzay and her daughter two bouquets. [Ed. note: a drawing by Marie appeared here in the diary.]
Dessin à la plume d'une jeune femme debout, de profil, cheveux relevés, en robe à corsage ajusté et jupe drapée, un ruban à la main
Jeune femme en robe, de profil Mon Journal, t. 4 (fac-similé) — tome04.docx image 27 (après ¶3822)
I also dispatched two letters to Russia — one for Uncle Étienne, the other for Uncle Alexandre. The first concerns my journey to Russia (to lease the lands, since Uncle Alexandre is not sending the revenues); the second aims to soften Alexandre (for I had written him quite a frank letter requesting him to send me my silverware), to win him over and appear kind and affectionate toward him. He is a wicked man at times and could do me harm; and in the meantime I need him. I think of the delicacy required by my mission when I go to Russia, since the purpose of the trip is to take the management of my aunt’s property from him, and to lease it out, arranging so that the tenants pay the rent directly to my aunt without passing through my uncle’s hands or those of his brother.
There were a great many people — everyone was out, even de Constantin, whom one never sees.
I have reserved a box for tomorrow — for the benefit performance of the excellent singer Dory.
In the evening I listened to Papa — he adores telling stories, and I often learn a great deal from him about Russian history and literature.