Sunday, 30 July 1876

I telegraphed my father yesterday begging him to come to meet me. Here is his reply: “You probably wish to affront me — as you please. I cannot come. Bashkirtseff.”
And here is mine: “It is you who affront me with your malicious assumptions. I am too kind in putting up with such impertinence. Bashkirtseff.”
Scarcely had I sent this telegram when I received another: “If you go directly from Volotchisk to my estate, your brother will accompany you... telegraph when. Bashkirtseff.”
Well?
Maman sends a letter from Alexandre in which he speaks of the lawsuit. They are contemplating nothing less than placing all the property under guardianship so that, no longer receiving the income, we would be compelled to return to Russia. I know perfectly well that going is the best course; had anyone listened to me, we should have gone long since and it would all be over. But this is no moment for regretting the past or weeping over the future. The present must be attended to. Well, by heaven — I am going!
Nothing is sadder than Berlin. The city bears a stamp of simplicity — an ugly, graceless simplicity; all those countless monuments cluttering the bridges, streets, and gardens are badly placed and look stupid. Berlin has the air of a clockwork picture, in which, at certain moments, the soldiers emerge from the barracks, the boatmen row, the ladies in their bonnets walk past holding ugly children by the hand.
On the eve of entering Russia, of being left alone without my aunt, without Maman, I weaken and am afraid. The distress I cause my aunt grieves me. The lawsuit, the uncertainty, all of it... and then, and then — I do not know, but I fear that I shall change nothing!
The thought of resuming on my return the same life as before — this time without hope of change, without having this “Russia” which consoled me for everything and gave me some strength... My God, have pity on me; see the state of my soul and be merciful.
In two hours we leave Berlin. Tomorrow I shall be in Russia. Well — no, I am not weakening; I am strong... only what if I go in vain? That would be bad. One must not despair in advance.
Ah! if someone could know what I feel!... But for that one would have had to live these two years as I have lived them — and even then!
As long as the lawsuit drags on... but the denouement will come, and then... then the judgment, the scandal! And me! And me!!
Great God and Holy Virgin, mercy.

Notes

Tableau à horloge: a mechanical toy picture animated by clockwork — Marie’s image of Berlin as a mechanical simulacrum rather than a living city. ↩