Monday, 7 August 1877

During the two hours Rémy spent with us I was well-behaved and rather pleasant; at four o’clock we went to dine at the Russian restaurant, taking with us the American, who eats and drinks so heartily that it is a real pleasure to watch.
And at eight o’clock, Maman, Dina, Grand-papa, Walitsky, Triphon, Prater, and Renard departed for the blessed land of Schlangenbad. Despite all our squabbles, we were moved to tears over this separation of a fortnight.
I came home very tired, and Hall came to have supper with me — that is to say, while I ate a pigeon, she also ate a pigeon, a slice of galantine, and drank a bottle of champagne.
Do not forget that she had lunched at noon, dined at four, and dined lightly again at six. Alexandre is a mere child beside this surprising gangster. The young lady is seventeen, very tall, enormous, blonde, and beautiful. Yesterday I woke her at noon, and with her hair loose — that face generously carved in pink ivory, that immense body — she was superb. Dressed, she looks like a man.
We talk of Florence.
You think I am not anxious about Russia?! What creature is wretched enough, contemptible enough... to forget his country in danger?! You think that fable of the hare and the tortoise, applied to Russia and Turkey, does not pain me?! Because I speak of pigeons, of the American and of Alexandre — am I not anxious, seriously anxious, about our war?!
Do you think that the hundred thousand slaughtered Russians would have died if nothing more than my prayers and anxieties had been needed to defend them!!
Florence, Rome, Paris... it makes no difference, for I am in despair! I have lost all courage and all hope. I no longer expect anything!!!
And that is what terrifies me, and that is what crushes me.
It is with terror that I think of a stay in Paris, and with despair of a journey to Italy.
Let us wait for the return of our people, for the end of the cures — and in the meantime... oh! in the meantime... I shall try to keep occupied, to read, to dream, to sleep!
Instead of what one had every right — and was wrong — to expect... an existence like mine!!!... May God preserve you from it, whoever you are.
Perhaps one should rejoice in it — perhaps God will reward me for it...
Do you know why my heart is in despair?
Because it seems to me that I can no longer please anyone. And this horrible fear, the most horrible of all, makes me worse than dead.
Julie de Benkendorff is certainly in the country — at about this time of year she was there when I passed through Berlin.
Yes... but what if I please no one? !!!

Notes

In English in the original. ↩
The Russo-Turkish War of 1877–78, fought over the Balkans; Russia was progressing slowly against Ottoman resistance, prompting public anxiety in Saint Petersburg and among Russian expatriates. ↩