Sunday, 13 January 1878

Russian New Year. Blanc through the night and the whole day.
Fresh dispatches from Nice.
The body will not leave for Nice until tomorrow.
It seems unbelievable... we speak of him as though he were alive — and for us he will never die...
Life is so short, so short! It is not worth doing for a single moment things that give no pleasure.
I see myself at the Versailles station with the stationmaster, Cassagnac, and Paul — it was amusing...
On returning we find a bouquet from the Prince de Bourbon, the two cakes from Marcuard, a card from Caracciolo who has just arrived from Naples — the card.
Tomorrow is Russian New Year's Day.
A heap of dispatches — from Bihovetz, from the consul, from Lefèbvre, and so on — those to whom the death of that poor young man had been announced; I wept over them all morning.
We were naturally obliged to turn away Mme de Fayet, the Bourbon, the Comte de Beaurepaire, the Baron d'Alt — all of whom presented themselves between nine and ten o'clock.
The Boyds, informed by Paul, wrote an excellent letter on the death of that poor man who cost no one anything, inconvenienced no one, and did good to everyone.
Madame Doubelt and the elder Baronne de Linsingen were received; we wept together.
But it is Grand-papa who wept — he who suffers so greatly himself. Just think: he has retained his entire intelligence intact, his sight as well, but he can neither speak nor write, so that one must run through fifty names before guessing, and he cries out and moans at being unable to make himself understood. He can say only yes and no. What is touching is that instead of becoming difficult he has become angelic — so that I often go to him to recount what is happening and to wait upon him.
Walitsky is dead. It is an irreparable loss — one will never accustom oneself to the idea that such a character can exist in real life. Devoted as a dog to our entire family — and platonically, oh, my God, yes — ten times over rather than once.
One sees such people in books.
Well then — may he hear my thoughts; I hope that God grants him the grace to feel what one thinks and says of him. May he hear me then, from wherever he now is — and if ever he had cause to complain of me, he will forgive me for my deep esteem, my sincere friendship, and my grief from the very depths of my soul.