Thursday, 29 August 1878

By what Providence I know not, I was behind time, and at nine o'clock was not yet dressed, when someone came to tell me that Grand-papa was worse. I dressed and went to see him several times. Maman, my aunt, Dina wept — softly and aloud. M. Georges walked about freely; I said nothing to him — this was no moment for moralising. At ten o'clock the priest arrived, and within a few minutes everything was over.
I remained there to the end, on my knees, now passing a hand over that poor brow, now feeling for the pulse.
I watched him die — poor dear Grand-papa — after so much suffering. I do not care to speak in commonplaces.
During the service held beside the bed, Maman fell into my arms; she had to be carried to her room. Everyone wept aloud — even the nihilist Nicolas; I wept too, but quietly. The servants had laid him out badly — they are abominable in such things, applying a zeal that only pains... I arranged the pillows myself, covering them with batiste bordered in lace, and draped a shawl around the iron bed that he loved and that would seem poor to others. All about, white muslin — that whiteness suits the honesty of the soul that has flown away and the purity of the heart that beats no more. I touched his brow when it was already cold, and I felt neither fear nor disgust.
One was prepared for the blow, and yet one is stunned all the same.
I drafted the telegrams and the death announcements. But it was also necessary to care for Maman, who had a violent nervous attack. I believe I conducted myself quite properly — and that in not crying out, my heart is no worse than others'...
I can no longer distinguish my dreams from my real feelings — have I not gone so far as to say to myself, passing before the portrait: how he would share our griefs, how good he would be to me.