Thursday, 16 June 1881

Yesterday morning we went to Poltava (by that terrible hill — I rode back alone with a manservant walking before the horses, Michel and Paul at archbishop's pace — to return around midnight). My father presided over the municipal council; in the interval some twenty people were presented to me; then dinner in the Public Garden, the same one where I dined five years ago, with the same Michel, etc. Then we went to the shooting range in the garden. Do you kno—
— w that I shoot very well, without ever practising. Extraordinary woman. Then a walk through the deserted streets, stopping in at Nini's sister's, at Alexandre's house; then eating strawberries at the hotel. Dina, Lola and their mother arrive — we talk until nearly ten o'clock. Then Paul and his wife in the coupé, Maman, myself and Micha in the calash, we drive home. M. Bashkirtseff, seeing me a little cheered up, wished me to stay longer — first because he had to preside the next day, and then with the hope, I believe, of taking me to the Abazas — but you can imagine how much that would amuse me.
Today I work — second day — but it rains ten times a day and we take shelter in the pavilion at each downpour, stowing the canvas and easel, then the sun again. Saint-Amand writes to me.
What is good here is that there is a multitude of servants and everything happens as if by magic.