Monday, October 31:
“To kiss and kiss you as I may, and with your kisses fade away”—thus R. concluded yesterday.
Today a letter from my mother, who is living at Berg. Letters from the Schurés, still fanatically French! Drove to Countess B.’s; her son tells in woeful detail about the sufferings of our troops at Metz. Gambetta’s portrait in the Illustrirte Z. once more shows us the febrile, ineffectual character of a dying race.
In the evening Fuente ovejuna by Lope de Vega; infinite delight in it.
R. rightly says that we onlookers can only be silent in the face of the grand and terrible events now taking place; no boasting of victories, no complaints about the suffering, simply a deep and silent recognition that God disposes.