Wednesday, 20 March 1861
7.35 to 8.30 walked on downs. Gray day. ― speculations on future ― here, London, or where?
Breakfast ― & began to colour the last Mt. Athos views. Meanwhile ― the wind riz & the waves [bloo].
Ahi! it is well to sham laughing ― but I feel as if I could laugh no more ― really. Those last hours of dearest Ann, & the sight of her dead, are great & dreadful realities ― but the knowledge that I am so alone & can appeal to her no more, is far worse ― & ever increasing.
Many letters: from Ellen, Miss Morier, Mrs. [] Robinson, Mrs. Davidson, ― &c. MISS HORNBY IS DEAD. ―
Grew weary of drawing ― & of watching the sea.
At 10 to AT’s & talked with ET ― & tried to walk in the garden ― but the wind was too horrid.
Came back, & drew again: then it rained, & blew furiously. ― Mrs. Murrow ― (who never was in London before last June ―) did her best to “console my mind” ― as she said: telling me of the Q.’s visit here & of the Princess Helēēna &c. ― who made a picnic in her upper room. “Would you believe it Sir, those Princes & Princesses spoke common just like my own children! I could not have believed it Sir!” ―――
Played on Mrs. Frankland’s Piano: ― & at 6.30 dined alone. ― Mr. F. came in afterwards ―: really a nice fellow. ―
Sate & played & sang with him till 10.30.
[Transcribed by Marco Graziosi from Houghton Library, Harvard University, MS Eng. 797.3.]
A man of 50 loses his sister of 70, whom he hasn’t been living with for years, and feels he is now “alone” in the world because he can no longer “appeal” to her. This is hardly a run of the mill situation and underlines the man’s singular psychology.