“You are always talking to me about a diary, my dear, but I have not the courage to tell you the wretched history of my life. I am just a machine wound up. I go on for ever, but without pleasure or interest in what I do. I live on in anguish, and my letters would be very doleful if they were a faithful portrait of myself; but we are so far apart, my dear, you and I, and letters pass through so very many hands, that we must only guess at one another’s meaning--we cannot speak out. You know my heart--it will always be the same, and despite appearances, my feelings have not altered, I swear to you. But one has to be careful, when one can’t speak face to face. It is a sacrifice; but who has not sacrifices to make? How many I’ve made in the last two months! I’ve left everything to come to a country where I know nobody. Here I am friendless among strangers; naturally I am criticised, and severely. All the kindness of LL.MM.II. has aroused great expectations in society; I feel that, and, shy as I always am, I get shyer and shyer. But indeed I ought to be grateful, for I am received and treated with consideration by many people here; they take a pleasure in showing their admiration for my conduct. My conduct! Ah! when fate brought one into contact with _Her_, was it possible to help adoring her? What merit was there in being faithful to Her, when one could not possibly have been anything else? “I am sorry, dear Charlotte, for all the worries that the storm caused you on shore; to tell the truth, I felt best at sea. Do believe that I am not a coward, and that I was scarcely frightened at all. The weather was rough only twice, when we were entering the Cattegat, before the Sound; I think it must have been a tribute to the shock caused by the encounter of the two seas. Then on Friday, or rather Thursday the 27th, when we were arriving at Cronstadt, the weather was very bad, and I must confess that that evening and night I did feel uneasy. It wasn’t cowardice. The captain himself was anxious, and, indeed, the heavy rain and the darkness of the night, besides the number of small rocks that stick out of the water here, and could not be seen at all on account of the darkness, made our situation pretty serious, I assure you. Thank Heaven, though, I got on very well. When the captain came to say we were at anchor, I felt a wonderful gladness, and yet, all of a sudden, I began to cry, for I could not help saying to myself: ‘Yes, I’m here! And what have I come for? Where shall I find any friends?’