When I took my watch out at a quarter to twelve, the hostess [Mme Lewisohn], sitting next to me, asked: 'Surely you are not rushing off?' 'No,' I replied, 'but I should like to know how near we are to the New Year.' She smiled. 'Don't worry, when it comes there will be such a racket.'

And indeed, a racket there was. People whirled rattles, tinkled little bells, blew toy trumpets. In front of every place at the table was some kind of object to make a noise with. The racket went on for five minutes, after which we all stood up and drank champagne - which, as a matter of fact, we had been already drinking for some time - and clinked glasses with our neighbours. Yes, the way the New Year is welcomed in here is juvenile, silly, gay and trivial. The childishness may well mask a deeper, unconscious wisdom. But it has no poetry.