Sunday, 16 March 1873

To church (black silk dress), all alone. I spoke after the service to all our acquaintances; Soutchine and another whom I do not know asked me for news of Maman.
We had several visitors. Then to the concert (vicuna coat) — a great crowd, but such wind and above all such dust that it is dreadful! We saw Boreel several times; he wore a light checked frock coat, very handsome. The Pole whose name I do not know wore a morning coat like Baron Merck's. Still, when I see Boreel I feel something for him yet, but these are only the remains of a past love, and because he is the most elegant young man in Nice. I did not once see him full in the face, and consequently cannot say whether he looked at me.
[In the margin: When will this end? I read with disgust.]
He interests me still, however, because he has not yet introduced himself — and especially when I made it so plain to him that he pleased me, by chance, no doubt. [Inserted: That is not true.]
Must I, in order to deserve the Duke, even abandon the idea of subjugating him? That is the question.
Yes, I think so; but if I write nothing of Boreel, I shall think of him just the same, and it amounts to the same thing. Ah! but then, if I am so wretched that I cannot force myself to this trifle in order to have so great a happiness later, I am not worthy of it. I must put aside all thought of Boreel; I must not think of him, he must not please me — for, as I have already said: when I do not have the one, the other pleases me! I must force myself to this. And he, as if on purpose, dresses to my taste. But that is nothing; I shall break myself. I shall strive to forget him. That is to say, I must not use such elevated terms — it is merely a matter of striving to no longer concern myself with him. I cannot forget him since I see him every day — that is difficult — nor can I strive to no longer think of him, because he is handsome. But then what have I promised?... I know, and I shall keep my promise. It is not amusing, but I wish to do it, in order to deserve!...
[Written across the page: This is stupid; I ought not to write so many stupid things.]

Notes

In English in the original; a quotation from Shakespeare's Hamlet.