Thursday, 3 April 1873

In the morning at twelve, before lunch, I dressed — my aunt, etc. etc. They begin to put obstacles in the way of my going to Monaco, but that is the habit; they try to find obstacles for everything, for my sea baths, and they always end by finding that there is nothing wrong — but that is the habit (Dina's black taffeta dress, hat with roses — smart). Many people at the station.
[Written across the page: It is the habit — now nothing has changed.]
The whole Galve crowd — Mademoiselle in a simple, pretty grey linen dress. Before seeing it, I had a similar dress in my head — but I am stupid; I let myself be outdone. We were: myself, Mademoiselle Collignon, Madame Romanoff, Maman, Madame Markevitch, Count Gabrielli, Mademoiselle Kolokolzoff. We arrived then at Monte Carlo — my heart was already beating as we approached Monaco; at last we were there.
[In the margin: I do not correct — there are too many mistakes.]
In the hall for a minute, then with my mentor Walitsky to the pigeon shooting. There, not too many people — the Randouin crowd with the Poles, etc. and the Galves, etc. — then a few unknowns; but the whole look of the thing — a failure. No more extravagantly dressed Englishmen, no more dirty, battered hats, no more stiff backs and checked jackets [sic], no more ardent bettors — everything went along quietly. I was waiting for him — he does not come. Besides, I think he will not mingle with this rabble at the pigeon shooting. He is too rich and fashionable to remain in Nice in April. I do not even know who won the prize — the newspapers will tell. Then I returned to the hall; I left Walitsky and took Markevitch (I have two tickets for the three days, ten francs apiece).
We did not go downstairs with her; we remained leaning on the balcony near the buffet. All at once I see Gioia arrive with another woman; I watched her — she passed very close, she even stopped without looking at us, and went down. But how much uglier she is than I thought! In a carriage, at the theater, from a distance, she is charming, beautiful — but on foot, what an ugly walk, what affected manners! Oh! I used to believe, I used to doubt — I used to think she was not a courtesan, but today I am convinced that she is.
What coarse features — a thick brunette's nose (she is dyed blonde) — I do not know if she only seems so to me. A courtesan, in a word, but more mannered, and living in high style — nothing more. At the same time, what assurance and boldness! She is detestable! I do not say as a face — she can please; she is a very handsome woman — but as for everything else!
Oh! I would be far better than she — I do believe it! The manners, the walk, the whole effect. She has nothing extraordinary — neither eyes nor mouth; a handsome woman, nothing more. And I can boast of my mouth. I no longer fear her as before. I took her for a modest woman who claimed to love him, who claimed to love only him, etc. — who wished to affect the comme il faut; with that I feared her, but now — no. I am glad to be able to detest her, and I detest her — and to think she possesses him! I do not believe it, moreover; I believe quite simply that he, young, free, and rich, keeps her as a necessary piece of furniture, because a young duke with horses and races must also have a kept mistress — if he had none, his friends would tease him. Yesterday I prayed God to make his acquaintance; today I have not made it, and it seems to me even that it is a thing too beautiful to be real. Seeing the names of the members of the pigeon-shooting committee, I said to Gabrielli: where did they find so many dukes? For there were several. He told me that none of them was present; he told me where the others were, and at last said:
— And Hamilton is on his yacht; he is traveling toward the Orient, to Cairo — I know not where.
Then I shall not see him again, for in the summer we leave for Russia. At this thought alone my heart tightens; it seems to me then — and it is true — how can I see him, have him? We do not know how long we shall stay, but I have trust in God. He will not abandon me.
Perhaps the Duke is traveling because he has broken with her. Mad ideas! She has a strong hold on him. My God, I can only pray to You — You alone can act for me. If we go to Russia, I do not lose courage, for I love him! And I have trust in You.

Notes

In English in the original. Marie writes "jackettes" — her phonetic French spelling.
In English in the original.