Saturday, 17 May 1873

Fairly fine. At the promenade (pink percale dress, hat with roses — not bad). I went to the shops for all sorts of errands; then, before returning, we met Mlle Catherine with Bébé. I got out and spoke to them; they went home, and Maman and I walked a little. The carriage came for us and we returned. We sit down to dinner; Georges is with us — he has been drinking since morning. Toward the end of dinner (he was not at table), Mlle Collignon, who had gone out for a moment, rushes in crying:
— What screams there are in the garden! Go and see — I do not know what it is, but there is screaming.
Everyone rose. I go out of the room, and someone tells me it is Georges who slapped the Tolstoy woman. I say hurriedly to Papa:
— Stay here, it is nothing; Georges struck that woman. Keep calm; I shall tell you everything afterward, but do not show that you know.
I ask questions, I run, I no longer know what I am doing. The whole house is in turmoil. He appears and says:
My hand is strong — she will remember it! That is how she fell, she... the hussy — and more, etc., etc., etc. And my aunt has been seriously ill for a week — what a horror! To crown the disgrace, visitors arrive: Mlle Kolokolzoff, Mme Daniloff, and Mme Teplakoff. They are in the yellow salon; Maman in the dining room nearly faints. Georges, the hero of the catastrophe, arrives in the yellow salon and tells the story incoherently to these three ladies — for he is drunk. We try to drag him to the dining room; he refuses. Mme Teplakoff offers her carriage, saying he must be made to leave — he will be arrested! — quickly, quickly! We thank her; everyone is alarmed for Georges. He wants to show his courage; he does not leave.
I am trembling all over — oh! if he could escape! I call upon the One who can do all things; I run to the study, throw myself on my knees, and pray to Him to protect Georges. I feel that He alone is Almighty, and that it is to Him I must turn — He who has delivered me so many times! He alone, the Almighty — He sees all and can do all!
I run again, try to calm them. Mlle Collignon stops a carriage on the Rue de France; she offers to take him
somewhere — to the station, if there is a train, or else as far as Eze or Monaco. The carriage waits below. My aunt, very ill, gets up, but they force her to stay, and they calm her — when in comes the drunken lion-heart, shouting, grumbling, striding about the room. He is willing to leave but does not want to show it; he wants to appear unfrightened, and yet he is. Adam says the gendarmes are here — that is to say, they have been sent for. We are in dreadful fear. We beg him to flee quickly. I run to Mlle Collignon; I put the hat on her head; she runs; Georges goes down with her. I watch from the window; the carriage does not move — I am afraid for him. I devour the carriage with my eyes; the moments I watched it were centuries. I go to another window; I run from one to the other and end by missing the departure, but it does not matter — they are gone; that is all that is needed. Despite the turmoil, at that very moment I remembered that if it all ended like this, it is to Him we owe it. He heard my prayer. Oh! my God, I see all Your greatness. I see that one must turn only to You, from the smallest things to the greatest. Thank You, Lord! You heard my prayer! Thank You!
We are not easy yet. No doubt he will not escape if he comes to Nice, but he will not come. Since God allowed him to leave.
And these are the kind of stories from which all troubles come! Every misfortune is made by that vagabond! Everything bad — all of it is the work of his hands! We could live quite differently without such scoundrels! He disappears for a year and then returns for four days, creates scandals to make up for all the time he leaves us in peace, and goes away. What acquaintances after that? No one will want to know people with such scandals — and yet these same people do ten times worse, but without noise.
I place myself near the table in the grand salon: a ring at the door. No one wants to open before consulting what to say. They open: it is two dressmakers with Maman's dress; everyone is somewhat calmed. These two dressmakers say, laughing, that there are two gentlemen asking for us. They said it and laughed — I do not know why. In come these two gentlemen — two gendarmes. They ask for M. Babanine; they politely explain the affair and suppose it was Papa they were speaking with. The matter is explained to them; they speak, we speak. And at last they leave, saying they see it was not us and that they will go look for
the other. Markevitch was very bold and even comic; Maman frightened; Papa surprised; Walitsky calming, serious; my aunt frightened, ill; Dina stupidly tragic — she screamed and wept. Mlle Collignon had the good idea of taking him away. I ran about and was like the fly in Krylov's fable: "We plowed."
But he is gone (Mlle Collignon has not returned yet), and I thank God for it. I see His divine love for mankind!
[In the margin: I was astonished at myself.]
[On the last page of the carnet: Une robe en soie, satin ou moire antique blanche, toute avec des volants, chacun a white flamed silk, each flounce being bordered with a pattern of delicately wrought green leaves and half-blown roses, and the graceful garland of flowers on the hair is in perfect harmony with the Parisian fabric. The waist fitted closely to the throat, where a collar of point lace was fastened with a brilliant spray of diamonds; and the sleeves of the same delicate material as the collar, lightly draped the well-rounded arms.]

Notes

From Krylov's fable "The Fly and the Travelers," in which a fly sitting on an ox's horn boasts "We plowed!" — i.e., Marie compares herself to someone taking credit for others' work while running about uselessly.
In English in the original.