Thursday, 10 July 1873

At lunch we had company. At five we went to Monaco with the eternal Anitchkoffs. It is Paul's name day.
[Written further on, in the margins: It is today that is Paul's fete. We had company — the Misses Patton; they are very kind, I am beginning to grow fond of them. We stayed in my room; we had a good time. There was also that impossible Drillat. Georges brought him. In Maman's place I would put all delicacy aside and tell him not to bring that man again, for he is worse than bad. He is a... — in a word, one who escorts cocottes for ten francs or more, who gets them into the casino, protects them. Such a man cannot be tolerated.]
We dine in Monaco, but as always happens with us, everyone is discontented, no one wants to take anything upon himself, and everything falls on me. Instead of — as sensible people would have done — going on arrival to order dinner, since we had invited the Anitchkoffs, they went to the gaming room. They played, they lost, they grew angry. No, such amusements are not for us, for instead of taking everything on oneself, no one ever tries to maintain order and gaiety — they amuse themselves by scolding and quarrelling. I am a martyr; I cannot bear such disorder! I thought it was my fault, but since I promised not to say a single word too many, to be good, I see that it is not down to me. It is a misfortune, a curse on the whole family. We love each other at heart; we are incapable of doing the least harm to one another; we would cut off our heads for each other, on the contrary. But not an hour of calm passes — we devour each other! We scold; we needle one another. And then when one is at dinner — "The soup is not good," I might have the misfortune to say, and instantly:
— It is the same as always; why are you scolding? My God, my God, what is she going to do now? Oh! what torture. What a dreadful character.
Before, I would have walked off, shouting or weeping and stopping my ears. Now, to keep my promise, I maintain my calm, say nothing, and smother within me a dreadful anger, a dreadful indignation! At last, with great difficulty, we went to dinner — it continues. Why order so much? No one is hungry. And I cannot say a word without being looked at: What is she doing? How she shouts! I am going
to run away!! These are our pleasure outings!
Towards the middle things became a little gayer — I animated the dinner, I can say without boasting; towards the end all went nearly well. After dinner, at the casino, I played and fairly well — I guessed many numbers, nearly all at the beginning. In short, the result: from nothing I won forty francs, but I did not want to take this money away; I wanted to play more, for I took it there and there I would leave it. I only brought back twenty francs, and that is well.
We go to Vienna on Saturday — I, my aunt, Dina, and Paul. Maman wants me to go for several reasons: to see the Exhibition, no doubt; to distract myself and change the air, flee these heats — and the principal one... is that in Vienna are Mme Miloradovitch and her son. Maman wants to arrange this trip as a sort of encounter, like the Duke of Edinburgh and Duchess Marie — as if by chance, meeting in Vienna. For she desires this marriage very much; it is all she desires for me. She thinks that if she were sure it would happen, she could be easy on my account. All this is very well, but those are not my desires. He is rich, young; if I wanted only wealth, I would marry him. No doubt I shall never marry a poor man — that is his misfortune and mine. For when one lacks everything... and then I love luxury; I am capricious; I have grand ideas. Drawing rooms, society, elegant dress mean a great deal to me. Being poor, or even merely comfortable, I should be unhappy. The first year, the second, it passes; but later, when love has cooled — and it will cool quickly amid privation. Whereas being rich, one loves — or rather, I shall love always. One has less time, and seeing each other less often, one has time only to love; one sets aside the quarrels, attributes of marriage; one loves, one is content with oneself and with others. This applies less to me than to the husband; for I, it is all the same to me — I love no matter where and how; I should love him always, my whole life; my love would never cease, it would have no bounds, it would change neither with circumstances nor with age. But it is to keep the husband that all this is necessary. Men do not love simple women — they want elegant dress. They do not know it themselves. But a woman surrounded by luxury, who is not very pretty, seems beautiful to them — not that, exactly, but she attracts, she pleases. She must, no doubt, have certain manners, for elegant dress alone is nothing.
No, I do not want Miloradovitch; I do not love him, and how can one live with a man one does not love? I could not pretend. I must choose a husband I love, for I shall be faithful to him. Another woman would take a man she does not love, because she is capable of — she can — having lovers. I could never. How to live with a man one deceives? I would blush my whole life, every minute!
No doubt I could make myself the greatest coquette in the world with this Miloradovitch; I would turn his head. I know coquetry, I know what it is. I would affect modesty, simplicity; I would seem not to think of him (which is the truth). That is to say, I would show him that he is quite indifferent to me, and then, little by little, I would blush from time to time — it is easy; I have only to mention Hamilton.
In a word, by whatever means, I would make him fall in love; I would torment him — to avenge myself on Hamilton.
[In the margin: Palajka]

Notes

In English in the original.