Sunday, 21 September 1873

Imagine -- I slept until half past eleven. Did anyone ever see such a thing?!
We go to the cemetery, all of us (grey dress), I with the Beast in a cab, and we meet Gioia with her son, also in a cab. We go to the station, to the Anitchkoffs', and about town besides. Only at five o'clock do I have the carriage (unbleached dress, the one I like best -- only the front is too large, makes me look much stouter, but good). I am alone with the Beast; we make rounds along the promenade, the station, the quays; the music finally begins in the garden. I shall no longer say every day that people look at me -- it goes without saying. I make an impression. Good or bad? We meet Gioia once more, the second time on foot. A charming outfit, white, all in openwork embroidery, a leather belt, and in the back dimples like the Venus de Milo. The Beast says she is not pretty and her walk is not graceful, that she is a chambermaid. Her figure is very fine; there is something appealing about her, and she herself is a very beautiful woman.
I order chocolate at the London House and we go for another turn, and again Gioia. I want to turn around, but it would be too conspicuous; I have enough patience until the Hotel de Rome, and then I turn. Within a few minutes she passes on foot and looks at us -- which she does every time, in fact. When I am on horseback, she even turns around. I should like to know what effect I produce on her, and what she thinks of me.
We talked about everything with the Beast. I told her everything Berthe told me, the story of Remy. I told her that Gioia is so appealing to me that I should even like to speak with her:
-- If she ever speaks to you, says the Beast, it will be reproaches: "that you have taken my love," etc. etc.
The Beast also tells me that Gioia appeals to me because I am stealing her husband. At the London House I tell her the stories from Baden, about Berthe and the Duke of Hamilton, about Remy at last. The Beast asks whether I was not jealous when Berthe told me how the Duke loves her. I made no reply and continued. But I must confess to myself that even then, a certain indefinable feeling of envy stung me.
Gioia is now the goal of my outings. In truth, from afar she enchants me. She had a hat lined with Scottish tartan, and two little tartan ends hung behind like the ends of a scarf. I go out to see her, decidedly; I cannot determine once and for all whether she is pretty. I should like to see her for a long time and close up, to speak with her at last. Ah! how I should like to speak with her. I would be struck dumb, stupefied -- I should not know what to say.
At home, a little squall, as usual. A game of Kings. The Beast assures me I am very pretty. She even pointed out what is best. There are days when I have the folly of finding myself charming. Today is one of them; I looked at myself in the mirror and found myself pretty; I even found that expression I love.
There were two or three landaus. The garden was full and surrounded by three rows of various carriages. I am beginning to live; it is winter I await -- it will come.
I talked so much with the Beast that I am tired; I was rather talking to myself -- I was thinking aloud.
I come down in my famous coat to the dining room, where I find everyone still gathered. I declaim Racine, throw myself on the floor, strike tragic poses, and take my leave. I have asked the Beast once and for all not to speak of Miloradovitch; it vexes me greatly. I do not want him.

Notes

In English in the original.
In English in the original.