Monday, 6 October 1873

At five o'clock they come to fetch me (green dress, not bad); we go to the promenade -- Maman, the Princess, Dina, and I. The Wittgenstein woman passes; her name is Rosalie -- I cannot remember the surname. I was looking at her when the Princess signals to me and says:
"Gioia, Gioia."
I paid no attention, because every day she says "Gioia" when an old lady who lives at number 7 passes by. But the cries of "Gioia" became desperate, and indeed she passed -- in white with a black jacket, beautiful as a star. And what haughtiness, what a bearing! I was so astonished to see her that Maman smiled at the look on my face. I did not lose sight of her, and at a suitable distance we turned; she crossed towards the sea to join Rosalie. How wretched this Rosalie is beside Gioia. I am amazed how Wittgenstein can endure that little bitch. Gioia has her hair hanging loose, but it is not beautiful -- less beautiful than mine -- and Maman says it is false. We turned again; she knows it is for her. We had turned, and Maman told Auguste to drive home.
"Oh no, no! Drive on -- I have not seen her yet."
"Is she coming?" asked the Princess.
"She is coming, she is coming, the wretched creature," answered Maman.
I talked so much while walking that I am rather tired. Maman and the Princess bored me with this Miloradovitch; I defended myself. Everyone spoke frankly. It is Maman's dearest dream that I marry Miloradovitch; she thinks of nothing else. If it comes to pass, she tells herself, I have nothing more to desire. Misery of miseries! I made the matter understood as well as I could. I tried also to prove that one can be happy in marriage.
I explained how.
[Crossed out: For example: you say Audiffret is taken up with]
"I explained the wife, and I said the husband will not stray."
"All the husbands in the world stray -- all of them; there are no others," says the Princess.
"I assure you there are. For example, you say Audiffret is taken up with Gioia. Indeed, does he not flee from her?"
The Princess and Maman: "Yes, but it is for a month, for two -- then finished."
And it is forever. Wittgenstein does not flee, and it has lasted twenty years.
"No, I assure you, it is possible. If I were a man, I would not marry. There again -- to throw oneself at someone's neck is wrong. If only women were like me, it would be another matter. But there are none like that, and there cannot be. Better, then, to live alone -- for an unmarried man is not an old maid."
In the garden they spoke again of Miloradovitch. Yes, if only I would beckon with my hand as to a dog. Just so...
"You have only to wish it; if it please you, you have only to wish it."
No, I prefer to make a great effort for someone else. I said everything, everything I could. Everything I think, taking care of course to appear insensible and cold, which distresses Maman -- but I cannot do otherwise. I would say too much and it would become serious, whereas I say everything in a half joking tone which allows me to say more than if I were in earnest.
In the yellow drawing room we saw lights -- it is Paul with young Arson. I came in quite out of breath. He was introduced to me. And we chatted as a threesome for an hour -- that is, I chatted. Arson is so shy. I do not yet quite know what he is, but I suppose he is a good fellow. He told me he had taken me for an American, adding that American women are very pretty and graceful, for which I bestowed upon him a very gracious and modest smile with all my might. We spoke English. Everyone tells me I speak well. Arson said I speak perfectly well. I am truly pleased to speak English.
He left; it was seven o'clock. I dined and we sat down to play cards. At eight o'clock I went upstairs, but while taking down my hair I discovered a superb classical coiffure with three black velvet ribbons. And I found myself adorable. If only I appeared as pretty to him... Finding myself so, I go downstairs to show myself off and stay to talk. Maman comes back with Mme Anitchkoff and her detestable children. She squeezed me against the window, that fierce little savage. I can barely free myself. I cannot remain any longer with this savage horde. And I go to sleep.
Oh God, grant that tomorrow we may go shooting!
[In the margin: Arson and Khalkionoff dine with us tomorrow.]

Notes

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