Saturday, 11 October 1873

They have begun doing up the dining room. I have been working since six o’clock: one hour of studies, one hour of Manotte, one hour of chemistry, one hour of German, one hour of mathematics, and two more hours of piano.
I am free in the afternoon, as I am still without two of my teachers. I played croquet with Dina; I am definitely getting back into form -- it is going better, well.
In truth I do not know what to think. My aunt and Bete insist that Gioia is thin and not beautiful; Bete dared to say she is ugly. She said Gioia is not at all beautiful, but that she pleases me for Hamilton’s sake.
Jokes about Hamilton are rare, very rare. Once a week Walitsky throws out a word barely noticed -- that is, one does not wish to notice it.
That old carcass, that horror, that peasant -- this Lefèvre has ideas and plans regarding poor Dina that enrage me. He dares -- oh, the audacity! He dares to think they will give Dina to his nephew, to that oil merchant, that peasant tradesman, that two-legged animal, that horror, that contemptibleness, and contempt.
We were discussing it heatedly when the old toad arrived. I flung a word or two at him that made him understand a little how vain and presumptuous his desires were! Whether she be beautiful or ugly, stupid or witty, rich or poor -- she is of a noble and ancient Russian family, which is not princely only for having neglected a formality, and which still has the right to claim its title descending from the Tatar prince Baba. I shall not permit such a degradation. One may preach equality all one likes! A Norman, Nicois, oil-trading peasant! Oh! Oh! Oh! Ah!
“Why do you work yourself up so, my beautiful child? The toad has not yet asked!”
“And who knows?”
“Yes, he has asked -- but informally, in the form of a proposal to Maman (I suppose). And Maman, out of weakness, kindness, and foolishness, answered only that Dina is too young.”
Oh, rage! Oh, thunderbolts! Oh, horror!
But if this wretch dares to ask for Dina, another wretch may ask for me...
Oh no, no -- it is too much, it is dreadful!
But does this not concern me too? Oh! Oh!
Come what may, I shall fight, I shall struggle, I shall never permit -- (I do not speak of the deed itself; I would sooner think the earth would turn I know not where!!!) -- that he dare ask for her and speak of it. I shall fight, only because she is my sister, and as long as I live I shall not permit such a disgrace!!!
We were talking of this and Walitsky said:
“Of course -- you prefer Hamilton?”
“Of course -- at least that is respectable.”
“How will he go about marrying, and Moussia stroking his back.”
“Yes, the Duke does not marry,” added my aunt.
I was playing the piano; Bete and my aunt were near me, talking. My aunt says:
“A triumvirate has been formed: Gioia, Wittgenstein, and Soubise. They have hired a landau and they drive about. What a disgrace for Gioia. But when it was Hamilton, there was the carriage; now he has cast her off.”
The Princess: “Is it possible he has cast her off?”
“Yes, everyone says so”
and they continued in this vein. He must have found something very beautiful if he abandoned Gioia. If it is true, it is dreadful! As long as he......
We go to the promenade (green dress, good).
It is beginning to blow. The beautiful Gioia is at home; I saw her at her window in a blue and pink dressing gown. She was closing the balcony door and watched us -- it does not surprise me; we watch her so much and follow her so often. All the same, she...
The lame man who owns the yacht Oimara has arrived; we were passing, and he was with Addy (his wife copies Gioia and quite resembles her in figure, in face a little from a distance). I do not know this Oimara’s name; I shall call him Oimara. And so, this Oimara stared at me so! He recognised me, and he was pleased.
It is the same with me.
This evening I go to the Théâtre Français: “Le Centenaire,” drama or comedy (grey linen dress, Brussels lace kerchief, Galve coiffure, good). My aunt and Dina come too. Paul and Khalkionoff in the stalls are both funny, these urchins! Each wants to catch the other out; Paul says Khalkionoff is in love with Petit, and Khalkionoff says it is Paul. She knows this and, remaining in her box, lets her hand be seen while hiding herself entirely.
Paul caught Khalkionoff just as he was leaving Petit’s box: what a picture! I was amused.
Khalkionoff, Paul, and Walitsky came to our box and stayed for the last two acts. Walitsky is priceless; he makes delightful remarks on the play, the situations, the actors! He mocks beautifully. It was a drama and I laughed the whole time -- the thing is, we caricature everything in our own way.
There are few people, not a single man. Walitsky enters and I say to him, “Good evening, M. Zibine” (on account of his jacket), and he answers:
“Well then, little Hamilton!”
One day I shall remember all this silliness with pleasure.
[Annotation: April 1875: This day has come.]

Notes

In English in the original. ↩
In French in the original: méprisation [sic] -- Marie’s own coinage, not standard French (perhaps “an object of contempt”; compare mépris, “contempt”). ↩
In English in the original. ↩
Le Centenaire (“The Centenarian”), a play at the Théâtre Français in Nice. ↩