Thursday, 16 October 1873

It rains horribly. I am going to read Homer's "Iliad." At two o'clock I am free; I write a heap of nonsenses to the Howards. The wet weather is very good for the complexion. I am white, rosy, fresh. I am pretty. I do not wish to be better, because when one wants too much one gets nothing. I want to prove that a person can be satisfied with what they have.
I dress (green dress, very good). I put on my waterproof. The hat suits me wonderfully. I drive Maman, my aunt, and Walitsky to the station, where a gentleman looked at me with modest admiration. I go to fetch Papa, the Princess, and Dina. The rain had stopped, but the moment we came out of the Porte de Trezene it began to rain with fury, with rage. Papa began to furier [sic] -- he was soaked -- but the matter was settled by closing all the windows.
+ I shall not say another disagreeable word. This time I have sworn it to God, and to break this oath would be sacrilege. I swear to do a thing almost impossible, because I am asking for a miracle that I shall perhaps not obtain, because I dare to ask and to offer in exchange my miserable promise. Maman, on the way to the station, provoked me terribly. When I began to speak very calmly about hat shapes, she said to my aunt and Walitsky, putting on an air as if I were shouting:
"Wait... wait -- let her speak, then."
All this in a frightened tone that exasperated me and nearly made me cry, but I said nothing. And if ever I say a coarse word, may I be cursed. At the same time I pray the Lord to be so good as to give me the reason and the wisdom and the perseverance and patience needed to keep my promise.
Amen. +
I send off my letters at the beautiful snuff-box. It rains furiously. We go with the Princess to the London House, having left Papa and Dina at home. On arriving, I was surprised to find men there. I do not know who or what -- English perhaps. We go into the other room. Whenever I am at the London House I am gay, and the Princess and I laugh like blessed souls. The news of his marriage is evaporated. I no longer believe it. Such a misfortune seems impossible to me. The Princess resumes her jokes, and everything goes on as before. We spoke English, because a Russian lady and gentleman came in and we wanted to hear some amusing stories. But they spoke rather quietly, the scoundrels -- they are two common people.
But I believe they said something improper, because when we were leaving and the Princess spoke Russian aloud, they opened great stupid eyes.
I preached at dinner. Then I sang the whole of La Fille de Madame Angot. I am happy to be able to believe it is not true, because the terrible news was not repeated, and I prefer ignorance to the dreadful truth. I lull my mind with the hope that perhaps it is not true, and I am calmed. We are friends, the Princess and I; only the difference in age separates us. We speak freely of everything I would not dare say to others on account of my being a minor. We were saying that my father will come to end his days at my mother's, ruined:
"And you will kiss his hand every day," says Bete.
"Oh, madame, I kiss no one's hand -- I am too proud."
"You would kiss Hamilton's hand only."
She is right. If I love, the one I love becomes a divinity; I raise him through my love to the sublime, and in my grandeur, in my pride and my sublimity, I prostrate myself before him! I took good care not to say so, I should think!
I composed a description of a race between Mmes Prodgers and Vigier in the "Letters" notebook No. 1 -- charmingly comic when one knows the characters. It is a brilliant day. I had a comic discussion "on good manners" with the Princess in English; Dina watched me with envy. The Princess assures me that if I would not shout -- I won't scream -- and changed my manners, I would be perfection. I shall try, and make everyone say, down to the last dog, that I am charming.
The prettier I am, the more I want him to love me. Walitsky told me yesterday that they bought a carpet whose design is: "a kid, Hamilton shoots, and a pig behind."
[In the margin: I did not believe it, no doubt.]
I said at dinner:
"What a disappointment! Walitsky promised me a carpet 'te?' and I see nothing but roses."
Then Dina improvised rather felicitously:
What a metamorphosis!
The Duke of Hamilton Is changed into a rose.
The fact is I would rather change him into a rose than see him the husband of a hideous Englishwoman. As much as Englishmen are fine, so much are the women dreadful. The best men are Englishmen.

Notes

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