Friday, 7 November 1873

[Two lines crossed out: Plans for Russia, Paris, Baden, regrets about the Duke in the carriage.]
I went riding with Paul at half past four -- a little too late, but it is not so hot. At the beginning I could not trot well; only towards the end I succeeded. There was a crowd of people. Dady and Brady too. But the wretched Paul apes Khalkionoff and rides very badly. Right in the middle of the promenade we see a cavalcade approaching -- the Arsons and Mme Audiffret. They gallop, we trot, but at the moment when we are very close, my horse rears, jumps, and breaks into a gallop. The cavalcade lets out piercing screams.

^[In English in the original.]
In an instant Arson stops "to rescue" me, but everything passes off very well and we continue calmly.
This evening I said and did so much nonsense, especially to Miss Hitchcock, that I am quite worn out. I played the canary song, telling her it was the Russian anthem, and so on.
Pitou is becoming very bad-tempered, and Maman told me not to go near him:
"He'll bite the tip of your nose off."
"I'll hang him."
"It will be too late."
"Then I'll hang everyone -- all of you."
"It will be too late all the same."
"Very well, I shall hang myself."
Then the princess says:
-- You know what you will better do, hang yourself on the neck of the Duke of Hamilton.

^[In English in the original.]
-- You have always something stupid to say.

^[In English in the original.]
These people bore me to death. Walitsky bores me too. Yesterday I was saying that Baden without the roulette is just as charming as with it, that last summer it was charming, that there were a great many people.
"Yes," says Walitsky, "Hamilton walked about with a pig."
"That is not true, it is nonsense."
"No, truly," says Maman, and then my aunt:
"Not the Duke, but Carlo, etc., etc."
I blushed deeply. They do not know how they vex me with their misplaced jests, and yet I greedily swallow everything said about him, and my greatest happiness is to hear him spoken of. This very morning at breakfast (not lunch), Papa began telling the Renard story to Hitchcock; I come in to hear his name pronounced and his words repeated, but I am caught, for Papa said in front of Hitchcock while I was in the room "mistress" and named Gioia. Papa is truly stupid not to understand that there are things one does not say before children, especially when there are strangers present.

^["Breakfast" in English in the original.]
Here is my favourite plan, cherished and longed for: to go in March to Russia to finish these affairs that poison me; return in the autumn abroad, to Paris, and settle there as one should; in the spring, England; and in the summer, Baden, which I hold dear, where I was happy. If God would permit this to come to pass! I shall pray to Him; I shall try to deserve this happiness; I shall not be wicked. When they speak of Baden, I bite my lips to keep from weeping with vexation; I cannot forgive myself for not having gone these last two summers. And when they remind me of the day when I wanted (returning from Paris) to stay one day in Baden, I feel everything most suffocating rising to my throat; I blush and I weep. Then I wept for two hours, and never shall I forget it; that sad memory stays with me and torments me at this moment. Bete had the audacity to say I am prettier than the Howards.
Helene and Lise have Russian costumes; we think they will give a costume ball. I am preoccupied with my costume; I wish to look better than I did yesterday beside them. I wish to look well.
The day before yesterday Pitou tore Solominka's hats to pieces; she moved to Mme Daniloff's. We thought that was the end of it, but not at all. She dined with us yesterday and lunched today, and is no nicer for it.
Friends from afar are true friends.
My dear father is coming to Nice. Beast!