Sunday, 9 November 1873

I rise early and go to Maman's room; they bring the newspapers, and according to my habit I take the Galignani's. I read: The Post says the marriage of the Duke of Hamilton to Lady Mary Montagu, eldest daughter of the Duke of Manchester, will take place in February; the day is not yet fixed.

^[In English in the original (from Galignani's Messenger).]
All the blood rushes to my head and I am glad to slip out in fretta while Papa was grimacing and saying I bored him. Once in my room I run to the mirror; I do this every time I feel a strong emotion -- it is very curious, truly, to study the various expressions and colours. Looking at myself, I was red, but in a second I turned very pale, yellow. I felt hot and cold. Despite my certainty, every time I read news of it I am surprised and grieved as the first time. But I must dress; we go to church -- myself, Dina, Paul (brown dress, black hat, not bad, good). The Howards are there too. We saw them; Mme Howard will come for us at three o'clock and we dine at their house.

^[Italian: in haste.]
From two to three I take a walk with Bete. I am awfully dismal, bored and boring. I detest Nice; how I wish to leave. We talked about this the whole time after lunch. I was saying that the English do not come to Nice; then Maman:

^[In English in the original.]
"And Hamilton? He is an exception, a drunkard, a piece of filth."
"Precisely, a piece of filth," says my aunt. But yes, no doubt. I blushed; Maman made a face, and my aunt -- I sensed her smiling in the other room. We went on about Nice, its society (?) -- that there is nothing but Vigier, Gros, Saetone, Prodgers, etc., etc. That we must leave. Maman and my aunt consent, but Maman tells me we shall not be able to leave Russia before the end of the lawsuit. And who will drive us out of Russia? We have no need to leave. Is the life we lead abroad so fine? What pleasures? What joys?!! For us the pleasures are books.
"Yes, very well, you say that, but you know perfectly well what I mean; you understand that I speak the truth."
And so on -- then Rome, Florence, Paris. Mme Howard, Lise, and Aggie come to fetch us. Mme Howard, Aggie, and Dina get into our landau, and I, Lise, and Paul into theirs. On arriving I see Helene in the garden with a lamb following her -- a picture!
I am in better spirits and we chatter pretty well. Helene and I withdraw to the bathroom, and she tells me about Mlle Jaspar. She does not like her because, she says, Jaspar has no character, and she likes me because I do. We agreed in general that the race of governesses is a vile species. We dine. The dinner is too light; I am not surprised these children are so pale, and this is a Sunday. They spoke of Maman's illness, and Paul began to go into detail, but I cut it short:

^[In English in the original.]
"Paul, you want to be sentimental -- be quiet."
These children imagine that everything I do must be fine and extraordinary; they want, Helene especially, to take me as their model. It is tiresome that I am not pretty. They beg me to sing; we go upstairs. After a thousand refusals I consent: "But in a dark room" -- I am like the nightingales: I sing only in the dark. We went to a dark room and I sang "Je ne suis qu'une herbagere." They are delighted, enraptured, charmed. Tea is served in the entrance salon, and we gather round the centre table.

^[In English in the original.]
There are charming books: "Famous Women" by Sainte-Beuve -- there is a woman, I forget the name... Recamier? I want one day to do my hair like her, and... dress, that is to say undress, like her. How beautiful she is.
Helene is truly very beautiful. Never have I seen a prettier face. Innocent, fresh, young, beautiful, winning, with adorable features and a perfect complexion. I do not know how to enlarge on other people's beauty. I have said all I can. Helene's face is a painting, a poem, a charm, a divinity.

^[In English in the original.]
To the devil with the Gioias! But Gioia is something else; she is fashionable, and after all it is something else: she is interesting, admirable, and eccentric in her way. Helene is a love, a beauty. Her face, I mean. And she is ten times more so because she knows she is beautiful. She has a radiant, brilliant, animated face.

^[In English in the original.]
Enough -- in admiring her I abase myself.
Why am I not beautiful?
I have such a conviction at this moment that I could not please anyone, truly. We leave at a quarter past eight. I stay chatting with Maman, Dina, Walitsky, and my aunt until nearly eleven o'clock. I shall rise at seven instead of five.

^[In English in the original.]