Sunday, 30 November 1873

I meant to rise early and do a great deal of work, but as always happens when I make plans for the future, I did nothing. I could barely be ready in time for church (blue dress, black hat, fine). Every Sunday I am ugly. I have such a fragile face -- an hour more or less of sleep makes it look tired.
Several dogs come to call: the Anitchkoffs, Mme Fedoroff, Tormosoff and diadia were here in the morning. Can one believe that Arnoldi paid him a visit! He received him properly, for he knew an Arnoldi, a great rogue and his enemy.
At last comes the long ago spoken of Séraphine. I expected to see a graceful, elegant, shapely woman with ravishing manners. But in she comes: an enormous head like a bundle of hay, topped by a black hat with several white feathers; a long, badly made black velvet dress, the bodice trimmed with lace; pearls, diamonds; a sort of embroidered yellow rag over her shoulders. Her face a little whitened. Affected, mannered, ill-shaped -- a German or Italian body, an Italian head -- she strikes me as a little horror. A very short visit; the monkey frightens her, she screams, then they took her -- I do not know why -- into my study; the door flew open, the wind blew, another scream and a jump backwards.
The first impression is not very good; we shall see later. They are all going to Solominka’s in half an hour; I go to fetch them -- Maman, my aunt, and Dina -- and we go to stroll on the Promenade.
But the wind is terrible; the landau is closed, the concert ended at four, and there is not a soul left. Truly I hate Nice. Then we go to the Hôtel de la Paix to fetch diadia; he is going to Monaco with our party. I do not go up, and we stay in the carriage with Dina, but they come to fetch us. Séraphine seems better to me this time; I shall get used to her monkey tricks. She looks at Maman as I look at Hélène. How beautiful Maman is -- simple, even, rounded, regular -- beside this little monkey. She is my mother’s friend -- friends of girlhood. They leave.
We take the princess and go to Rumpelmayer’s. Never have I been so bored.
At dinner Pitou knocks over the lamp -- a great commotion, a great noise. After dinner I stay downstairs with Bete and Dina.
All three of us are bored and try to invent something extraordinary to dispel this boredom, but nothing comes to my dismal imagination; we exchange silly, affected remarks, and at last we play kings. After the first game I go off to sleep, and Bete wishes me to dream of the duke -- which I would gladly do.
What an unworthy girl I am! I have everything I need, and more; I do as I please; I ought to be happy -- and yet! I create sorrows and misfortunes for myself; I dare to be bored! I am not comfortable in my own skin -- the plain truth.
A new fear is beginning to pursue me, and it is this... they marry on the 10th of December, next Wednesday, and for their honeymoon they may well choose Nice -- and if they come I shall be the most wretched creature alive!
Everyone in the house will know; they will talk about it -- or rather they will not talk about it, Maman and my aunt above all, which is the most dreadful thing. I shall meet them... and what a face I shall put on to hide it, and they will only see it all the more. It will be a martyrdom; I cannot think of their perhaps coming here without weeping inwardly.
It is above all because people will talk about them; if nobody saw them I could bear it perfectly well, but all these people, their eyes, their looks! What torture, Lord.
Nothing interests me. “My heart, weary of everything, even of hope.” No, God does not give everything one asks; one must deserve it, and I have not deserved it.
I am bored, I am sad; Sunday always adds to the boredom. Sundays ought to be spent in work and prayer, and one should amuse oneself when one feels like it. Broken heart, broken spirits, broken soul, overturned plans, deceived expectation and alarming state of mind.

Notes

In English in the original. ↩
In English in the original. ↩
In Spanish in the original: duque. ↩
In English in the original. ↩