Saturday, 17 January 1874

It rains. I think of not going to Monaco, but all at once I remember that the next Shoot will be Monday and that Monday I shall not go out, since we have this party (brown dress, good) -- the more I wear it the more I love it. Auguste has not come and we go on foot, but fortunately a cab appears. All the marksmen are already at the station, gathered near the carriages (conspirator); Lambertye is there too and looks at me -- to avoid this I get into the carriage. We go from Monaco to Monte Carlo by carriage as last time (in the train: myself, Maman, my aunt, Dina, Paul, Walitsky, Mme Anitchkoff, and Yakovleff); we lunch at the Hotel de Paris.
It rains and I go to the gaming room; I play through Maman, of course, until two o’clock. Then Paul and I go down; I enter; there was a gentleman in front of me who gave up his place to me; there were also abominable people near me who were smoking.
The prize is twelve thousand five hundred francs and an objet d’art of three thousand francs.
I arrived at the second round and left at the end of the fourth; there were ten in all.
Saint-Clair took the first prize, as I heard. I do not want people to become accustomed to seeing me; I stay only three-quarters of an hour at the Shoot; I remove the conspirator, approach the barrier -- it has stopped raining for a moment -- I look and I exit majestically. Paul was carrying my umbrella and conspirator. I play through Maman at trente et quarante, one louis; I win. We visit all the tables; near one I say: What is this strange cloth on this table? It does not look like the others. Mme Korsikoff, who was very near, looked at me, then smiled at Maman; Mme de Galve, dressed like a little girl, plays at the other table -- it is only today that I discover she has a flat and ugly face. We meet Mme Korsikoff again and the smile is repeated. I won sixty francs. Have mercy!
Poor Comte de Galve; what an ugly wife he has. He, though elderly, is good-looking, and very good-looking still the finest at Monaco.
That pig of a Lambertye did not come to the side where I was; he only looked as I was leaving. It is true I stayed very little time, and he was surrounded by marksmen, but all the same...
We have barely returned when someone comes to our house to fetch Arson; his mother is dead. How dreadful!
I have barely swallowed something before I go into town with Dina and Paul for the cotillion; I have barely returned before we go to the theatre, without dressing, in conspirator and hat.
I wanted to see Le Réveillon by Ravel. I thought they would begin with this piece, but not at all -- they inflicted Lo Specchio Infernale on us.
Le Réveillon pleased me. Gioia was in her box, the same bronze outfit as at Monaco today. She had come at four o’clock; she was so beautiful, so beautiful, so beautiful that my breath failed me. We walked round to look at this beauty, with Maman, who said at dinner: I am glad Hamilton did not see her today.
Maman finds her superb; I am very glad.
Why did the Duke of Hamilton abandon her? She is beautiful, beautiful as a goddess, and he handsome, handsome as a god. My two ideals, my two perfections!
La Saxe was in a small ground-floor box on the left. This woman is beautiful too; especially tonight she looked magnificent -- her face above all. I love her nonchalant, intoxicated, languishing, and lusty air. Tonight she was splendid of face; she is a Phryne or a Laïs -- always speaking of face. Gioia is more modern, but dazzling, staggering, incomparable, especially in bearing, manner, and figure.
We leave at the beginning of the last act.
Today... I was going to say that I have forgotten the Duke of Hamilton, but just at this instant he comes back to me and my heart stirs gently.
He has not come and will not come, I hope. Thank God, for I would be much to be pitied.
Whatever one may say, he is a demigod among men.
Out of sight, out of mind. He comes back to me only rarely, and no wonder: there are so many little new things, everyday things, that imperceptibly occupy and distract the mind. These races, these shoots, and then my dress, and who looks at me and who does not -- but no! I feel him all the same.

Notes

In English in the original. ↩
Written in Russian in the manuscript; French translation by the editor. ↩
In Latin in the original: Miserere ! — the opening word of Psalm 51 (Miserere mei, Deus), Marie’s habitual cry of woe. ↩
Title in French in the original; a réveillon is the festive supper held after midnight on Christmas or New Year’s Eve. ↩
Title in Italian in the original; in English, “The Infernal Mirror”. ↩
Written in Russian in the manuscript; French translation by the editor. ↩
Written in Russian in the manuscript; French translation by the editor. ↩