Monday, 30 March 1874

I did not want to go at eleven o'clock; Maman insisted, and we departed. We lunch at the Hotel de Paris, the three of us -- Dina, Paul, and I. Which I do not find too proper, but since no one tells them so, let it be: so much the worse for them and for us. To pass the immeasurably long time, I go to the reading room with Dina. At three o'clock I ask that someone come with me to the pigeon shooting. As usual, no one wants to, and they would let me go alone among all those brutal and ill-bred men if I did not object. They do not consider that it is improper, impossible, shameful. But they are numb, stupefied; they think it is nothing so long as they can gamble. It is mad; it is cowardly.
Maman sometimes has her moments of clarity, and today, as it happened, she had them. Everything passed calmly, except for a few impertinent bruscades [sic] on the part of my aunt.
At last Maman offers to go to the pigeon shooting, but I was so disgusted by every petty annoyance imaginable that I refuse, and I go only when she says she will go alone. Paul is with us. I knew very well the day would not end peacefully. A curse must weigh upon our family, that we devour one another.
We remain on the highest terrace; chairs are brought, and it is a very pleasant spot -- if we were otherwise. Lewin comes and stays near us until we leave. Several pigeons fell quite close to us. I do not like Lewin's manner; he talks so familiarly. And he has not paid a single call. I must say, to my great satisfaction, that Maman was [Crossed out: rather] cold. On leaving, I meet the Prince of Wittgenstein; I raised my eyes to see who it was, and I met his.
When I saw him half an hour later climbing the steps of the casino (we were going to the station), looking at him, I thought that truly, in Nice he is the only creature one can call a man... and even a little more.
We depart under the patronage of Mme Anitchkoff. But at the avenue de la Gare we meet Bete and Machenka; a new idea strikes me; I go home, I dine, and we set off again for Monaco. There is a lovely concert there this evening, and I thought a little of seeing the Prince of Wittgenstein; his appearance pleases me.
[In the margin: Train of cocottes, their songs, the men.]
At the concert too I am with Maman and Dina; I was terribly hot. Fedus [Crossed out: I was writing Fedus as an abbreviation, but one cannot understand what it means; I therefore prefer to write properly] passes several times without daring to look, in front of Maman. Then he says something to the Duchesse de Mouchy, and they both turned round. This thin creature, this little oily fellow, this wretched imp -- he seems to me so detestable, so repulsive, so impertinent. It often happens that I am astonished at what I have done or thought. But what astonishes me most is that I could ever have admitted Fedus into my fantasies -- even giving him the most wretched of roles. He is so repellent that it seems to me I could not touch him.
He looks rotten (the word is vulgar) and oily. When I wish to know whether a man is agreeable or not, I ask myself whether I could kiss him -- and well, it seems to me that I could never, never in my life kiss Fedus... fie, the horror!
Every time I chanced to meet this creature, I turned away severely; he did not dare to laugh.
Maman angered me several times; she says to the croupier -- What time is it, the little one is afraid of missing the train. She says it innocently, but this "little one" revolts me so much that even at this moment I must get up and pace about the room. I had the imprudence to show my displeasure in the railway carriage, and then -- Misericorde! -- one of the usual little scenes begins.
I felt ill at ease in the gaming rooms after the concert; only the cocottes remained. But there was an hour to wait, and I was forced to stay. Fedus sat on one of the tables already covered with cloth.
Then each one remained with his lady. It is really hardly proper. But what was most risque was the departure -- these gentlemen led away by these ladies, and at the moment of leaving, what cries, what songs! The train was already moving, and still one heard the songs -- and how ill these songs and peals of laughter accord with the beautiful sky, the moon, and the sea standing out against the imposing, dark mass of the mountains.
(The charming scene continues and lasts a long time at home. Mi-se-ri-cor-de.) Do all men live like those I saw this evening? All of this produced upon me a disagreeable and sad impression. These men, then these women -- what...
Each one leading away her prey.