Monday, 13 April 1874

Mme Anitchkoff asked us to take her daughter Marie to church for communion. I come to fetch her; I called the maid -- quickly, a comb, ribbons, off with the ugly tarlatan petticoat! I do her hair, I dress her as well as I can with her dirty clothes, and I take her with a more Christian air. I am alone with this child. The Beak, whom I find very pretty, is quite near us.
I should not like people to take these children for my mother's. Mme Anitchkoff has the good sense to come and thereby show that she is the sole mother of these dirty children.
I grieve greatly because Maman, etc., go every day to sales of old rags and dirty up my pretty house. From tomorrow I shall try to prevent it. My house is ravishing, and if they fill it with all sorts of horrors, it will be a pity.
I go walking with Papa (blue dress, hair down, golden, good); this coiffure brings out all my golden hair, which is still more golden against the blue dress. Twice the whole length of the Promenade. What a dreadful sensation when one imagines oneself to be laughed at. I have this wretched idea, which makes me miserable and unhappy.
Is it true, or do I only imagine it? My God, how I am tormented; I lose the desire to go out; I am afraid to look at people; I lose all confidence.
Why do they look at me? Why? Why? Ah!
(a chromatic scale).
Papa tells me stories of his youth -- alas! -- tells me about and describes the regiments, etc., etc., his favourite theme.
Rosalie passes us with a companion, like the most ordinary women, and a little dog that resembles her. Every time I see her, I am astonished that one can love an old and ugly bitch like her. How stupid this prince is! I would have taken Gioia, who is so beautiful, or even another -- there are so many. But that one -- what ugliness! She too looks at me, and I felt her turn. After an hour and a half of walking, they come to fetch us.
The regional agricultural exhibition began on the 10th of April, on the Place d'Armes. They have arranged it very nicely, these Nicois.
After dinner, Papa tells of the past glories of Tcherniakovka -- why is it no more? How I should love it.
Maman and my aunt made a multitude of calls. My constant predictions were making me embarrassed and miserable; I have forbidden them under penalty of a fine. And I am at peace.

Notes

In English in the original.