Thursday, 30 April 1874

One of Dina's cousins, passing through, came to see us.
From four to six the Howards are at our house. [Crossed out: we we] I walked with Helene in the grand avenue and asked her for an explanation. Her mother had told Maman that I had told her children that I am only waiting for the moment when I can gamble, and that I already do. She claims to have said nothing.
-- Very well, my dear, let us speak of it no more; it must have been the good Lord who said it.
I also told her that it is wrong to twist words to suit oneself and to repeat them exaggerated and false.
We parted on excellent terms, and on Sunday we are going to their house. They leave on Wednesday. And then today this dear innocent Helene wanted to assure me that I tight-lace because I have a pretty waist.
-- You tight-lace, because with your stoutness...
-- You are mistaken, my dear, I do not tight-lace, but I have a very slender waist.
She is flat as a board, and for that reason she believes or wants to believe me stout. Then Lise:
-- You have a pretty waist, Marie.
-- Yes, so they say, I replied simply.
It is cool; I am pleased. We go out -- myself, Dina, the cousin, and Georges.
At the Place Massena I see a gentleman going toward the Rue Massena, making signs to a man -- or to a gentleman, rather to a man -- who was heading toward the Cafe de la Victoire. Involuntarily I watched this gentleman, tall, well-built, impeccably dressed, dark-haired, but I could see only his back (it is fate) [Crossed out: his face only]. When he half turned, making a sign to the man he had just left, I saw a face with fine features, black hair, a full and noble chin and neck.
I looked at him, I opened wide eyes in spite of myself:
-- God forgive me! Dina, but it is Carlo, Carlo, you know, oh Dina!..
I could not say Carlo Hamilton because there were strangers about. But it is indeed Carlo Hamilton; only he has that bearing of Apollo, that figure and that small, [Crossed out: but] beautiful head. Only he could have that divine bearing that would make me recognize him anywhere -- the bearing and the gait of the great Hamilton. He has more grace than his divine brother because he is taller and slimmer; the thinness one could reproach him with has given way to the true build one ought to have. There is a man perfectly made and handsome -- how fine he would look in a Louis XV costume!
He has filled out and grown handsomer, this dear Carlo, this Don Juan of Baden! Let them say that all men are born in the same way! There is such a difference, but such a difference!
I vaguely remember Grand Dukes Vladimir and Alexis, but I remember enough to know that they are two men of the Hamilton type, two men such as I love. All these men are made differently; their gait, their eyes, their gestures -- everything is grand and sublime, incomparable, and [Crossed out: proper to them] belongs only to them. In short, they are the only ones who please me and whom I consider men.
What an admirable Carlo! In short, to say how admirable he is, I shall say that he recalls his brother. More graceful than the Duke, but not as fine as the Duke -- in truth I have retained only the Duke's face; I have nearly forgotten his figure, so I could not say whether he is more or less graceful than Carlo. In any case I can appreciate what I see, and Carlo, whom I have just seen, would certainly be a Buckingham if Hamilton were not worth more.
How one distinguishes this Hamiltonian race! Near the Victoire, in the month of May, in Nice, and I -- thinking rather of the Grand Turk than of any Hamilton -- I, I saw him; a blind man would have seen a Hamilton.
Perhaps he seems so admirable to me after the riffraff of Nice? But no -- it is that he truly is. Will the Holy Family come to Nice? I want and I do not want to see the Duke; his brother has reminded me of him... for the Duke is finer than his brother, which does not prevent Carlo from being to my taste. It is a good place, the one that comes after the great Hamilton.
[In the margin: (See at the end, absolutely)]
The cypresses are no more. And the whole house weeps.
At dinner Georges allows himself to say that it is always wrong when a child of fourteen gives orders.
I did not want a scene in front of Dina's cousin, so I withdrew quietly to Maman's room:
-- You will serve me upstairs. But I had not yet climbed three steps when I heard Georges:
-- She has gone to torment her mother.
That revolted me to the highest degree; I swallowed a thousand tears.