Thursday, 9 July 1874

Same children's ball as last Thursday. The count's cousin's name is Vancoslawska. This detestable person was at our house. There are people who disgust one, and these people disgust me more than I can say.
I was glad to find Basilevitch again, who introduced me to Baron Charles Gericke de... a difficult name, d'Herwynen -- her former admirer, and present one too. Only he plays the indifferent at first. She affects a melancholy, dreamy air; this charms him. He is a Dutch gentleman from The Hague; his father is a minister there. Only son, good family, well-bred, medium height, brown hair and handsome, admirable profile, grey and rather ugly eyes, wears only a moustache, twenty-five years old, dresses well. His manners are free and childlike, much spoiled by ladies. A handsome and agreeable fellow.
A light rain begins; we go to the spring with Basilevitch and Gericke. I always go out on my mother's arm.
This baron has very strange manners. Basilevitch calls him an utter child; indeed, he thinks nothing of taking one by the hand, touching one's hat -- Basilevitch even says he touches one's ears. She claims it is without intent, like a child. Child, child -- that is all very well up to a point; beyond that, it is coquetry. After the Pouhon we go to the avenue. Basilevitch leaves us to pay a call; we sit under a tree. [Crossed out: Guerique] Gericke (I do not know how to spell his name) gives us news of Boreel, of that good stout Boreel, my old childhood passion. He is not yet married but was courting a very pretty girl all winter in The Hague. He too is of excellent family.
This child Gericke simply told me that I ought not to wear my wide charm bracelet, for I have very pretty wrists [Crossed out: meaning to say wrists]. He examined my whole person -- my figure, my foot (linen dress, Massa hat, good). (Maman will not leave me in peace; she bombards me and drives me to distraction!!)
[Crossed out: In the evening] At the evening concert, Maman on my arm, we pass before the chairs. Bebe (Gericke) comes over and walks with us in the avenue until we sit down with Dina and the execrable Poles.
There is here a tall, strong gentleman with dark hair, white complexion, black eyes; he wears a soft bandit hat, like Blackprince used to wear. He has an elderly lady on his arm. This man is so handsome that the first time I saw him I turned around involuntarily -- it was when I was driving two horses. His beauty strikes one; it is impossible not to notice him. He is too handsome, far too handsome for a man; his ugly hat ruins him. He would not be too handsome with another hat. He was sitting on a bench in the avenue. He is handsome, but not my type.
I danced and waltzed this evening with Bebe, who dances like Boreel and reminds me of him a little. What is ugly about him is that he has something of Kiselevsky.
After each dance with him, the little count, whom I detest along with the other Poles, would come and invite me. He is an ugly young man -- plain, sallow, insipid. Apart from these two, I danced with Americans, with Winslow and another.
Bebe said to me:
-- Push your hat back.
-- But why?
-- Just for a moment, I beg you.
-- But why?
-- One minute.
I pushed back my yellow Paris hat.
-- Yes, that's it. I see that without a hat you are infinitely better. Wear it pushed back -- it is prettier. And he tried to push it. The little wretch, what manners!
Dina frightened me. We were playing billiards:
-- Moussia, your Count de Lambertye! (One thing strikes me: this name, written out, looks exactly like the person who bears it.)
-- Where? It cannot be! I cried under my breath, quite breathless. It was a joke, and already I was so excited. Why does he not come to Spa? We leave, and Dina -- out of stupidity or on purpose -- stays behind to serve as a screen for Basilevitch and Bebe. I took her aside and said:
-- Dina, now stop. This time there was no avoiding it, but another time you must not do this -- it is not proper, it is not possible. You understand perfectly well. I know you love such horrors, but it is not proper. Now stop.
I saw in the street a Newfoundland like Blackprince's. Maman, there is Wittgenstein's dog. We asked the servant.
-- Monsieur Haristoff, he said. Monsieur and Madame Haristoff have just arrived from Aix-la-Chapelle.