Wednesday, 22 July 1874

Departure of the diva, of the man-eater.
Gericke asked Maman whether Tanlay was the lover of Mme Tout-a-fait, what she thought of it. Maman told him it could well be; then he asked why she did not take him entirely -- then: Oh! it is true, so I did kiss her... here I stop; I cannot say where he kissed her.
I wake at one o'clock; my head spins. It is the last time. I am destroying myself this way.
We go to the station to see off Basilevitch (grey dress); in the middle of the climb we meet the marquis, the count, Papa, and Gericke. She has already left -- we are the carabiniers.
Among other things, there was talk of dressmakers:
-- But why do you go to the dressmakers here, Madame? said Papa.
-- Ah! Monsieur, it is necessary: the cobblestones of Spa demand constant repairs to the hems of skirts, replied Maman.
-- But Douchenka does not need that, said Gericke, touching the bottom of my dress with his cane and lifting it slightly with the movement.
-- Baron, Baron! cried Maman in anger. What you are doing is not right; I have seen you do it to ladies who are willing to permit it, but with young ladies these manners are impossible!
And taking my arm, she [Crossed out: turned her bustle] went off, quite furious, and then flushed.
I think it serves him right; he was forgetting himself too much, something was needed to put him back in his place. I was frightened, Maman said it with such anger. The gentlemen follow us with bowed heads, and we walk alongside Dina with the marquis and talk calmly of all manner of things as though nothing had happened. Gericke very timidly comes to walk beside me and joins the conversation, still timid. I have so good a heart that I am embarrassed for him.
All together we go to the concert and without sitting down, leaving the marquis with his marquise and the count with his mother (he is jealous of Gericke), we climb up to Annette et Lubin.
Princess Margherita, wife of Prince Humbert, is sitting on a bench at the far end of the avenue. The day before yesterday we saw at La Geronstere the Countess d'Aquila, her son, and his wife.
The climb is accomplished calmly; Maman leads the conversation, all simplicity. Gericke climbs straight up; I do the same. I climb like a monkey, clinging to the grass and branches and leaning on the baron's cane. He was climbing ahead. It was so steep that at the end my head was spinning and I could feel something thumping like a Morteau sausage in the middle of my back. The baron is proper as Tanlay. We sit on a bench to wait for them; he asks my permission to wipe my boots -- permission I grant -- but at a movement of mine, he made another movement that meant:
-- Oh Mademoiselle, reassure yourself! How could you think such a thing!
We talk of Nice, of Nice society. They do not come. So we rise and a few steps away find them sitting on another bench, waiting for us.
At the summit, we drink milk. The conversation is simple and austere; the gentlemen look like flies in winter. We speak of my aunt; Maman says she is certain the baron would please her and that she would please the baron. I have the foolishness of showing how much experience I have in matters -- in courting, I do not mean amorous ones. They are astonished in silence, and Maman more than the others. We descend. Dina wants to climb and skip like a doe; when I climbed, I climbed with dignity and naturally, but she gets carried away and thinks herself a butterfly.
Maman stays behind and Gericke escorts us to the Pouhon.
He was perfect but constrained. I fear they offended him. I am so foolish -- I feel embarrassed for others.
At the Pouhon a council is held about tomorrow's excursion. We are eighteen: the marquise, the Comtesse Guirini, Maman, Davignon, Josephine, Jeanne, Mlle Foligno, the Comtesse Merjeewsky, Mlle Witoslowska. Comte Guirini, the count, Paul, Walitsky, M. Foligno, M. Witoslowsky.
Dina, Papa, and I will go on horseback; we are to leave between eight and nine. Maman urged Gericke repeatedly, but he lowers his eyes and says it is impossible -- he must go to see his aunt.
They are all saddened by Basilevitch's departure. I go with Paul to the riding school and order our horses. A gentleman has arrived who looks interesting.
At dinner at Laeken, Maman says that it is only since her acquaintance with Basilevitch that she has begun to look at men. That is to say, she used to see them and know them when they were introduced, and when she encountered them in a salon -- but it is only now that she notices them and looks at them in the street.
The fact is that there are a great many men here.
-- And in Baden I should never have known the Hamiltons if -- [Crossed out: I had not been told] one morning I was walking with Dina and I went into a restaurant, and there I saw a scarecrow, a monster in white boots with red cuffs, wearing a checked hat, of a frightening mass. And this monster arrived and began shouting for them to serve him lobsters, foie gras, etc. There, I thought, is how this sort of moujik gorges himself. So I asked, and they told me he was a veritable moujik, a scarecrow. -- Who told you, then? said I, all moved and in a timid voice. Oh, I did not expect the happiness of hearing him spoken of. He is the only man you have ever pointed out to me.
-- But I point them all out to you, I said again; then -- There, he is bigger than the Greek, but he is much better made.
-- Oh, what an idea!
Maman says I am in love with Gericke. There -- such a small heart, and Gericke has found his way in. I am not in love with Gericke, and I meant to say that my heart was very large.
This talk of the duke brings back all my memories of Baden and Nice; I suffer. I hide my face in my hands to recover, as if by pressing my head tightly I could keep the thoughts from escaping, from scattering, from driving me nearly mad!
After dinner we spend an hour at the marquise's. Lots are drawn for those who will go in the break or in a supplementary carriage.
As we were leaving the Casino, Mme Lausberg hands Maman a box and a visiting card. I hear, still at the top of the stairs:
-- So, Moussia, Gericke has sent you a present.
I was thinking it was a joke, but downstairs I actually see a fan and the visiting card herewith. I cannot believe either my eyes or my ears; I understand nothing of it, blush, and express my astonishment in every key.
A very pretty fan of light carved wood and canvas with a flower, and at the bottom M.B. painted in forget-me-nots. It is charming and incomprehensible. How and why did Gericke think to give me a fan?
I have two now -- the large black one and this one, nearly as large as the other.
I cannot comprehend it,
I cannot comprehend it,
But of so tender a thought,
I should dearly like to know the author.
Air from La Dame blanche.
I go to the Casino in my grey dress and a hat, and with the fan. It is my first present: There, you see -- the presents and the fan you sigh for, Maman tells me. Everyone is surprised to see us without gowns; Dina alone is in a great black Worth dress. Laferriere is a wretch beside Worth. There is only Him. Dina put on this dress for the baron, Basilevitch having departed. It was not I who made this remark; it was Maman. The ball is very lively. I dance three or four dances. We go to Kirsh's office. Maman, Dina, myself, de Jahal, Witoslowsky, the count, the Greek.
Gericke hides and does not approach. Passing through the middle salon, I held the fan in my hand; I was on Walitsky's arm. Gericke was seated with a gentleman at a table.
"It is charming, Baron -- truly very kind."
-- What is it?
-- It is nothing, really, I do not know. In short, jerky words without meaning, as always.
I do not know why he did not come to greet us. Maman says that:
-- It is truly the first time in his life that he has courted a young lady, and he has frightened himself with his audacity.
-- He is not courting, said I. And what is it then? Of course he is. But that is not it.
I am delighted with this present. It is my first. The Greek, who no doubt went to buy it with Gericke, on seeing it says:
-- What a pretty fan; may I see?
It is from the baron -- you know that, besides, said I, handing it to him.
The Pole is jealous of Gericke. What a nasty character -- cunning, dissembling, enigmatic, problematic.
[Crossed out: On going] On leaving at half past ten, Maman was saying to the Greek:
-- Poor man, you are grieved, etc.
-- I shall try to console you, Monsieur, by decorating you -- and I pinned to his buttonhole a cotillion favour that Maman had brought from Kirsh's.
I show myself tolerably coquettish here; I am known (I have just heard a word from the street -- at the end of the notebook) as such. After all, there is no harm in it.
Once home, I sing the romance I have been wild about for a week: "On revient toujours."
I made the acquaintance of the Robenson woman through Miss Row.

Notes

Allusion to Offenbach's operetta, where the carabiniers famously always arrive too late.