Friday, 7 August 1874

I wanted to go riding, but Paul did not come and the horses, after standing two hours at the door, were sent away. If I were not ill, I would be furious.
I wake every day with blue bags under my eyes and crumpled skin. I am so ugly. The Greek pays us a visit of two hours and perhaps more. The Pole comes several times and stays on horseback all day in the hope that I shall come. He told Maman he asked me twice if I wished to come and I gave no answer. It is possible. I went out, settled on the sofa, wrapped myself in a shawl, and said:
"Count, a cushion under my feet." I was unwell; I heard nothing.
The Greek said that Doria is marrying the Robenson girl, with whom he is madly in love. It is possible, and [Crossed out: in any case] it would be a great happiness for her. I blushed and turned away, studying some sheet music.
I cannot eat what they serve in the hotels, so Maman and Walitsky made me dinner themselves -- a soup and chicken cutlets. I ate, but am very weak.
As soon as the pain returns I can do nothing. Walitsky says it is a diseased nerve, that it is neither heart disease nor cancer.
All the same, I am ugly.
We go by carriage along the Promenade des Anglais and farther on. I wanted to go there because Monsieur de Biesme always comes and goes on that side.
Everyone passes before our lodgings, which does not prevent me from finding it detestable because of the noise of the cobblestones, which gets on my nerves -- so on edge am I.
The slightest noise, a person's footsteps irritate me. I am in a detestable state, and ugly with it. After the carriage ride, Maman, Dina, and I take a walk on foot from the Merjeewsky street to the Croquet square and the Seven O'Clock Avenue. We go into Baas; I take advantage of a moment when it does not hurt to have a cup of chocolate.
There is no music; the orchestra is at the theater where the two princesses are, Marguerite and the Princess of Prussia -- Frederick Charles, I believe. We cannot find a box and go to the drawing room, where the count joins us.
Body stays near us, while his friend Filipesco stays with a Russian family where there are two young ladies who blink, growl, and bark when they see us.
The count does not leave us (I am in pain again; I can barely write). Instead of going straight home, we sit on the steps, as chambermaids do; the count kneels before Dina.
But in the darkness we see Doria pass with a bouquet, leave it at the Hotel des Pays-Bas which is nearby, and return. We were talking loudly; he turned around. To whom can he be bringing that bouquet? Maman and I wondered. "Count, go and find out for whom that bouquet is intended."
It seems he brought it home to himself.
I told the little Pole that he does not court me as I like, that he is not attentive enough, etc., etc. Then I told him to go and kneel in the middle of the hall. He dared not to comply, but proposed to kneel between two columns:
"You dare say no? I shall ask you for nothing."
I said nothing but impertinences to him, laughing, no doubt.
I said that what I ask is nothing in comparison, and I told the story of the pig and Carlo. Walitsky invented this story, and I have told it so many times that it seems to me it is true. Then Walitsky told another piece of nonsense, about the Duke of Hamilton: how he supposedly took a live pike, put the creature's head in his mouth while its body was thrashing, and came up to me saying "How do you do?" -- which caused the fish to fall on my dress. The Pole was horrified and began a tirade about how such people are incapable of devotion, of friendship, etc., etc.
We laughed (I suffer).
Leaving Spa grieves me, especially when I see Monsieur de Biesme, who is handsome and whom I admire: everyone must notice it. He has what is impossible to define. He also has a mocking expression on his face.
Often, several times a day, he passes before us. Am I foolish enough to admire people I do not know? But can I do otherwise? Those we know cannot please me.
I have no desire to leave Spa because there are men here -- men of real quality.
Maman tells me a thing that makes no sense: that Gericke is in love with me. Why then this behavior? I shall ask him for the explanation when I am married. That will be amusing.
I reproached myself for Boreel, but in Les pattes de mouche I heard a phrase that reassures me. When one makes tea, one first pours a few drops of hot water, which one then throws out, to remove the bitterness and what is unpleasant; then one pours the first cup, for which all the flavor remains, minus the bitterness. I cannot put it well, but the meaning is the same.
I have had our stay in my dear Spa extended until Tuesday. I have every difficulty in parting from my dear second Baden.

Notes

In English in the original.