Monday, 17 August 1874

More races; Maman and I go alone by carriage. I saw the Beak and Prince Ipsilani; he was astonished to see me and stared at me a great deal from every side. But today is a race full of accidents. Wheelwright is racing, and after a descent like the one where Carlo Hamilton had fallen, he falls. His horse Black Friar, with which he won at Spa, tried to shy away; Wheelwright made an effort to hold him, but the horse leapt sideways, the man struck the post, the stirrup broke, and he fell face-first onto that post. The horse continued alone and finished third. Instantly the whole crowd rushed towards the accident, and poor Wheelwright was led back by the Marquis de Vriere and by the Baron ***, accompanied by the crowd like a performing bear or trained dogs. I went to the window: his whole face was covered in blood, and Merjeewsky, who was beside me, said that an eye was burst.
I do not know why, but they were saying he had broken his arm.
It is not the first time this has happened to him. I showed myself very ferocious next to the count's sensitivity (he had come to the races for me); I laughed.
In the last race, at the same spot, a horse fell, broke its back, and they were obliged to put it down on the spot. The jockey is safe and sound.
We return in the Pole's company. I dine with Paul and Walitsky at home and write after dinner. Maman and my aunt and Dina come home.
My aunt calls me countess; I rage, and so she says,
"Duchess -- whatever you wish."
"I know you are pleased by the duchess. You know, they say Hamilton's wife has died."
"Well then, he will marry you."
A piece of nonsense tossed to the wind -- such madness makes me smile and even think! Wretched creature that I am.
I dress Maman, then dress myself: pink dress, hair hanging down -- good. In the evening I am pink.
There is a grand racing ball this evening at the Casino. The rooms are full; society is passable, but not a single remarkable dress.
The Beak is in white, as at High Mass in Nice.
Now I ought to recount my conversation with the Pole -- it bores me so. I am too lazy to write.
He comes and stands behind me. We are on the right, quite near the orchestra, in the third row, on a sofa.
He began by saying he had a host of things to tell me, then all manner of difficulties; I constantly had to say, "Go on, tell me; no, I shall not be angry," etc.
"You must know, Mademoiselle, that I wish to do or say nothing contrary to the will of the person to whom I speak."
"Very well."
I told him that Basilevitch knows the anecdote about Princess Eristoff, and I told him what was said on this subject between her and me.
"Then she set up her attack that same day, because she asked me the same thing."
"And you answered?"
"I answered almost as you did."
"That was wrong."
"That is to say, I said 'almost': I said it would be extraordinary if one did not admire a young lady so pretty, so witty, and who has everything, even knowledge of the world, but that, Madame, since the day I saw you at Spa, my heart was lost. She lowered her eyes and blushed, and could find nothing to say."
"She believed it, and she was right, was she not?" I say; then still more things of every sort.
He has composed verses which he asked Walitsky to translate. What a translation that will be! Then a song -- all for me. It is very pleasant; when I am older I shall remember it with pleasure. I shall ask the little one for his photograph. How fortunate that he does not please me, that he rather disgusts me.
This little young man has a glove of mine that he stole at Spa. My aunt told me it was not true, so I asked him to show me the glove; he consented only on my word of honour to return it. The glove is indeed mine; I even remember having lost it. I returned it -- there is no harm in his keeping it; it flatters me and makes him happy.
How he loves me! I believed no one could love me. Yes, the people I want do not love me, alas!
[Annotation: 1876. Rome: Good Lord! How true.]
We were introduced to an Englishman, Mr Foster, and his sister, and two more English young ladies -- all four comme il faut and pleasant. Mr Foster is very ugly. I danced a polka-mazurka. Here one dances the entire dance with the same partner and promenades with him.
He led me to the buffet. At a quarter to twelve we leave, Basilevitch with us; she wants Merjeewsky at all costs -- poor ugly thing! But I shall not give him up -- that is to say, he will not give himself up.
I await [Crossed out: only] Marguerite's arrival, because the Plobsters may arrive with her.
Doria Paamphilii, as Rodionoff says, is spoken of at our house -- not for me, but because Doenhoff told Maman that upon seeing me enter the casino at Spa, he said: There is a well-bred child.
He said more, but Maman contented herself with telling me only this.
"Ah! All the better -- it is not a cad who said it," I say.
"Yes, yes, quite so," she said, in a tone of regret and longing.