Thursday, 26 November 1874

I am properly dressed — the immortal grey dress has been mended once more, the black London hat on my head, and the whole effect is quite respectable.
And since my greater or lesser desire to go out depends on the dress I have to put on and the state of my face, I felt like going out today.
The cold continues; the sun has caught a cold and is buried under heavy clouds. No wind.
We did not stop in front of the public garden.
In marriage there are neither masters nor slaves; two beings love each other and come together, and when love passes they hold each other in deep respect and great friendship — [Crossed out: if one is] in memory of the past; if one wants neither true respect nor true friendship, one keeps up an affected respect and saves appearances, each going their own way.
As we were going along the Promenade, I was with my aunt at the back and Maman and Dina in front — because they had put up the hood and I like the air — Maman said to me:
— There is Audiffret going by with a felt rug; he is leaving.
I controlled myself and did not blush. I did not even look, and when that young little pig had passed us, Maman cried:
— Good heavens, how he blushed! In all my life I have never seen such a thing, upon my word. It is quite extraordinary. And she continued: As he went by, the moment he saw Moussia and Dina he went crimson, pressing his face with his hand as if he wanted to wipe away the colour — oh, Bajeman, do tell!
I thought I had noticed this before, but I only speak of such things when I am certain of them or when someone else says it first.
He did not turn back and seemed ill at ease, for he was fidgeting and striking poses, so to speak. In any case, blushing is very charming and gives one an ingenuous, youthful air. Let no one think I say this with any ulterior motive — God forbid; I am far too uncertain of myself for that. — Both were blushing, he and she both — there you have it! Filth — something of that sort is what my aunt said.
But I believe he was not blushing; he is always red — it is his natural colour.
— Is it possible, dear, that you would allow Audiffret to court us? asked my aunt.
— Certainly, I replied. But he is a peasant — not a disgusting one, however.
At dinner I burst out laughing for no reason whatsoever; I was delighted to find my natural self again under that grey dress.
Pelikan and his daughter are taking tea here, in the house, and Maman invited Count Merjeewsky, who on entering rushed forward and greeted me first. Patton — that man who does us so much harm with his tongue — is here. I have said it and I say it again: I wait with impatient fury for the day when I shall be able to avenge myself on him by despising him, as I shall despise many others, all of them, since all of them despise us!
After tea, Zoé, Dina and I went to the drawing room; the Count followed us; I ordered him to play, to be rid of him.
I don't know exactly what we talked about, but all three of us formed [Crossed out: laughed so] a trio of laughter, accompanied by a Chopin nocturne — delicious and so long that they applauded from the dining room.
Dina, with her usual stupidity, tries on every occasion to place that horror next to me, but each time I eluded him.
We encountered Géricke, de Tanlay, Paparigopoulos, and all the people from Spa and Ostende. Especially after the Pelikans and Patton had left, Walitsky impersonated all of them. At last the little one departed. Then I grew sombre and full of dark thoughts. That little Pelikan is going to the first Masséna matinée with the Howards; Maman had invited her a hundred times and she always said she would not go. Certainly Madame Howard is more than my mother — what am I saying — my mother counts for nothing here; but I am wounded all the same. My God, if these moral wounds were physical wounds [Crossed out: were wounds] I would be nothing by now but one great wound.
I am too lazy to recount all these horrors, and it seems to me that I never explain our position sufficiently, just as it used to seem to me that I never said enough that I love the Duke of Hamilton. Suffice it to say that I am wretched as the stones — not in imagination but truly! God and I alone know what I suffer!
Basta, useless lamentations, stupid complaints! I know what I know and if others won't understand or believe I don't care, for I know what I know

Notes

In Italian in the original — "Enough!"
In English in the original.