Friday, 23 April

I do not go to mass. The day after tomorrow is Easter. At three o’clock at the procession of the Shroud.
The heat in the church is stifling; coming out, we go to Mme Voyeïkoff’s, where we stay quite a long while. I adore the Hôtel du Luxembourg for a hundred thousand reasons. My aunt was in the drawing room with Mme Voyeïkoff, while Dina and I were on the balcony with Julie. One sees all the world passing by, the whole horizon, the entire Promenade des Anglais. I have a mind to sell my villa and come to Nice to lodge in this hotel.
The conversation turned on the fiancé, the family, celebrations, society, dresses, and so on and so forth.
“Come to Paris, Marie, I’ll bring you out into society.” I burst out laughing.
Julie is a thoroughly sincere girl and relates all manner of things. “You know,” she says, “when he kisses me I go quite mad!” — and so on, and on again. “Marie, I propose my brother-in-law for you, he is magnificent — and besides, when you come to stay with me in Paris I shall introduce you to someone who will please you.”
“Come now, who?”
“I shan’t say.”
“Well then, what is he like?”
“He is tall.”
“That’s good.”
“He is dark.” (That spoils things.)
“He has grey eyes.”
“Good.”
“Black side-whiskers.”
“But....”
“He is tall and strong.”
“But my dear, that’s the very portrait of Prince Wittgenstein!”
“Of whom?”
“Wittgenstein.”
“Oh! Dina,” cries Julie, “do look how she blushed as she said that name. Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“Why no, I don’t see it.”
“I did not blush in the least, my dear; I know the gentleman only from having seen him on the Promenade.”
And in truth I did not feel myself blushing, but in the evening Dina assures me that I did.
Well! It is not the first time.
Dina goes home and my aunt takes me to Mme Angel’s; there we find Mme Patton, who crosses the whole room to curtsy to me.
What has come over her?
From there we go to dine at the London House.
I ordered to my own taste.
Crayfish bisque.
Fillet of beef with artichoke hearts, peas and truffles.
Dutch asparagus.
Roast chicken.
Strawberries and cream.
Wine: Château Villegeorges, 1865.
I might well have sung like La Périchole:
“Ah! what a dinner I have just had,
And what extraordinary wines.
I drank so much, so very, very much...”
We are hardly at table when Pâris comes in with two Russian monsters and sits down next to us:
— Maria Constantinovna, Maria Constantinovna, he says, breaking off in the middle of a sentence, in a mysterious voice, Audiffer has arrived, Audiffer has arrived.
— Where?
— In the garden.
— But...
A quarter of an hour later Audiffer, after looking in through the window on the garden side, came into the room with the old fellow in whose company he had been walking this afternoon while we were at the Luxembourg. It is probably his future father-in-law, for they say he is marrying a rich heiress from Marseilles.
It’s a pity. Single, he would do; with a wife, no. And then Nice will not have a single young man left.
Not only did I not look at him, I did not even turn in his direction, and that without the slightest affectation, for with marriage he loses everything. Eternal rest.
In the evening more chatter; we laugh and talk nonsense. Naturally we talk about Julie’s marriage. The fact is, it really is a delightful match.
What a pity one cannot buy a husband. On the same terms as Julie I could, but I don’t want to. She has thirty thousand francs a year and her fiancé ten or fifteen thousand. That is not what I would be content with.
Great heavens! as the people of Nice say — what can one do with a hundred thousand francs a year?

Notes

Written in Russian in the manuscript; French translation by the editor. ↩
The word is plachtchanitsa (плащаница): the icon depicting Christ’s burial shroud, carried in solemn procession during the Orthodox Good Friday service. ↩
La Périchole (1868), opéra bouffe by Offenbach. Marie quotes, loosely, the heroine’s tipsy “griserie” aria: “Ah! quel dîner je viens de faire…” ↩
Written in Russian in the manuscript; French translation by the editor. ↩
Written in Russian in the manuscript; French translation by the editor. ↩
Written in Russian in the manuscript; French translation by the editor. ↩
Written in Russian in the manuscript; French translation by the editor. ↩
Written in Russian in the manuscript; French translation by the editor. ↩
Written in Russian in the manuscript; French translation by the editor. ↩
In Italian in the original: Requiem eterno — Marie’s half-Italian version of the Latin requiem formula requiem aeternam (“eternal rest”). ↩
In Niçois in the original: San Biou de Biou ! — a Niçois oath, roughly “God’s blood!”. ↩