Tuesday, 18 May 1875

We were speaking of our faces and Collignon said that if she did not know me, she would say of me — There is a beautiful girl, for you are tall and well made — she added. She also said that I had a pretty mouth, white hands, pretty eyebrows, a pretty nose, pretty ears.
I am pleased, for this person judges honestly and precisely and never exaggerates or lies.
It came about because we were in the midst of frankly telling one another what we thought of our faces, and judging each other.
I know perfectly well that I am tall and beautiful — and that is precisely what makes me complain.
So many plainer women who are happy. But who knows — perhaps I am destined for great things. I am worthy of them by the sheer audacity of awaiting and hoping for them...
The priests will be delighted the day I am rid of my dear parents! I shall have masses said everywhere.
Here is what happened today. At five o’clock I was dressed and in my hat (white dress, a Watteau hat, very becoming) and ready to go to the baths, as had been agreed yesterday. Maman comes in and says the Sapogenikoffs are not going; I am astonished; she says Madame is afraid of today’s waves and wind. I scent something behind this and go straight to the Sapogenikoffs’. Nina, who knows neither how to behave nor what to say, at once lets it be seen that it is neither the waves nor the wind. I open my eyes wide; at last she lets her daughters go, and on the way up Marie tells me something that sets all my blood boiling: that it was my aunt who had supposedly asked Nina to forbid her daughters to go, so that I should not bathe either. This seemed to me so abominable that I said at once, as much to relieve my feelings as to defend myself, that they want to make me out a recalcitrant girl, a moral monster, a disorderly, disobedient, capricious, wilful child — and who does it? My own aunt. And then to go reproaching others for slander when one is its very source oneself! There is nothing to be said; it seems I am going to strangle somebody one of these days.
Whereupon I leave.
And, well pleased with my muse, Run to the baths to find the fop who will lo[ve] me.
Not only he, but everyone in Nice is there: Saëtone, Danis, Pépino, the Seignettes, the Durands, etc. Dina had arranged to meet Lucie Durand yesterday, and Lucie reproached her about it today near the Sapogenikoffs’, for close by there is a convent the Durands often go to. So Dina told her that this evening she would come for certain, and indeed she came.
I was going to these baths, to tell the truth, as if to a rendezvous with Girofla. It is absurd, but so it is — what would you have?
He was got up like the grubbiest Niçois imaginable. Truly, I longed to beg him not to disguise himself so. Or rather, is it not his proper gentleman’s dress that is the disguise?
I bathe, with Lucie beside me; she seems a good-natured girl, but her manners invite gossip.
I dive, and my beautiful golden curls become nothing but black, sticky strands. How absurd the poets are with their golden nymphs and their long hair! The most beautiful hair, when wet, is ugly.
All these coxcombs made a movement like the one Bossuet’s listeners made at the moment he cried out: Madame is dying, Madame is dead! — when I rose from the waves like Venus, with the difference of costume, a difference I most bitterly deplore.
I take a very long time dressing, and all these people leave only when we leave. We come out together, with them gawking like dumb beasts.
But I, who was never a hussy, on leaving the cabin leave my train inside, so that they could see my little feet, which delight me.
Girofla is hideous; if he keeps this up I shall drop him.
Back home, what do I learn! My aunt never said a thing — Maman swore it to me by all that is holy.
The devil! It would be as well to know where one stands; and if I were not so wild over the memory of the Duke, I should lose my temper.
I have found a reason for marrying Miloradovitch. For without some reason to marry him, there is no need to.
Well then, I shall marry him so as to go and find the Duke. It is rather extravagant, but since I must have a reason...
You see, I am truly and genuinely mad about the man; each time it astonishes me, and then I am astonished at being astonished.
Poor queen, poor Buckingham — this morning I read about them, and the reading unsettled me, softened me, moved me.
Poor queen! Handsome, superb, incomparable Buckingham!
To my mind, comparable to Hamilton.
The thing is, you see, when an Englishman takes it into his head to be handsome, to have a grand air, to be a duke, he is more than a man.
And he takes advantage of his divinity to make poor girls like me fall in love with him. It is wicked, and it is sweet.
But I shall find him again; for good or ill I must see that man. On the way back from Russia I shall go by Baden; perhaps I shall see him there.
I shiver at the mere thought.
written across the page
Fine phrases! I did not shiver at all.
Poor Collignon — we went for a walk in the evening and she talked to me about her fiancé who died, and she wept. Oh, how unhappy she must be!