Saturday, 29 May 1875

Here is Maman enchanted. Alexandre writes that Paul, young Miloradovitch and young Prince Eristoff have gone off to Gavronzi (my father's estate) and are generally amusing themselves together. They are making merry, as one says in Russia.
My God! After having loved a Hamilton, and thought of a Wittgenstein — to be reduced to a Miloradovitch!
Those first two — both in themselves and by their alliances and their position at Court — are incomparable.
All light, all brilliance, all glory come from the Court. The Court is the sun — all that is not warmed and illuminated by its rays is nothing. Now see, good people: this Miloradovitch is noble and rich, but there is a great distance between him and the others.
My God, will you make me submit to him? And I feel I shall not have the courage to refuse — for fear of remaining where I am and as I am. And yet — I am sixteen; at my age and made as I am made, I lack neither time nor hope.
What the devil one can find, with my face.
But see this wretched character of mine — that does not dare, that is uncertain.
And look — I look at myself with my hair swept up in the Psyche style and these three golden curls arranged as a plume in front, with my mouth, my eyebrows and my eyes — I am sure of myself.
What — I, with all my beauty, to be bestowed upon this young upstart? But that is not even the point — what will he give me in exchange?
Three hundred thousand francs a year in income. Ah — what a fine bargain!
Truly I am mad — by my own reckoning I am worthy of a throne.
Worthy of much, by the audacity of desiring much. And it seems to me that a woman who conceives of so many things, who has a supernatural ambition, and who desires so greatly, does not have all this for nothing. God would not have given me my ideas for nothing. And so I have confidence in Him. Let us not torment ourselves — we will decide after the journey. I shall see what sort of people they are; I know well how to read persons and understand where they come from and where they may go. I shall see the young one and see what can be made of him.
In the meantime let us return to our villa and occupy ourselves with what is occupying me at the moment. If I am condemned to submit to the Russian, let us amuse ourselves here as much as we can and try to captivate certain black eyes that are worth the trouble of captivating.
From our north-facing windows one can see the château — I know the handsome one's windows, and I think I have seen him; as I was at my window he saw me too.
It is raining like autumn — delightful; I go with Collignon to fetch the Sapogenikoffs while they dress. Lucie, the charming Lucie Durand, comes to speak with me at the carriage, asks for my portrait and says kind things to me and about my mother.
Why my portrait?
By the way, Maman has sent one to my brother. The Sapogenikoffs come and we go to the café.
[Written across the page: This café is Rumpelmayer's where all the ladies used to go.] Collignon sees Girofla pass, then return in a cab with Saëtone — but we were already in our carriage.
He cannot do without his Uncle Saëtone.
Back home, I put on my grey hooded cloak and, fresh as a rose, go out onto the terrace. This hood suits me; it is raining, and my cheeks are pink as a cherub's.
When an author speaks of his heroine, he permits himself comparisons — why should I, who am both the author of this and at the same time the heroine, not permit myself the same? It would be absurd not to, and would make my poor writing entirely dry.
I wanted to go to the theater but they have gone to Monaco — I am quite unshod for an instant, but after that instant I thought that an absence of one day does no harm,
and on the contrary, if this fellow has good inclinations, it will do him a world of good.
And for me, seeing or not seeing is much the same thing.