Sunday, 18 July 1875

Worse still! I was seeing Girofla. Well — last night I saw Girofla again, but not alone; with that horror of a man, the abominable Pole!
"You are not pleased with the one I show you? Very well — here is another!" (It is the moon that is supposed to be speaking.)
One must wait a while — at present I always dream of the Niceman, and my invocation to the moon comes to nothing. For it is impossible that he should be the one I mar... Never, never, never. He lacks a great many things that I require.
If he is ambitious he may go far... But that is not what I aspire to — I want a Doria, or a Hamilton, or someone of that order.
Girofla is good for amusement.
Heaven and earth!!!!!!!
Fortuné comes in and tells me:
— M. Étienne is here.
— What do you mean, M. Étienne? Which M. Étienne! Where!
I spring forward, and fortunately have the presence of mind to run down to meet him the very first moment — forgetting that I was not a queen. I had meant to receive my uncle Étienne and my aunt Marie at the top of the staircase with a gracious and majestic smile.
For a moment I hesitated whether I ought to go down — but not long enough for them to notice.
"Look at this man — he deserves a thrashing!" — these are my first words (in Russian, naturally).
— What! You keep me waiting so long! I thought you were never coming.
Cap de Biou! What a pity he did not arrive before la partenza del facchino di Nizza! He who said with his little air of superiority: "We shall stay in Nice," — "We shall not go to Russia," — "That uncle will never come."
Too bad! If he returns in eight days he will no longer find me here — and who knows what change such an accident might bring about.
I write this while our arrivals restore their strength. My aunt and my grandfather are with them.
I am not on speaking terms with my grandfather, and he has come from his pavilion into my house. I am going back downstairs this instant and shall finish writing this evening — it is only four o'clock.
No — I shall not go to Russia. It is a pity. But I have no time. It is the 18th of July; I could not depart before a week from now, the 25th — eight days in Paris, ten days to go and see my mother (Étienne wants to see her), which will bring me almost to the middle of August. Six days for the journey.
That means I would arrive in Poltava on the 14th or 15th of August. And I must be in Nice by the 1st of September. Is that possible? No — I shall not go. Russia will still be there next year, and the centenary in a hundred years. They say that in Russia there is a horde of rascals who want the Commune. It is a horror. These people want to divide all property and hold everything in common. And their accursed society has spread so widely that the newspapers make desperate appeals to society. Will not fathers of families, respectable people, oppose this contagion? They want to destroy everything — no more civilisation, no more art, no more beautiful and great things. Simply material means of subsistence. Labour to be communal as well; no one shall have the right to rise above others by whatever merit.
They wish to destroy the universities, higher learning, to prohibit the cultivation of genius. In a word, to reduce Russia to a kind of caricature of Lacedaemon.
I hope that God and the Emperor will confound them.
I shall pray to God to protect my country from these wild beasts, these wretches, these dreadful madmen!
At the concert we are surrounded by Danis, Saëtone, Chevalier, Galula, and my darling Désiré on horseback. He is charming on horseback.
As if the departure of my handsome Niceman were not enough to torment me, we have been introduced to Chevalier. Horror! Horror!
He is a perfect Merjeewsky — the only difference being the hair colour; this one is dark.
I go home thoroughly irritated. I had forgotten that other creature, and now his ghost pursues me.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him! But Chevalier is his very portrait — same face, same manner, same pronunciation!
Dreadful! Dreadful!
I dine with my Graces, and in the evening Danis, Saëtone, and Fiouloulou come.
[Five lines cancelled]
Danis seems struck by everything I say and is astonished to find in me such a fever for life. We talk about furnishings, and he nearly falls over backwards at the description of my bedroom.
— But it is a temple — a tale from the Thousand and One Nights! he exclaims.
— One must enter it on one's knees, says Galula.
— It is prodigious, unique, remarkable, Danis continues.
He wants to decipher my character, asks whether I pluck daisy petals.
— Oh yes, very often — to know whether dinner will be good, or whether I shall enjoy myself on such and such a day — and this quite naïvely.
— What! the little man exclaims — oh, Mademoiselle! — and he falls back in his chair as if annihilated.
— But yes, Monsieur — why else would you suppose I pluck a daisy?
— And where do you place it on your bodice — on the left?
— No, in the middle.
— But how! A room so poetic — a room that looks like a dream, a fairy tale — and alongside all that, asking a daisy whether the cook has done justice to the dinner! Oh, but no — it is incredible!
What amuses him is my claim to have two hearts. I delighted in making him cry out and marvel through a multitude of contrasts — I soared to the heavens and, without pausing, fell back to earth, and so on and so forth.
I present myself as a girl who wants to live and to enjoy herself, who does not think and has no suspicion of the possibility of love. And he is astonished, cries out that he is afraid of me, that I am prodigious, supernatural, divine, dreadful!
Apparently all the men here are occupied with me — from what I heard Danis say. I believe I was witty this evening.
I said things that had the privilege of making Danis leap about like one of those little jack-in-the-boxes one sees at fairs. He looks at me as a very curious object, and speaks in front of me about me, always marvelling. He advises me to keep a crystal vase on my dressing table for the flowers I bring back from balls.
— For, he said, that is the only moment you will think.
— I always think, Monsieur.
— Good heavens! — and once again he seems to suffer a fit.
— You see, gentlemen, I said, turning to the other two — here is the gentleman who says I do not think.
A swoon from Danis.
— Do you know, Mademoiselle, he said, that my intimate friend Count Laurenti and I hold diametrically opposite opinions about you, and understand your character in entirely different ways?
— Ah, indeed! People do me the honour of occupying themselves with me? Gestures from Danis.
— I shall tell all this to d'Aspremont, I shall tell all this to d'Aspremont.
— Does M. d'Aspremont know me?
More gestures.
His conversation is useful to me. He has seen the most beautiful bedrooms, and by describing them he gives me a host of ideas.
These people, as usual, beg me to stay in Nice and promise me royalty for the next season.
In Florence there is a certain Count de Larderei whose sister married the son of Victor Emmanuel and the drum-major's daughter. This M. de Larderei is very fashionable. Danis speaks to me of him. I shall have to make his acquaintance.
Do you know a thing? Until today, none of these gentlemen knew that I speak English and Italian!
They play games; Danis is bored; the evening drags — it is dull.
Danis goes everywhere and he will talk about me — therefore he is useful to me. Let us handle him carefully.
I miss Audiffret.

Notes

Cap de Biou — Gascon oath meaning "Head of God!" An archaic regional exclamation.
la partenza del facchino di Nizza — "the departure of the porter of Nice." In Italian in the original. A contemptuous reference to Audiffret.
A reference to Russian revolutionary and socialist movements, still vivid in European consciousness after the Paris Commune of 1871.
Lacedaemon — Sparta, whose austere, egalitarian constitution was a byword for the suppression of culture and individual distinction.
Placing a flower on the left side, over the heart, was a romantic gesture.
Rosa Vercellana, known as "the drum-major's daughter," was the morganatic wife of King Victor Emmanuel II of Italy — a woman of low birth elevated by royal favour, widely alluded to by her nickname.