Monday, 13 December 1875

[Two lines crossed out]
There are days that repeat themselves so exactly that one is astonished — one thinks one has been dreaming, and one often cannot account for one's memories.
Today for instance: I went driving with Olga in an open carriage, we encountered Audiffret, and we then went with my aunt to Rumpelmayer's, exactly as last spring — one day, I no longer remember which.
The grown-ups follow us in the landau, and I amuse myself by losing them at every moment — going much faster and taking every street both known and unknown — so that turning near the public gardens I drove into a cab and damaged its wheel.
The driver approached hat in hand, and I replied with great majesty that he had nothing to worry about — I would pay.
There is a great crowd as yesterday, and we make a fine impression — due in part to the magnificent fur rug at our feet.
Gonzales makes his faces at me from the balcony of the Cercle, and Bibi bows from below and then watches with an approving smile.
Robenson — pale and thin — passes by, but I miss their encounter. Dina sees it and tells me later. She was in a closed carriage and he was on foot; he had not time to bow — he stopped short and stood watching the carriage recede as far as it could be seen, without moving and without taking his eyes from it.
You can imagine what effect that has on me. I would like to wring that young woman's neck. How thoroughly! With one hand I would take her by the head, with the other by the shoulder — and I would wring her like a wet towel.
And perhaps he stopped without any ulterior motive — when we passed he stopped too, and leaning on Rosy's arm looked at us with a paternal smile. Pig!
A day of memories. Olga speaks to me of the eve of the picnic at the Loup, when we were all on the terrace and the man in white came in through the garden gate — encountered grandfather in the darkness, nearly fell over a heap of stones, and finally found us. I remember how I watched in the darkness to see if a cab might be coming, and how I waited for nine o'clock.
Ah — how happy I was then, how I enjoyed myself, how beautiful everything seemed, how I thought myself queen of a great many things!
And also — when after a day spent indoors with the shutters closed, I took my second bath in the little blue dressing-room, barely lit by the last rays of the sun filtering through the shutters — I sang like a bird of heaven, my face was radiant like Saetone's, and finally I would go out and we would go to the sea-bathing.
If you knew how humiliated I am — you would pity me in earnest.
And now — let people prepare to see me exasperated.
I dress for the theatre — a Marie-Antoinette gown. I am as usual — or rather, pretty.
And the carriage does not come!!! Capite?
I wait until ten o'clock, and at ten o'clock — having put on a dressing-gown and taken down my hair — I present myself at Maman's in a state of mind easy to imagine.
And half laughing, half weeping, I ask when they will take me to Rome.
Then they begin speaking of Audiffret to distract me from my idea — but, covering my face with my hands, I conceal my smiles and speak in a severe voice. My aunt says I shall return after two weeks, for two weeks is the most I can manage without seeing him. Walitsky says he showed less strength of character than I, having stayed away for less time. Maman compares him to a crow in evening dress; Dina adds something too — but I hold out so well that after an hour the situation, which was comic, becomes entirely tragic. Maman weeps and calls down every imaginable ill upon her own head; my aunt cries out; Walitsky sneers; Dina makes suffering faces — and I, my face hidden in my hands, am in the grip of the most profound despair.

Notes

Rumpelmayer: the famous Viennese confectioner with tea rooms in Nice, a fashionable gathering place.
le Loup: the gorge of the Loup river near Nice, a popular excursion destination.
robe Marie-Antoinette: a dress in the 18th century revival style, fashionable in the 1870s.
Capite? (Italian): Do you understand? — a rhetorical expression of exasperation. In English in the original sense that Marie code-switches to Italian for emphasis.