Friday, 25 February 1876

Today there is only the gala promenade; we were at the Villa Doria, the Pincio, and the Corso. Bruschetti, in [words blacked out: a demi-]Daumont, salutes us twice. On the Corso we see Antonelli — so the man we took the other day for Antonelli was decidedly not he.
I have cut my finger and I write very badly.
At midnight we go to the Apollo, in a ground-floor box — Maman, Walitsky, and Dina. Maman and Walitsky cast a terrible chill, and for three quarters of an hour we do not stir; but then Volkonsky comes, and other gentlemen from the Capitol ball, and I begin to talk. The stout, blond, stupid one turns out to be a Prussian officer. I am more lively than anyone would believe. Little Paul — the agreeable blond — and many others follow one after another before our box, and I find something to say; that astonishes me, for I am generally stupid precisely where one needs to be witty.
At last Bruschetti, who has recognized us, mistakes Dina for me and begins his tender protestations. He speaks French badly,
Dina speaks Italian badly, or little — he eventually finds me; I take his arm and plunge into the crowd. The illuminated theatre has a magnificent aspect — those lights from top to bottom are flattering to the eye.
I encounter Prince Mechtchersky and go off with him — he lends me countenance and I speak to whomever I like without worrying about the old man. There is Troili.
— Where is your umbrella? I said to him. You are dry — it is no longer raining.
At first he is stunned, then:
Madamoisela, you — walk with me! he cried, detaining me by the arm and even by the shoulder; but Paparigopoulos appeared in the distance, so I ask him how long ago he left Athens.
— A year, he said — as he would say it in a drawing room.
What a brute — I say a few nonsensical things to him and move on.
Dov'è il tuo ombrello? I asked Giorgio, who was standing there. Non piove adesso, dov'è l'ombrello?
— Oh! I recognise you!
And he wanted to run after Troili, but I said to him:
È inutile, l'ho veduto, lo sa.
With the Prince I pass myself off as an Italian — I mangle Russian names and ask the meaning of: douchka.
But now I am accosted by a domino; I take him for Walitsky, and half convinced of this, half not knowing what I am doing, I lift the chin-piece of his mask — and he gives me a slap on the hand. Pretty, eh? For the rest of the evening I feel as though dipped in boiling water. I thought an insult that others are unaware of was easier to bear. Faugh! I shall feel soiled every time I think of it. There is nothing but time to efface everything — I have proved it ten times over.
Doria, Cesaro — all these people are there.
The officer from the Capitol ball would very much like to come with me, but I call him presumptuous and stupid and go off, leaving him to a dreadful red domino.
Antonelli is perched on the edge of a box, conversing with a painted woman, unmasked — no doubt the cocotte of the Conte di Larderel.
With great difficulty I manage to touch his shoulder through a thousand obstacles:
Buona sera, cardinalino! I called to him in a disguised voice.
Buona sera, carina! he replied, making a grimace that proved sufficiently that he did not suspect me in that vile whirl.
But the slap on the hand was spoiling everything for me, and I returned to our box — but what was my terror when I saw the same domino approach and beg Dina to let him get a closer look at the gentleman in our box (Walitsky)!
— He does not want to speak to you, she said.
— Ask him, the man said to her.
— You don't want to speak to this mask, do you? Walitsky made a grimace.
— Is that your husband? said the domino.
— Yes — go away!
And he left — but I remained trembling and wretched; and despite an immense desire to go once more into the crowd, to intrigue so many people to whom I had so many pretty things to say, I consented to leave.
Walitsky sighs and moans softly, Maman reproaches him for it, I seethe with rage, Dina does the same, I believe.
This charming quartet leaves the Opera at about half past three.
I return home furious.

Notes

Daumont (or à la Daumont): a carriage harnessed with postilions rather than a coachman on the box — a particularly fashionable and expensive style of equipage.
Jettent un froid: lit. "cast a cold" — an idiom for dampening the atmosphere; to put a chill on proceedings.
Italian: "Where is your umbrella? It's not raining now — where's the umbrella?" In Italian in the original.
Italian: "It is useless — he has seen me, he knows." In Italian in the original.
Douchka (Russian душка): a term of endearment — "darling," "dear one." Marie pretends not to know it as part of her Italian disguise.
Cocotte: a kept woman, a courtesan — the polite term for a high-class mistress. Femme peinte (lit. "painted woman") — a woman wearing cosmetics, used contemptuously.
Italian exchange: "Good evening, little cardinal!" / "Good evening, darling!" In Italian in the original.
Intriguer: at masked balls, to tease, puzzle, and mystify strangers while in disguise — a recognised art of the masquerade.