Tuesday, 8 August 1876 (27 July)

We sat up until four o’clock; I am tired this morning and Yssayevitch was not admitted to my rising.
Paul, my brother, telegraphs that my father had sent him to meet me at Konotop [?] (a railway station near my uncle’s estate); he asks when I shall arrive.
I went straight to Nina’s, where I spent the whole day. The city is celebrating, and at Peterhof the imperial family is receiving its relatives in state, the royal houses of Denmark and Greece. All Petersburg is there to see the illuminations. But not being of the party, and not wishing to be, like all Petersburg, a spectator behind the rope, I stayed at home — that is to say, at Nina’s — embroidering a band of tapestry imitating Gobelins on a soft blue ground; this band, placed on the front of a cream velvet dressing-gown, will make something the like of which has never been seen before, for beauty and richness.
Editors’ note
[Four Latin words devoid of meaning.]
Galula and Girofla are indispensable to keeping up our gaiety. I made up a story that Girofla was about to leave as a volunteer for Serbia, with a light pack containing his old war trousers and two worn handkerchiefs. On this theme I improvised a piece in verse, detailing everything that would befall the young adventurer on the road and in Serbia, to the tune of Partant pour la Syrie. Olga had the idea of drawing him in a coffin — this was thought so funny that we laughed for ten minutes.
From this conversation I have carried away inspiration for a correspondence or an epic poem which you will read.
Only Audiffret can make me laugh and write verses. And God knows how often I think of it.
Nina was with us; she read us a novel while we worked at the canvas. M. Sapogenikoff shared in our gaiety and ended up speaking of Girofla himself.
I returned at midnight with Étienne; Yssayevitch, having come in the afternoon, was so badly treated by me — aided by my Graces — that he went home quite sad, according to my uncle.
Petersburg is at its best by night. I know nothing more superb than the Neva hung with lanterns contrasting with the moon and the dark blue, almost grey sky. The defects of the houses, the paving, the bridges are dissolved at night by obliging shadows; the breadth of the quays appears in all its majesty. The Admiralty spire is lost in the sky, and in an azure mist edged with lights one sees the dome and graceful form of St Isaac’s Cathedral, which seems itself a floating shadow descended from the heavens.
I should like to be here in winter...

Notes

In French in the original: en fête. ↩
Gobelins: the famous French royal manufactory of tapestries, founded in the 17th century; here used as a stylistic reference for rich, pictorial needlework. ↩
Serbia: the Serbian–Ottoman War of 1876–78 had just begun; thousands of Russian volunteers crossed to fight alongside Serbia, a major public excitement in Russia that summer. ↩
Partant pour la Syrie (“Setting Out for Syria”): a French romance (1807) that became enormously popular under Napoleon III’s Second Empire; its familiar tune made it an irresistible vehicle for parody. In French in the original. ↩