Wednesday, 9 August 1876 (28 July)

I am penniless. An agreeable situation. Étienne is an excellent man but always wounds my delicate feelings. This morning I lost my temper — but half an hour later I was laughing as if nothing had happened, at the Sapogenikoffs’. Doctor Tchemicheff was there and I wanted to ask him for a remedy for my hoarseness, but I had no money, and this gentleman does nothing for nothing. A very delicate position, I assure you. But I shall not weep in advance — the unpleasantness is disagreeable enough when it arrives without weeping over it beforehand. At four o’clock, Nina and the Three Graces set off by carriage for the Peterhof station — all three dressed in white under long dust-coats.
The train was about to leave; we climbed aboard without tickets, but provided with an escort of four Guards officers who were no doubt tempted by my white feather and the red heels of my Graces. So here we are, Giro and I, like noble warhorses at the sound of the band — ears pricked, eyes bright, and spirits gay.
They were intrigued — we spoke Russian, French, and English, and were dressed like foreigners. Our rosy cheeks and nimble tongues caught their eye and ear.
Seeing this, I pitched myself two notes higher, and for the entire journey there were nothing but anecdotes, sallies, and witticisms, which made my Graces swoon and intrigued our companions more and more.
They followed us in a cab; we had scarcely reached Peterhof when I was madly tempted to let them believe we were demi-mondaines and invite them to supper... at M. Sapogenikoff’s. Picture the scene! Peterhof is a true paradise of greenery, villas, and lakes. The Islands are enchanted isles, with ivy thickets and houses that look as if transported from Pompeii — with porphyry vases and malachite tables. All of it belongs to the Emperor, naturally. Olga declared herself already in love with the blond one; I with the dark one; the other two were generously ceded to Nina and Marie. We stopped before the island, but the followers went on — and for half an hour this made us thoughtful. But Giro assured us it could not end there, and that they would leave at eleven o’clock in the evening on the same train as ourselves, since we had said so loudly enough for them to hear.
At six o’clock the thousand fountains of Peterhof were set playing. One cannot imagine anything more beautiful.
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The canal lined with gigantic jets of water — which seem small in comparison to Samson wrestling a tiger, from whose gaping jaws the water leaps almost as high as the two superimposed terraces at the summit of which stands the Emperor’s palace, a yellow edifice otherwise unremarkable, though hallowed by memories of Peter the Great and Catherine. This Samson canal and the palace in perspective create an effect of rare beauty. Peterhof is inhabited by the Emperor, the Grand Dukes, and the Grand Duchesses — each with their own summer retreat, their own villa. In the avenues one encounters nothing but imperial carriages. One feels quite aflame with respect and adoration for the Emperor and the reigning house — so affable, so kind to everyone, despite the grandeur that characterises them and which is merely the trappings indispensable to such personages.
Nina, still tearful with laughter over the parting by the lake, took us to General Rostovzeff, head of the Grand Duke Nicholas’s household. Rostovzeff is related to the Sapogenikoffs, who beam with reflected glory. The general and his wife had known Maman and my aunt four years ago at Nice — and it turns out they even remember me. This visit, a little cold compared with Nina’s expectations, draped us as if in a grey veil, and it required the sight of Grand Duke Constantine, the Emperor’s brother, passing by, and our bowing to him and receiving a charming smile in return, to make us four madwomen again. At seven o’clock two military orchestras drew a multitude of people on foot and in carriages; the air one breathes at Peterhof is the air of kings and court, and the many uniforms give this land of greenery and water a character of gaiety and elegance one rarely encounters elsewhere.
We were [blank] before an antique temple — a marble column, [One line crossed out] set on a marble dais with two lions at the entrance and a female statue in the centre representing a spring, which has this remarkable quality: that viewed from behind, the water flowing from the urn on her shoulder [she appears (?)] to be doing what one does not do before company. We were, then, before this temple — all streaming with water and veiled in a silver mist — when one of the four, the blond one, passed in a droschki drawn by a ravishing black horse. This gave Giro a stir of agitation, and all at once we began to remember Nice.
“Do you remember the day when we bowed to everyone?”
“And when we dressed in disguise?”
“And when I came to your house...”
“Yes, and we spent the day spitting at targets.”
But the music had ceased; it was getting late and cold; we had but one rouble between us for food — it was not to be thought of.
“What shall we do until eleven o’clock tonight?” asks Nina.
“Wander in the wood.”
“And die of hunger.”
“That is quite likely.”
Giro already saw us stretched out on the grass and the four officers on the horizon in a cloud of water or flame.
But in reality we were in an odd situation: the wood grew deserted and dark; there was only our carriage, conveying four women half-mad with laughter and with saying foolish things in French, the coachman understanding nothing.
No one knew us and I felt at home; the officers gave us a topic of conversation. For in truth they were charming and very distinguished. My dark one especially.
The coachman brought us to the station an hour and a half too early. Imagine the pleasure of being followed by all the military men in the place. We did nothing but change places to escape the pursuit. A few minutes before departure the four appeared; I tried to enter a compartment — the blond followed us in; I moved to another — the same manoeuvre... I returned to the first, and the blond installed himself there too.
“My dog will not disturb you, Madame?” he asked.
“Not at all, Monsieur,” I replied with a glacial smile.
The dog came to lie at my feet; the young man dislodged it, to my displeasure as the creature was warming me — but I said nothing.
“How tiresome they are,” the officer tried again, after the tenth attempt [One and a half lines crossed out] of a dreadful little red-headed man — “they see there is no more room and still wish to come in.”
I had my mouth half open; I closed it with a kind of smile, or grimace.
“[...]” called [word crossed out] dog, turning [...] importuners.
But at this third attempt I contented myself with closing my eyes and saying to Olga in a plaintive voice:
“Giro, my dear, come and sit beside me — we shall exchange our impressions.”
Giro sat down beside me, and from that moment we gave free rein to a gaiety as mad as it was impertinent and unconstrained, reserving for the unfortunate officer cutting glances and pursed lips. He did not know what face to put on; and as I was saying very funny things, and as my Graces and Nina were dying of laughter, the young blond pressed his lips together, looked out of the window, and finally burst out laughing while covering his face, forcing himself to a gravity so comic that we redoubled our insolent laughter, our free jests, and our stiff and solemn airs toward him. He no longer had the least idea whom he was dealing with; this mixture of giddiness and pride disconcerted him and made me enjoy his embarrassment. Then I let drop a few words, naming at random the people of high society Maman had known eight years ago — Rostovzeff, my princess, and many others — and immediately afterwards told my companions (as if they did not know) how we had been followed by military men.
“How stupid they are,” I said with majesty; “and is a white hat sufficient to expose women to being followed by all sorts of people?”
I enlarged on this subject and on the quality of the followers with such good grace that the... pretty blond turned red and serious, and at the first station called his dog, stepped out of the carriage — as did his three friends. Their exit was followed by a deathly silence, succeeded by a mad burst of laughter lasting approximately three minutes — the time the train remained at that station, and our military men standing before our carriage-door, lit by a glacial moon.
Having banished him, I began to deplore my own cruelty and, passing to a feeling of great pity, was seized by a more violent laughter than the first. Nina and the Graces were gasping in their corner while I, recovering a little, looked out of the window without comprehending what I saw — for a thick mist, or a dew, was descending from the sky and covering the earth like silvery water, or a transparent snow. One could see the layers of air, lit by the moon, blue, transparent, descending like a veil... like a dream; I had never seen anything like it and remained enchanted, and this agreeable feeling gave birth to a... sudden idea. I tied a knot in a piece of cord which Marie happened, heaven knows why, to be holding, and threw it at the feet of the handsome officers at the moment the train began to move.
This was found sublime; Giro covered me with kisses, Marie clutched her head, and Nina lit a cigarette. My hoarse voice lent a particular stamp to everything I said; Giro seconded me like an angel; Nina threw in from time to time a murderous remark, and seemed as gay as if Yourkoff had never existed.
We were scarcely in the carriage when the shrieks began again; Nina was positively raving; as for Giro and me, we sang a war march and [words crossed out] from the station to the hotel — a full hour. She could bear it no longer and my hands were burning, but I had made a vow and I begged her in a plaintive voice to continue.
On returning I found a supper, Étienne, and money sent me by Alexandre. I ate the supper, dismissed Étienne, and hid the money.
And then, strangely, I felt a great emptiness — a kind of sadness; I looked at myself in the mirror; my eyes were as on that last evening in Rome; the man, the creature who had taken my first kisses, returned to my heart and to my mind; I longed madly to see him at that moment and to be pressed in his arms. The other evening he was begging me to stay one day more; I closed my eyes and believed myself back there, at that very moment.
“I shall stay,” I murmured as if he were there; “I shall stay for my love, for my beloved! I love you — I want to love you — you do not deserve it — no matter — it pleases me to love you... only love me well; but I feel you do not love me as I understand love — yet I shall explain that to you... I love you!”
And suddenly taking a few steps about the room I began to weep before the mirror — such tears in small quantity become me tolerably well.
Having excited myself by caprice, I calmed myself through fatigue, and sat down to write, laughing softly at myself.
Often I thus invent a hero for myself, a novel, a drama, and laugh and weep over my invention as if it were reality.
I am enchanted by Petersburg — but one does not sleep here; it is already light; the nights are so short.

Notes

Peterhof’s Grand Cascade featured 64 fountains and 255 statues; the centrepiece was the Samson Fountain described in the next paragraph. ↩
The Samson Fountain (1735): the central jet of the Grand Cascade, representing Samson forcing open the lion’s (here described as tiger’s) jaws — a symbol of Russia’s victory over Sweden at Poltava. ↩
In Italian in the original: turbamento — agitation, excitement; a fluttering of the heart. ↩