Friday, 25 August 1876 (13 August)

Miloradovitch and Michel left after lunch.
My father then proposed an outing to Paslovsk, his other estate.
He is perfect to me, but today I am on edge and I said little; the slightest oratorical effort would have made me burst into tears.
But, thinking of the effect this complete absence of festivities and pomp would have on Maman, I told my father that I wanted society and festivities, that I found my position strange and even ridiculous, that he seemed to be hiding me away and that this was neither pleasant nor proper.
Very well, he answered, if you wish it, it shall be done. Would you like me to take you to call on Mme Martinoff (the governor’s wife)?
I would.
You wish it?
Yes, I wish it.
Well then. Hm... very well.
Reassured on that score, I was able to go round the farm works at my ease and even go into the details, which hardly amused me but might serve me one day to put in a knowing word about the estate and astonish someone by speaking of the sowing of barley and the qualities of wheat alongside a line of Shakespeare or a tirade on Platonic philosophy. You see, I turn everything to account.
Pacha got me an easel, and towards dinner I received two large canvases sent from Poltava by Miloradovitch.
What do you think of Miloradovitch? asked Papa.
I said what I thought of him.
Well, said Pacha, I disliked him the first day, and afterwards I grew fond of him.
And did you like me at first sight? I asked.
You? Why?
Come now, tell me.
I have told you.
No — well?
Well, I liked you. I did not expect to find you as you are.
How so?
I thought you could not speak Russian, that you were affected... er... and then... that is all.
Very good.
Yesterday he seemed to me a murderer; today, a good country fellow.
I said how sad an impression the countryside, the fields stripped of their crops, made on me.
Yes, said Pacha, everything is yellow. How time flies! It seems as if spring were only yesterday.
People always say the same thing. Ah! we are fortunate over there; we do not have these sharply marked changes.
But then you do not enjoy the spring! said Pacha with enthusiasm.
So much the better for us. Sudden changes are bad for an even temper. And life is far better when one is tranquil.
What did you say?
I say that spring in Russia is a season favourable to deceptions and base dealings.
How so?
— In winter, when everything around us is cold, dark and mute, we are dark and cold and mistrustful. Then come the warm, sunny days, and there we are transformed, for the weather has an enormous influence on a man’s character, his temper and even his convictions. In spring one feels happier and consequently better, and hence one cannot believe in the wickedness and baseness of men. How, when everything is so beautiful and when I am so happy, so full of enthusiasm and so disposed to good that I am quite intoxicated with it, how can there be room for evil thoughts in the hearts of others? That is what one tells oneself. Well, where we live one does not feel these intoxications, or at least far more faintly, from which I conclude that one is in a more normal state, and much the same all the time.
Yesterday there was a to-do in the red house. Paul stole my photograph from Gritz, hence something close to a fight, after which Gritz went in to Michel, who told him that I had such a fine figure that... Paul misheard and went to consult Pacha, who proposed going to smash Michel’s face in and complaining to my father and to my uncle Alexandre. But they had it out this morning and everything was settled for the best. I have this from Paul, who is a good-for-nothing but a perfect brother.
I could say nothing to my father about his actress, but I slipped a few instructive phrases into the conversation.
When portraits came up, I said that I gave only large ones, since they could not be put into lockets that were already full, only to be opened later to make room for other faces. And when Fanny Lear was mentioned, I recounted the particulars of her scandals in Italy, adding that I had it from a man who was bound to be well informed.
Certainly he would never have dared to utter the name of a creature of that sort in front of me, for he was bound to believe that I knew nothing of such filth or wished to know nothing of it; but I ordered him to speak, and he obeyed me with great difficulty.
My father pricked up his ears.
Pacha grew so carried away that he asked me for my portrait, to wear in a locket all his life.
For I honour you and love you as no one else!
The princess opened her eyes wide, and I laughed as I begged my cousin to kiss my hand, for he had told me he would kiss it morning and evening once I had said that it was merely a simple mark of respect. But this evening I had all the trouble in the world to make him do it. He dug in his heels, blushed, and in the end obeyed.
A wild and strange man. This afternoon I was talking to him of my contempt for the human race.
Ah! so that is how it is! he cried. Then I am a coward and a wretch.
And, red and trembling, he fled from the drawing room as fast as his legs would carry him.
Yesterday my father scolded Paul.
You talked to your sister about the forest, he said.
I told my sister only one thing: that those madmen meant to pay a visit that would be an affront to her. But I said nothing else, and besides, Marie would not allow me to. She wants to know nothing about all these affairs; she knows nothing at all.