Thursday, 7 September 1876 (26 August)

The everyday costume of a Little Russian woman consists of a shirt of coarse linen with wide puffed sleeves embroidered in red and blue, and a piece of black cloth, woven by the peasants, which is wrapped around the body from the waist down. This sheath is shorter than the shirt, whose embroidered hem must show beneath it. The piece of cloth is held in place only by a coloured woollen sash.
A heap of necklaces is worn round the neck, and a ribbon round the head. The hair is done in a single braid, from the end of which hang one or several ribbons.
I sent someone to buy an outfit of this kind from some peasants, put it on and, accompanied by our young men, went off through the village. The peasants did not recognise me, for I was [not] got up in fancy dress the way a young lady would be, but well and truly dressed as a peasant, as an unmarried girl, for married women dress differently. As for my feet, they were shod in black shoes with red heels.
I greeted everyone, and when we reached the tavern we sat down by the door.
It was my father who was surprised... but delighted.
“Everything suits her!” he cried, and, making all four of us climb into his excursion wagon, he drove us round the streets. I laughed out loud, to the great astonishment of the good people, who wondered who this brazen young thing could be, being driven about by “the old master” and “the young gentlemen.”
Rest assured, Papa is not old.
A Chinese gong, a violin and a music box provided the evening’s entertainment. Michel beat the gong, I played the violin (played, good Lord!), and the music box played all by itself.
Instead of going to bed early as is his habit, the author of my days stayed up with us until midnight. If I have made no other conquests, I have made that of my father. He seeks my approval when he talks, he listens to me attentively, he lets me say whatever I like about the Tutcheff woman and agrees with me.
written across the page
What a Jesuit!
The music box is his present to the Princess; we all gave something, as it is her name day.
My costume allowed me to be free and easy, even a little raffish, and I made the most of it.
Rockets were set off; I grew excited watching the fire up close; astride a cannon was fired, between my father’s bald head and the moon in the sky.
Little by little, without doing anything to bring it about, I am becoming mistress of the house. The servants are delighted to be rid of “the French,” and little by little I give the orders... even for dinner.
And to think that my father used to frighten me! And to think that I felt I was in a stranger’s house, and was afraid of its customs, of its fixed hours!
They wait for me as they did in Nice, and it is I who set the hours.
The gong and the violin made Pacha jump with nerves, which made me laugh till I cried, and my gaiety spread to everyone. My father adores gaiety, and his own family has not accustomed him to it.
At midnight he saw me back to the staircase.
“A real Papa!” cried Michel.
“Well, well, my dear fellow, a daughter like me deserves some consideration.”
“I should think so,” said my father. “If she were not what she is, I would not give a fig, but I am a real father because she is beautiful and... hum, everything, in short, yes, it is true.”
Alexander of Macedon, Napoleon the First, architecture and interior decoration are things that give me shivers and fire me with enthusiasm to the point of tears. I say this to tell you that, fired with enthusiasm by reading a poem on Napoleon, the great one and the martyr, by our poet Lermontov, I read Pushkin’s poems too, and now I have the idea of translating them.
Ah! shall I be able to? I have written songs, but that is quite different; well, we shall see.
It is strange: for three days and more now I have been thinking of Cassagnac.
I had a bad dream about Maman and the others. Le Figaro says nothing about the cardinal, whom I hate, whom I execrate, whom I should like to pulverise! That is because he is not dead; he will live two years and six months. He will be pope.
And I shall rage.

Notes

“Little Russian”: the period term for Ukrainian; Little Russia was the name then used for the Ukrainian provinces of the Russian Empire, including Poltava. ↩
Cardinal Giacomo Antonelli (1806–1876), Secretary of State to Pope Pius IX and the uncle of Pietro Antonelli, never became pope: he died in Rome two months later, on 6 November 1876. ↩