Tuesday, 12 September 1876 (31 August)

A day in Poltava! It is marvellous. Not knowing what to do, my father took me through the town on foot, and we had the good fortune to see the column of Peter the Great, which stands in the middle of the town garden, and Mlle Bediagra, the man-woman, who is to be found everywhere.
As we were alone, my father and I talked about Gritz’s stupidity. My father is furious with him, and I am not delighted either. You know very well that I did not want him and do not want him at all; and this idea the simpleton has had of ranking me among the aspirants revolts me.
On Monday at midnight we left Poltava, and today, Tuesday, we are in Kharkoff. The journey was merry. We took over a whole carriage, the beds were made up, Michel did gymnastics, my father some difficult leaps, Pacha sulked, and Paul laughed, as I did.
“I was” woken near Kharkoff by a bouquet from Michel.
Kharkoff is a large town, lit by gas (not entirely, alas! You will see the consequences of this circumstance, alas!)
in the margin
The smoke from the theatre lamps had blackened our noses, and on coming home I noticed that I had posed and laughed “all the while having” a blackened nose!!
The hotel where we are staying is called the Grand Hôtel, and lives up to “its” name. Kept by Andrieux, the house offers every comfort; besides, it is here that the gilded youth sup, lunch, dine and get tipsy, fraternising with the innkeeper, who in spite of this never forgets himself, which astonishes me. Odd customs here!
I had slept little, and a glass of champagne at lunch made me so giddy that I could barely take a drive with my father and Chocolat; and, once back, I undressed and “hoped” to sleep, but in vain; there was nothing but pilgrimages from No. 1 to No. 2.
The watermelons, Pacha, Paul, Michel, my father, Amalia, the two Russian servants, Chocolat — the whole lot of them kept on the go, on and on. Everything is in a whirl; I attended the Prince’s hairdressing and had my own hair done by Louis, another French fleecer. Then tea, gingerbread... Ah yes, I visited a menagerie; those poor caged beasts made me sad.
I saw my uncle Nicolas, the youngest of the family, who pretends to study medicine. The poor devil used to help me play with my dolls; I would beat him and pull his ears.
I felt sorry for him.
My father does not adore the Babanines; he holds his tongue before those who are independent, but poor Nicolas... in a word, it is ugly, oh! very ugly. I saw him there in front of me in his best clothes, all embarrassed and ashamed; I reassured him, I spoke of the past, but he was only slowly recovering when Paul arrived and, stupidly or naively, told me ten times over that I was expected at lunch. Imagine my position.
Between us, I said, there is no ceremony; what is mine is yours; I am still the same, only a little taller, that is all. Dear Nicolas, I am not inviting you to lunch; I am not alone, there are all sorts of strangers there, but you absolutely must come back tomorrow.
I kissed him, ready to burst into tears... I could have beaten myself, but what could I do? Invite him, cause a scandal and endure the pitying glances of that rogue of a Prince!
It was Paul who got what was due to him; I called him every name I could think of and arrived in the dining room (a private one) thoroughly worked up.
There is nothing to be angry about, said my father; if you had wanted to, you would have invited him — only I should have slipped away on some ingenious pretext; you know my relations with the Babanines.
Father, you pretend not to understand that I am angry at Paul’s rudeness; you want to enrage me, but you will not succeed.
I am enraged already; now there is no use talking about it any more — enough!
My father’s timidity gave way before my boiling dryness, and that was the end of it.
Andrieux, being an innkeeper, is a republican; he was called in and spoke ill of Cassagnac to us. The Prince shook his hand effusively and dived under the table for joy.
I wanted to read, but, overcome by fatigue, I fell asleep, and was woken only at six in the evening by my father.
And at this moment I am so on edge that I cannot write anything; I shall finish tomorrow.