Wednesday, 8 November 1876 (27 October)

There is an arshin of snow on the ground, but the weather is clear and fine. We went sleighing again, in a bigger sleigh just as badly fitted out, for the snow is not yet firm enough to bear the heavy iron-shod sleighs.
Paul was driving, and taking advantage of the moments when Pacha was sitting most awkwardly, he would send the horses off at full gallop, spattering us with snow, making the green man cry out and my venerable self laugh.
He took us along filthy roads and into such drifts of snow that we did nothing but beg for mercy and laugh.
A sleigh ride, however serious one may be, always seems like child’s play.
Paul was on my right and Pacha on my left; I had him put his arm behind me and leaned on him so that this arm, his body and Paul’s made a most comfortable armchair for me.
The cold frightened me less; I had only my pelisse and an otter toque, which left my movements freer, and my words too.
In short, for want of anything better, I flirted with Pacha, and with premeditation.
In the evening I sat down at the piano, and my father came to sing airs from Bluebeard, but, tired of that wretched music, I played the reading of Venus’s letter, an adorable piece in La Belle Hélène. But La Belle Hélène is a ravishing composition: Offenbach was just beginning then and had not yet cheapened himself by turning out twopenny operettas.
This music drove my father away and brought Pacha. I played it for him; it is his favourite piece.
I played for a very long time... I no longer know what, something slow and passionate, tender and adorable, as only Mendelssohn’s Songs without Words can be when they are well understood.
— How beautiful it is... said my listener, coming to sit nearer, but at a distance.
— Yes, it is beautiful, I answered.
— You see, I do have taste...
— Yes, in music, whereas in other things...
— Well, since I like you...
I turned round sharply.
— Yes, I said.
— Will you take some tea? he asked.
— Come along.
— Do you like music? I asked, sitting down to tea in the drawing room.
— Very much.
He had quite melted; I was at my ease, but, remembering the horrible Antonelli, I let myself slide languidly down the cushions of the divan and little by little spoke of “that insult you know of”. Without naming anyone and without saying anything more... And as he questioned me, I answered only:
— If you knew what that man tried to do to me, you would tear him to pieces.
— Ah! he cried, with that violence which is peculiar to him and which seems affected, why talk like that? It is to make me go and get my head broken.
I drank four cups of tea while talking about music.
— It has a great influence on me, said the green man, I feel quite strange [One word crossed out]. It has an effect on me... a sentimental one... and while listening to it one says what one would never dare say otherwise.
— It is a traitress, Pacha; beware of Music, it makes one do many things one would not do with a cool head. It seizes you, entangles you, carries you away... and then, and then it is terrible.
I spoke of Rome and of the clairvoyant Alexis; Pacha listened and sighed in his corner, and when he came near the light the expression of his face told me more than all the words in the world... how the poor young man was suffering.
(Note this ferocious vanity, this greed to witness the ravages one has caused. I am a vulgar coquette, or else... no, a woman, that is all.)
— So we are melancholy this evening? I said softly.
— Yes, he said with an effort, you played, and I do not know, I have a fever, I think.
— Go to bed, my friend; I am going up, only help me carry these books.
Fie! what dirty boasting! Please do not accuse me; I accuse myself well enough, and besides it is not my fault.
This saint is martyred instead of an Audiffret being punished. Venus is unjust.
What am I thinking of? Of taking revenge on Antonelli, or else of seeing Grand Duke Nicholas—

Notes

Arshin (Russian аршин): an old Russian measure of length, 71.12 cm (28 inches). Marie means roughly seventy centimetres of snow. ↩
Presumably Offenbach’s comic operetta (1866), a burlesque of the fairy tale. ↩