# Thursday, 14 December 1876

Thursday, 14 December 1876

How could I have doubted for an instant the eagerness of the Howards, the Boutowskys, and others besides, to spread and embroider all these injurious rumours! Good God! Nice is frequented by people from every country — wherever I show myself there will be at least one kind soul to tell the tale! I want to write, but thoughts press so thickly in my head that all I can do is bury my face in my hands and roar like a wounded wild beast. My God, hear me — I beseech You with my whole soul to let me die, I beseech You! Walitsky brings the newspaper that has published Cardinal Antonelli's will. [Fourteen lines cancelled]
I have been up since nine o'clock. Broussais is at lunch, so I do not go down. I cannot bear to look at that man any longer. They bring me food but I throw it all out the window, and curling up in an armchair I stay there until five in the afternoon without taking anything.
The drawing room is full of visitors — among them M. and Mme de Ballore, their daughter Jeanne, Barnola, Bihovetz, and Lubimoff, who has come to see whether Dina has a better opinion of his charms than she had a year ago. I believe he has come for nothing. But let me sketch for you in three words the character, the inconsistency, the want of social sense, and the innocence of Maman. Mme Anitchkoff had taken it into her head to marry Dina to Lubimoff. Dina will have none of him.
— Poor young man, says Maman, he has been treated rudely. And she writes Mme Anitchkoff a letter containing the following sentence: "Give my regards to M. Lubimoff and tell him we shall be delighted to see him come to Nice." And I swear she wrote it without the least ulterior motive. Lubimoff is here. Dina will have none of him.
When the de Ballores and Jeanne had gone I told Ricardo I was furious, and as I treat him as a friend I repeated Broussais's words to him word for word.
— Is it not vile, Monsieur?
— Is it not revolting! If there were at least a shadow of truth in it. But a shameful lie — you know it as well as I do; I told you everything. And now it seems to me that everyone is saying it!
— What is it, what is it? asked Bihovetz. After a little ceremony for the sake of form, I told the story. Maman and my aunt burst out laughing at my childishness. And taking advantage of my childishness I go on being indignant.
— Just think — I used to go out and say to myself: they are saying, there is the one who refused him. And now it seems to me everyone is pointing at me and saying: you see, she is the one he refused. They laughed. My method is the right one — one must provoke gossip.
Bihovetz recounts the Countess Pchizdetska's soirée; after dinner come Pelikan and Broussais. We speak of Rome, the Pope, clericalism, Nice society and Roman society, and I feel unwell. Hélène Gorpintchenko writes asking me to come and see them. I am afraid of a trap and excuse myself, pleading a fever — which is real enough.

Friday, 15 December 1876

Soroka still bows to me. How does he find the courage after all those letters?... Poor wretch — you cannot guess the future, and you do not feel that the soul of Turcan, he who was executed yesterday for murder, has gone to hell and... will write to you. I must say, I am greatly admired. Mme Anitchkoff introduced me to Mme Smelsky, wife of the inspecting officer of the consulates and an obligé of M. Anitchkoff — moreover a cousin of Princess Souvoroff and a friend of Mme Tutcheff. I made a point of being charming.
Mlle Howard meets Mme Anitchkoff in church and says to her in a tone of the most tender solicitude:
— What, Marie went to Russia alone with her maid?
— No, what an idea — she went with her aunt and then her father.
— I was told, continued the girl with an air of deeper concern, that she was engaged and that her intended refused her.
— And I, replied Mme Anitchkoff, have always heard that it is she who refused those who asked for her hand. It is wrong to tattle, you will say. That depends, I shall answer. A true friend must serve as a second self. Besides, this woman's sincerity, devotion, and affection are beyond doubt.
Lubimoff is a nice boy — I take him under my wing the way Dina used to look after my martyrs. Truly, he is very good, and he shall be my great friend. Howard's words revolt me; I voice my indignation aloud, pronounce savage maxims, and cry that I shall write a letter to that hussy. Finally I send for Broussais, who is to lunch with the Howards tomorrow. While I was seething and people were trying to calm me down, Broussais pressed his face against a window-pane — all the dogs began to bark and all the men to shout. I let out a genuine cry of joy.