Thursday, 25 January 1877

M. de Meyssner is more or less one of the family.
At one o’clock we set off for “the Var racecourse”. Maman, my aunt, Mme Anitchkoff, Walitsky and Meyssner in the landau. As for me, I drive two little white horses in tan leather harness, put to my white basket carriage, which has come from Binder’s and is truly the prettiest little basket carriage imaginable. Dina, in white, is beside me; the carriage rug is of cream cloth with a silver monogram plate, [two words blacked out] so one cannot see the hems of our dresses, which would give a fast look in this kind of rug. Only the coachman wore livery ... perhaps was missing.
We take our place in the fourth row, but a great many more carriages keep arriving and we find ourselves hemmed in the middle. I do not brave the grandstands, where cheerful groups pass, greet one another, mingle.
My mothers fume at the sight of the Howards in a carriage next to ours with the Comtesse Koutousoff and a great many young men, throwing flowers at one another and laughing as befits young and happy girls. I fumed only at hearing their spiteful remarks, which did nothing but lower them, and so lower me, casting me in the role of a young lady envious of other people’s success. It was ugly, and in front of Mme Anitchkoff too.
I am neither cross nor pleased; in Nice I do not even consider myself a woman. I go to the races because the whole household goes; if nobody had said “Come along!” I should not stir. I seek effect not because I seek it, but because I like everything around me to be elegant and pretty; I do not efface myself, because I despise everyone, and this contempt is not spite in disguise.
How many times have I thought of dressing in brown or black and making myself forgotten, but I would tell myself at once: it is not worth the trouble. And it would only lead to some filthy motive being imputed to me.
People say: pay no attention to gossip, everyone is talked about, there is no harm in it, it is the most natural thing in the world. Oh! I know it; only I am not like the others (in time perhaps I shall be), and these petty everyday infamies make me leap out of my skin. [words crossed out]
We see no one but Galula, to whom I say, pointing to my carriage:
— And to think it will be of no use to me!
— Why ever not, Mademoiselle?
— Because I am entering a convent.
— Ah! yes.
— But really, I am being pressed to do so.
— By whom?
— A stranger who has been writing to me for a year in block capitals, extolling the joys of the convent and unveiling to me the vileness of this world. Do you not know someone who busies himself with that sort of thing?
— Oh no, Mademoiselle, no indeed, I know of no commercial travellers of that kind.
Mme Anitchkoff says at once that it is the Tutcheff for certain. On the way back, a great crush. All the same I manoeuvre well, though made impatient by the anxious looks from the landau; at last there appears a heap of stones on the right and three carts on the left, led by a single carter; the last of these amiable vehicles, having no driver, pins me between its wheels and the heap of stones, and there you are! my carriage pole is broken.
A quarter of an hour of repairs while everyone files past us. They are only too glad of the accident, which gives them something to bandy remarks about. Dina is red in the face over it; I keep as cool as if nothing had happened.
It is on the Promenade that the real sensation awaits us. The white horses, the white carriage, the ladies in white, the fair hair, the lanterns gleaming in the last rays of the sun: we look like a scene from a fairy play.
Busy driving and keeping up a natural, easy air, I saw no one, but on the other hand everyone saw me, and my name went round the crowd in an astonishing way, so the landau told me; and then a positive murmur rose as we passed... a flattering one, I hasten to say.
I was born yesterday; I am fêted today. A few people to dinner: Pelikan, M. and Mme Anitchkoff, Mme Zurmüllen, Bihovetz, Meyssner, Collignon and Gautier.
Mme Zurmüllen is ravishing and perfectly proper as long as she does not move. But this evening the handsome Gautier livens her up and she becomes slightly common; movement and little simpering airs clash terribly with her everlasting stillness. Nothing displeases me so much as the middle classes.
Marie's scribble: several heart-shaped concentric whorls, hatched at the centre, with a tangle of slanting strokes on the left
Marie's drawing in the notebook: concentric whorls and hatching Mon Journal, t. 9, p. 280 (fac-similé)
You know that everyone calls Gautier’s brother Michka, a nickname he owes to a Hungarian lady.
— I must ask your permission to introduce my brother, said Pepino.
— Michka?
— Yes, Michka, may I?
— But certainly...
— So we shall see this famous one.
crossed out[Eight lines crossed out]
All in all it was not too stupid, especially as the evening ended with a walk by moonlight.
In January and after midnight the seashore is a most agreeable desert, just as it is in July at noon. Mme Zurmüllen goes home and the others see us to our door. The others, that is to say Pepino and Meyssner; the old people left before the Promenade, and Collignon and Bihovetz broke away from the party halfway, to shorten the way they had to go.
Nothing keeps me here... Bah! I must enjoy my carriage, hear Faure, and not leave until the Carnival.
There is no denying it, this year has been stupid; it must be struck to put that marking from my calendar.
The effect was considerable. Pepino, on arriving, recounted till he was out of breath what had been said at the Cercle; they found it adorable, and they said also that I drove badly.

Notes

In French in the original: panier — a light open carriage with a basket-work body, driven by its owner; a fashionable conveyance for ladies. ↩
fast: English in the original, meaning racy or too free in manner. ↩
In French in the original: comme il faut. ↩
In French in the original: mettre que marquant — the struck words as printed; the phrase is garbled in the source, so the rendering is literal. ↩