Tuesday, 6 August 1878

We go to see the Antonskys off... Here I am without Madame Rembelinsky, who used to pretend to be taken with Gans while I was also pretending — alas! — to be taken with Schwarz.
I put on my hat and went for a walk with everyone who remained... there are not enough and there are too many...
My hat amuses me and amuses Soden... From the woman who hands out glasses of spring water I bought a blue woollen stocking she had just begun; at the same time she shows me how it is done, I immediately grasp the theory and the stocking and settle down with Madame Outine facing the windows of the Gans — and also facing my own — to knit, while my aunt and the others go off to tire themselves somewhere in this heat. The sister has gone, but there is the father — old Gans was very intrigued to see my stocking... besides, they must have told him of our antics at table... quite innocent antics that would not even count as such if these wretches did not understand Russian.
Listen — these people are no ordinary nobodies and I am obliged to admit they have inspired me with enormous admiration. One could not be more unflappable. They are told they are idiots, geese, commercial travellers, that they are handsome, ugly, that they have beautiful hands, that... everything in the world! They understand everything and pretend to notice nothing — save for a most improper laugh from time to time.
It is evident that for one reason or another they have no wish to make our acquaintance — but it is equally evident that they are interested in us and amused by us, as we are amused by them.
I had a long conversation with Prince Ouroussoff once Madame Outine had gone; and all at once the prince says: Here come the Gans.
You understand that one cannot remain composed when this serious man, this statesman, interrupting himself in the middle of an explanation of the underlying causes of the war, says to you as the most natural thing in the world — here come the Gans. The word Gans pleases me — pronounced in the German way (Gantz) it is slender, young, elegant, proud; it bounces.
I made a rapid sketch of these simpletons (as at Nice) so faithful a likeness that the waiter who had just brought a tray stopped short before the canvas and began to laugh and gesticulate with such a foolish air that truly my artist’s vanity is flattered.
Then Madame Abaza came and we stationed ourselves at the window which which follows the balcony and from which one can see into Gans’s balcony; Gans came every moment to look at us; Madame Abaza played the coquette and laughed in a rather ill-bred way. It is no doubt my hat, but we seem to interest them today — even Schwarz was stirred and extracted his skeleton from the hammock suspended on his balcony where he reposes his bones. I do not mean while Madame Abaza was here, but this morning. They have light grey suits and straw hats, pointed with drooping brims. They look very clean, but they are not real men — one is an invalid and the other a child — and I am thinking of a third: perhaps that is why it is so prodigiously amusing! Prodigiously is the word, for it is a prodigy to laugh so much at so little.
Madame Gavini replies to me — charming and useful woman!
How stupid of me that I cannot make you share my gaiety on the subject of the Gans — you understand nothing of it; I understand very little myself, except that I have no wish to leave Soden where I have settled in, where I experience no vexation, and where I see the Gans every day. I am changing my manner — I become calm, very tranquil, gentle; I want to charm them, and they will think it was only with the others that I joked so much. They have gone and I become German — I knit stockings, a stocking that will last forever since I cannot work out how to do the heel; I shall never manage it and the stocking will be long, long, long — it will not even be long...
The holy gaiety continues. I imagine that this hat makes me timid, baby-like, childlike.
It is Directoire and a little Empire — I feel protected by its brim, morally as well as physically, and I am happy...
It is raining very hard. I have infinite wit. Sweet Germany!
What... actually no — my walks are useful, I read and do not waste my time. Sages! Glorify me.
— Oh! yes, says Prince Ouroussoff — the famous Paul de Cassagnac!
And I, without appearing to, say things that build him up as if I had an interest in doing so! It is absurd.
They will decorate that animal and he will perhaps not know he owes it to me. Now that would be nice.