Sunday, 29 October 1882 – continued

Today is the baptism of little Paul, who is to be christened Constantin — for Papa and I are to be the godparents. Several people were invited and not one was missing: Alexandre and his wife, Kapitan, Catherine, Garnitsky — the amiable man of Poltava — Mme and Mlle Moller, niece of the governor (who is a widower and for whom she acts as hostess), Lihopoy, Michka, and finally the two Kotchoubeys.
Until five o’clock I keep on the irresistible black gown, and for the ceremony at six in the great drawing room I put on an equally irresistible white gown of fine plain wool, with sleeves to the elbow and the neck bare — but not too bare.
I believe I look very pretty. The little one cries very loudly but the effect must have been charming — the priest robed all in gold, many candles. Immediately afterwards a great table is laid in the same room, and during that half-hour we converse in the Chinese drawing room.
The elder is very shy and the younger barely twenty-one — I say this to explain that one must draw them out in conversation, and it is tiring.
I dine between the younger Kotchoubey and Michka, and opposite Lihopoy who devours me with his eyes. Michka tells me that Lihopoy is very much in love and that if I am even the least bit coquettish he will follow me — Lihopoy — all the way to Paris... And that it should amuse me, all the same...
Toasts are drunk to the infant, to the godmother and the godfather, then to Papa and Maman, then to the grandparents, then to each person in turn, and each time everyone rises to compliment the person to whom the toast is drunk, embracing them where occasion permits — making for endless perambulations and toasts. The Orthodox priest dines at table as well.
Garnitsky plays the wit and bustles about... As for me, I gently mock everyone with my neighbour — who is not stupid — taking great care to carry myself like a princess attending a village wedding and to speak to him as to very nearly the only creature of my own kind present. Poor Victor is placed between Dina and Mlle Moller, who is very charming. But Dina... You know what I always say — but here in Russia, after two months in Poltava where her parents admire her, she has become quite indecent, and that word is not too strong. First there is an operetta costume, with sleeves that emphasise the power of her arms; her bosom outlined, displayed, offered — an almost formidable bosom; a red velvet bodice so extremely low-cut that at first glance the white of the blouse beneath makes one think the entire bust is bare... And even that would be nothing, but with all this a swaggering manner, a swaying of the hips, hands on hips, a way of planting herself before men, and glances of an impudence, an indecency, a crudity...
A whole demeanour, in short, that invites every supposition, and more besides...
She is positively mad.
One is truly embarrassed — it makes one want to leave the room or hide one’s face behind a curtain.
What is more, I am not the only one to see it — Papa, Paul and even Michka come to tell me so in terms more or less severe; the Kotchoubeys and the others, it seems, were talking of it with great astonishment, to put it no more strongly. It was Paul who fell into the middle of these conversations... But the thing is, she believes she is producing an irresistible, heady, charming effect... And with it all, a good-natured air and studied ingenuousness that, combined with the rest, are horrors. Garnitsky too — in short, everyone says chocking — to the great delight of Alexandre, who fans the ill-will. I do not know what she thinks; she must really be stupid. At table, all of a sudden: “Well — and I drink to Prince Victor Kotchoubey!” — which produced the most embarrassing of silences.
After all these toasts and a rather indifferent dinner as to cooking, a family quadrille is formed: Papa, Maman, Paul and his wife, myself and Basile Kotchoubey, Kapitan and Mlle Moller. These two wretched Pomars must have noticed that I am pretty — yes, I believe so; besides, Basile is quite agreeable; we dance together again, and then a round dance, without ceremony.
But towards eleven o’clock the men withdraw and settle down to drinking — it is always so here, above all at a christening. They try to make the Orthodox priest drunk; he remains entirely sober and sits alone watching everyone. I am very gracious to Michka and not gracious enough to Lihopoy, whom I have entirely forgotten, and now it grieves me — for the poor fellow asked nothing better than to talk, while the Pomars, Paul, Papa and Garnitsky drank like sponges in the Chinese drawing room with the doors closed. Funny, isn’t it? From time to time one of them would emerge, slightly dazed — then would be sent for and would leave the ladies without too much reluctance. Apparently this is how it is done here. All the same, one could have done otherwise. But Papa and Paul are in ecstasy over these two officers and to please them they are all on tu terms with each other; Paul grows sentimental, makes a declaration to Lihopoy, and dissolves in tears saying he is the most fortunate man in the universe.
As for Prince Victor, he comes to engage Michka and me in a very long conversation about the Tartars, high civilisation and the Cossacks — which none of us understands a great deal of.
I am a little calmer and it is no longer the moment to dress up only to have one’s companions slip away to drink with Papa and Paul in the next room. And then, talking to a drunk man is degrading — though the bearing of the two heroes is perfect nonetheless. In sum, this is only their second visit, and on a christening day when one is distracted or when one invites the Orthodox priest — in short when one is... in one’s village... It would not have gone differently at their house, for one must after all invite the local types. Kapitan is legendary... I say this for fear that you should think us not fashionable — we are, very much so... here... In short I make two proposals that we are here just as they are. I am a good princess, and Basile and I make gentle fun of these good folk. I have already said as much — in truth I have the most extraordinary difficulty writing this evening.

Notes

Parrains: literally godfather and godmother; here Papa is the godfather and Marie the godmother. ↩
Marie’s word is pope: an Orthodox priest (from Russian pop). ↩
In English in the original (spelling as Marie wrote it). ↩
In French in the original: à la bonne franquette. ↩
In French in the original: braves gens. ↩