Tuesday, 7 November 1882

So, quite unexpectedly, there is a feast tonight.
Papa goes off to call on a Jew and on his way comes upon the two Pomars shouting, with their trunks and a broken axle. He took them in, and the upshot is a dinner together, here at the restaurant, which is closed to the rest of the populace. Straight after lunch at Alexandre’s, a lunch that drags on until four o’clock, we return to our most noble inn and Mme Volkowitsky comes to see us. She dined in Paris, you remember? I am fairly sure I have also said that she is a natural daughter of the late Prince Kotchoubey and of Mme Demidoff, whom he afterwards married and by whom he had the two legitimate Pomars here present.
So the noble company consists of Papa, Maman, Dina, me, Paul, his wife, Mme Volkowitsky, Michka, Garnitsky and the two Kotchoubeys and the princess. Strange to say, nobody gets drunk, and the evening is spent in the rooms of Mme Volkowitsky, who has come with her brothers from Dikanka and is staying at the hotel (whereas they are staying in their own house). Yes, nobody is tipsy; on the contrary, even the younger Pomar is rather amusing; he, Michka and Paul give a gymnastic display on two mattresses that we go and fetch from empty rooms. Afterwards — that is to say, before — the ladies swaddle Michka, who is then laid on the floor and abandoned. And finally we play the game of secretary, and what surprises me is that there is a great deal of laughter; I would have thought it would not amuse people here. Here, men dance at balls, get drunk among comrades, play cards, take supper with dancers. And if they talk with ladies, it is because they are in love with them. But to talk with people one is indifferent to, as in France, and about everything... That is unknown in these parts. No news gets in; there is no conversation but the most vulgar gossip, the most down [Crossed out: to earth, devoid even of malice [for the most part]. And the great distraction is the hotel: landowners (nobles) from round about sometimes come and spend weeks there, and people visit one another from room to room, drink, play cards. The theatre is deserted, and anything that might bear the faintest resemblance to an intelligent pastime is held in horror. But here we are far from that brilliant evening, which will rouse a curiosity mingled with envy tomorrow; people grovel extraordinarily before the aristocracy in this noble region... Ah! I want to get away — what if I were to become like that... So, to come back to my characters, that a few great men of the Poltavans, to treat as I treat all society people, as my equals... And as is the custom in the civilised world, our princes do not please me much; yet the little one, the one who beat the coachman, is cheerful, amiable and not stupid. I do not think so because he played the wit by crawling under a table laden with fruit and champagne to make it turn... But still, no, he is not stupid. But he beat the coachman... Yes, but up to a point that can be explained in this country and at that age. Do you think anyone here is astonished or shocked by it? In anyone else it is quite ordinary; in a Kotchoubey it is charming. I want to get away!
The Pomars leave tomorrow for Petersburg, at the same time as their quasi-sister, who is going off to her estate. It is almost a pity; it seemed to me that the younger one does not feel an insurmountable horror of me, and if there were more time we might well find ourselves in a very pronounced flirtation. This evening I often caught his eyes wandering over my face with a certain pleasure — you know, as when one looks at a painting of a pretty colour... Well, a little more and I would have blossomed with pleasure and become charming, but that little more got lost on the way and I am left without any real radiance — the radiance that the sun of admiration gives, and that I need in order to become dangerous. All the same, there was the beginning of something; I sense it from things one cannot explain... It shows itself in a semblance of goodwill towards the stout and very young officer; as soon as one notices that a man esteems one, one immediately thinks better of him.