Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Sunday, 3 August 1873

At two we went to the Exposition. We saw Spain, Portugal, and France.
At four, to the races. We took a carriage from the hotel (Grand Hotel) — a rather pretty landau (white dress). We arrived early; there was almost nobody. But little by little people began to come. Not many ladies, but all pretty and elegant. No extraordinarily beautiful dresses; however, the Saxon woman wore a very fine one.
My aunt is unbearable — she scolds out loud, and for nothing; she has ruined my entire day. I have never been so gloomy, so heavy as today. There are a quantity of gentlemen. I thought I should see him at the races, but he was not there.
These are German races — dead. Not a sound; one could not hear the ardent bettors. Everything was asleep. Not one Englishman. The Viennese men are handsome and agreeable. The Viennese women are beautiful, graceful, fair and rosy. One can see they live in a temperate climate. In Nice one burns; I overheat, I turn red, then I become pale. Here the complexion is always white and pink — not just at moments.
The races have a dismal air. Paul brought us his school friend Gutman — a boy of fifteen, small and ugly. We saw nobody we knew.
At the exit there were many carriages, many young men in elegant carriages, who would make a great impression in Nice.
The return through the Prater was brilliant, but no carriages like in Paris. The Shah was at the races. There was no ceremony whatever. Everything is cold, meagre. My aunt exasperates me; she irritates me; she kills me with her unbearable scolding. From the races to the hotel I did not open my mouth; I have never been so miserable. I am drowsy; I cannot enjoy anything. I thought I should see him here. Oh! my God, let me see him!
At dinner in the hotel, Gutman came. Then sleep.