Saturday, 21 February 1874

I am displeased with my outfit (blue dress and hat, not bad), with my face, with everything. This dress has never enchanted me, and especially now that it is in its second youth.
I am very displeased; I answer brusquely, almost spitefully. Maman vexed me enough; she would like me to be what I am not. Arriving at the gate of the Massena garden, she began to weep and turned back. But we enter; there is an immense crowd. Princess Souvoroff, her daughter, and Mlle de Galve have the finest open pavilion -- it is a raffle at one franc. All three are in fire-red dresses, hats and everything to match. These dresses are simply poetical. In one hour she sells seven thousand tickets, and would
have sold as many again had there been more. I do not know why she is so amiable to us all; several times she entered into conversation with my aunt. All these ladies beside her are chambermaids. The crowd is crushing, and Helene takes my arm; but the sun is burning, the crowd presses, and at that moment I see Lambertye quite close to me. I was very vexed by everything, but when I saw him I became almost furious; I made a face, as one does when the light dazzles; I blushed; I wanted to open my parasol, for the sun was scorching, but I put it down and turned my back on the little count
We drew nearer still to the queen's pavilion. She took flowers from the young ladies who were enclosed in a covered pink pavilion, badly made -- and those young ladies! What frights, what ugly manners, atrocious voices, terrible language. It was painful to see. I took Dina's arm to be freer and not be obliged to follow like a dog, for my aunt does not know how to walk together. Suddenly the baron appears and begins to talk nonsense about princes, princesses, duchesses, countesses, etc. etc., complaining how busy he is, how much he has to do with these sales, these concerts for the poor.
-- How I pity you, Monsieur!
-- No, you are jesting; you do not pity me.
-- No, in truth I pity you very seriously.
I was holding a bouquet I had just bought from Princess Souvoroff; he showed me one of hers too and asked me to exchange, which I did without thinking.
I do not understand this little fool.
I approach alone the young ladies and their flowers -- mouldy and wilted, or else vulgar and coarse. I buy from Denyson and from the Durands; but what do I see? The Comte de Lambertye is behind these flowers -- he has slipped in like a serpent. I was about to say that animal, but he does not merit that name, which suits a man who is tall, well built, and elegant, like Hamilton. The little one smiles always. I do not notice him; I am forced to remain a minute or two near these flowers, waiting for Dina, who was hiding. Then I go to fetch her, lend her five francs, and she goes to buy a bouquet from Lucie Durand. The little one is still there.
Afterwards we make several turns about the garden. Every-
-one admires Princess Souvoroff, as though she were a divinity.
There were two ladies who made me laugh.
-- Look at her, said one (they were behind me), pointing to the little de Galve.
-- How beautiful she is! That is the princess; how beautiful she is, how tall, superb!
-- But that is her niece, said the other.
-- Oh, really? She is not bad.
Towards half past four the sun took pity on us.
This Souvoroff is truly admirable. She is so simple, so kind, so gentle.
What embellishes her more than anything in the world is her assurance, the triumph and the admiration of everyone. She is satisfied, she is sure, she is proud, she is brilliant. Add to that divine outfits.
But the wretched Beak. Misericorde! How wretched, graceless, and moujik she was, in her blue-violet cloth dress -- a detestable colour. I am in a bad humour; well, it does not matter.
At the Promenade, the first person we meet -- it is useless to name him. He walks alone, gravely, and looks at me at once. I do not see him.
This evening they are giving La Jolie Parfumeuse; I am dying to go see it. We stop at the Theatre Francais to ask for a box. The count again -- and this time he looks at me with such assurance and a little smile, as if he knew me. I believe he is mad. I cannot otherwise explain these manners. For if I interested him (which I do not admit -- I do not think myself enough to interest a dog; I am wretched), he could have been introduced. Truly I think he is mad.
Not a single box at the theatre; I am desolate. I play roulette with Paul. I go to bed at nine o'clock; I pray God before all. I have so much to ask of Him; I do not believe He will grant me what I ask.
[Crossed out: Knock]
But I ask always, and I hope.
Let us wait, let us wait still, for the first day of my happiness!..
I have decided no longer to go to Worth, but to Laferriere and Querteux. Worth is too heavy and severe.
I am nothing but an insensible dreamer, without a future and full of ambition, but I... etc.
I forgot to say that my godson was there with his papa. That whole family of Germans looks at me with fury on account of that wretched hat. The coachman and footman dressed in extravagant striped light silk (summer, semi-country).
[Marie crossed out the following unfinished phrases:
take the
If I meet the Duke of Ha
Hang a prou
I must ana
a blue dress and
An alarm at
Never r
The Ctsse is not
munition
I am quite
very grand dinner with]
Before putting away this book I reviewed the old ones a little. What a pleasure. The fragments of newspapers too...
My ecstasies, my opinions, my ideas. The time when I thought of the Duke of Hamilton seems incredible to me; I believe it never was. And Boreel seems to me a dream, a tale -- he made me smile, as one smiles watching a child play and say something innocent.
Fortunate days of our childhood, when we said Papa! Maman! Days of happiness and innocence -- ah, how far away you already are. What is curious is that this means the me of then, a child; and I shall regard the me of today, in a year's time, as a child too, and so on. It is rather foolish, all the same.

Notes

In English in the original.