Thursday, 14 May 1874

My hair is badly done; I do not feel at ease. The deacon attaches himself to our steps for the whole day; fortunately this creature does not come to the races -- we only took him back at seven o'clock to feed him.
I was bored at the races; I know nobody. Besides, we were in a landau and did not get down. In a landau I am at home, but yesterday in a cab it was abominable.
There was nobody interesting -- it is pitiable to see the names of those who enter horses: not a single English lord, and two wretched counts.
The return and the promenade on the Champs-Elysees were dazzling. I have never been in Paris in spring, and consequently have never seen what Paris really is.
[Marie has torn out and removed the bottom of the page, then continued her diary on the reverse of the remaining half-page:]
Whom and what have I seen? It is impossible to say; I could sooner say what I have not seen, but that too is impossible.
What hell! What movement! What luxury! What grandeur! What wealth!!! What Paradise!
But one person more than the others noticed me, and I noticed her too. It is the dear, the adorable, the congenial, the beautiful Gioia; on seeing her I blushed to my ears, I watched her furtively, then I smiled sideways. Our carriages followed closely for a few minutes; it seemed to me that I was seeing a friend. She recognised me and looked at me as much as she dared.
A day will come when I shall see her, when I shall speak to her!... I was forgetting that I have not yet met Fedus. I fear he may have married the Obelisk. I saw the Duchesse de Mouchy, alone.
Blanche Boyd has married Lord H. Paget; she was with her sister in a charming postilion carriage.
My God! What carriages! What teams! What dresses! The Duke surpasses all!
Only, the men wear paint. Ah! there is nothing that approaches even the shadow of the Duke -- all the rest, what wretchedness, what filth. In comparison... but! what comparisons -- can one compare anyone to him? Near the Arc de Triomphe we met Princess Souvoroff, who recognised Maman
and greeted her so warmly that Maman will call on her; the princess so pressed, so pressed Maman to come and visit her in Paris; she lent her a hundred francs to compel her to come.
Another one I was forgetting -- Moreno! I must see him.
I am dazzled, giddy, enraptured... And I made Maman confess that to live anywhere but here is to waste one's time, one's money, one's looks -- everything, everything! I thought there was only Baden, but I see that there is Paris and Baden. How happy I should be if I could live the whole year in Paris except for three months, during which I would travel!
Maman and everyone wanted to walk in the evening, but I wanted to go back; I find no pleasure in strolling the boulevards. Moreover, I wanted to be alone with the Duke of Hamilton. The fuller my heart, the more I have to say, the more I want to think of him -- as if I were speaking to him. And then I am relieved; it seems to me that I have shared my too-great sorrow or my too-great happiness. It is foolish, since he does not understand me.
They were to leave me at the hotel and continue their ramblings, but at the moment we were touching the door, the deacon presented to us M. le Prince Jacqua de Bikowsky, holding him by the collar. This wretched little fool has become nearly idiotic from being so conceited. He is amusing, wretched, and it pains one to see him. When one thinks that he writes on his visiting cards le prince Jacqua de Bikowsky!!

^[In English in the original.]
He spoiled my evening. This creature, worthy or unworthy of pity, has eaten through all he had; his aunt turned him out, and there he is, bereft of everything.
Miserere!
Why do they say that a woman who loves society too much cannot be a good wife? I believe the very opposite, at least for me. For the more I went into society, the more people I saw, the happier, the gayer, the more dazzled I should be, the more I should want to be alone with the one I love, to speak to him, to tell him what I think! He would never leave me -- lovers follow their mistresses; why should a husband not follow his wife? When he loves her, [Crossed out: no doubt] of course.
Is it true that the titles of husband and wife destroy all love, all poetry? No, I will not believe it; my heart is too young to believe it. I believe I shall never think otherwise.