Sunday, 17 May 1874

At church, then at the deacon's where a gentleman surprised me: M. Arsenieff. At lunch at this same deacon's, he told me I must have a husband gentle as a lamb, who would fall over every time I sneezed. Then he called me milady, then he said I shall marry an Englishman, [Crossed out: that I would have] that I shall please the English, [illegible] since I please the Russians, what will it be then with the English? -- and he begged me to invite him to my castle in the mountains of Scotland. He is an old original and very witty; his wife too is not bad.

^[In English in the original.]
We go to the hotel; I change my hat. They have not yet made me one here, and I am in despair over my head.
I am dressed in New Scotland, Manby, and Massa! It is abominable! So I am rather mortified and wretched; I have not my verve. At half past two we leave for the races, the last day of the spring meeting. I understand nothing about Paris races, I know nobody, I am not properly dressed, and I am bored. The moments when the horses start and finish are admittedly tremendous and lift my soul, exalt me, fill me with enthusiasm.
[Marie has torn out and removed the bottom of the page, then continued her diary on the reverse.]
Near the Madeleine I see Wittgenstein in a cab, and Maman says to me just at the moment I turned scarlet: There he is.
-- And I am blushing -- what a misfortune, etc., etc. My son-in-law passes. A pity that it suffices to hear this single word for me to blush.
This time it is not I who begin, but my mother. When she tells me something silly, I take it to heart, and the person she jokes about becomes... close and agreeable to me. Of course, when the person is the sort I like. Besides, Maman says this in a certain way only about proper people -- about two only. About the first she said nothing that touched me, but she said it well.
That makes me think that she never saw the Duke of Hamilton without extraordinary surprise. [In the margin: I saw this surprise with immense enthusiasm. To see my mother appreciate what I loved was a happiness. In general, I adored saying the worst of him and hearing the best.] One has only to look at my earlier diary, and it was very little developed then.
And I did not see him calmly either; on the contrary, everything was overturned within me, and every time he had the effect of a meteorite. Every time it seemed to me I was seeing him for the first time, and each time the surprise was greater and the feeling always new. What I say here is not exaggerated -- it is perhaps less, but never more.
The terror of yesterday has passed, and -- alas for me -- it seemed to me (I dare not say it for certain) on the way back from the races that I shall never love a man as I love the Duke. That one cannot love anyone but him. That is not what I wanted to say, nor is it what I felt either. What I say here is banal, commonplace...
Why then am I weeping?
I thought, following these jokes, about the Prince de Wittgenstein; I asked myself whether he can be pleasing. Well, yes, he can be pleasing; he is even handsome. When I imagine myself speaking to him, it is always the same thing: it seems to me I would say to him, weeping:
Ah, if you knew how I love the Duke of Hamilton.
I had promised to conceal nothing, so as not to have to explain later. But what would this scribbling serve if I concealed things? I am a little ashamed to confess my foolishness -- that for some days, much at Bosdlia's. And I let my fancy wander in every direction. I always need someone to think about, since Hamilton is above thoughts. In truth I can never force myself to think about him [Crossed out: for some time] for several minutes in succession, to make him enter my dreams. He passes like a flash of lightning, overturns me, moves me, and disappears, leaving me utterly undone.
I thought that I would willingly marry Wittgenstein if he wanted me, but the Duke was there all the same.
In the evening at the Varietes, "La Perichole" with Schneider. She is adorable.
Opposite was a young boy exactly like Remy. Maman, Dina, and I, we watched him the whole time to make sure. Maman wanted to send Triphemdos, but that creature would not go. If it was him, he did not want to recognise me. That is wrong, and it hurts me. Especially when Maman said:
-- Ah really -- with Boyd, the romance continues.
Maman and Paul say it is not he; Dina and I say it is. In any case, it is a small diversion.
I loved Hamilton; since Maman spoke well of him, he became sacred to me, and since I no longer see him, I adore him like a madwoman. I am even humiliated by it.