Sunday, 24 May 1874

At this last word I was interrupted by Maman; it is three o'clock in the morning. She begins her lamentations, and I, frightened, abandon everything, put this precious notebook under my pillow, and fall asleep. But I must continue.
There it all is. Since the Duke of Hamilton married, I have changed character -- I am not sure of it. But what is certain is that I am like milk into which a drop of ink has fallen; I have already said that long ago.
After this marriage I was disconcerted, and I go about with my tail between my legs. I am wretched, to use my favourite word. That is why I am ashamed.
Every time I think of or write about the Duke of Hamilton, I feel the same thing I would feel if I were telling someone about a ball I had counted on and to which I was not invited. There is nothing more to say; I explain too much, but let us finish this lament, for my creatures are waiting for me down there, etc.
My new dress suits me very well: light grey cloth, cuffs on the sleeves, collar, buttons, pockets, black ribbons. Mme Caroline makes them like no one else. I only fear that this dress resembles Gioia's, whom I admire but whom I do not want to resemble for the moment. With this outfit I wear a small black felt hat, English shape -- not quite right but bearable and resembling nobody.
At church, several people from Nice who stand out like stains. Little Skariatine and her mother, exactly as in Nice -- I say no more. After mass, at the deacon's. Last evening we were at his house.
At two o'clock we go to Versailles; we spent only two hours there -- I did not have time to see much. I must go another time to examine everything properly, I who love it all so much and who have read so much about all the women and men whose portraits one sees. I found Louis XIV ugly.
I have seen enough of Versailles to desire to live there, to own it!
I am the maddest of madwomen; I should like to own Versailles, or something in the style of Versailles. My mind is transported to that era when one lived so well. How the world has degenerated!
The magnificences of today are the simplicities of then.
I gaze, all enthusiasm, at these famous women.
I walk in the alleys where all those personages walked whom one knows only as legend. I can scarcely imagine that they lived, loved; I can scarcely believe, can scarcely picture these gardens and porticos and halls peopled with those beautiful, graceful, resplendent faces, those illustrious men -- seeing today, on a Sunday, the filthy populace flooding the gardens and the palace, these remains of an incredible past, impossible in the future.
I wish I could express myself well. The next time I go, I shall perhaps be more disposed to write.
It is dangerous for me to go there; if the first time I desired to have a Versailles, the second time I shall perhaps desire a Louis XIV.