Saturday, 30 May 1874

An exhausting day. Having lunched in haste at Benard's, we take the train to Sevres.
I am unwell, and it happens that the journey takes place an hour after the onset of my illness -- the very moment when I am tired and suffering for two or three hours.
I did not enjoy our escapade. We visited the workshops -- it is rather interesting. The heat is atrocious.
At half past three we take the train back to Paris; I return with pleasure.
Scarcely stripped of my clothes, I hear: Peut-on. You must not, you must not! I cried. But despite this prohibition Bikowsky appeared at the door -- he did it on purpose. I gave him a severe and simple reprimand; he will remember it, that impossible idiot!
At six o'clock we go to the Bois (yellow hat, new canvas dress, hair pinned up and floating a little in curls that have been curling naturally since I stopped tying them at night, on the nape of my neck -- rather well). Today everyone was leaving just as we entered the Bois, at half past six. There is this Rothschild soiree that has been tormenting me ever since I learned of its existence.
We saw Princess Souvoroff, who turned several times, bowing and smiling, then the foot-hunters -- Fedus with another pedestrian. I laughed -- I would not have laughed had Maman not said: And there they are, at their little pace, in their place. I lowered my parasol again. Maman says he notices and that he triumphs. On our way back we saw him again at his post; having seen me, he turned to his companion and began eagerly telling him something.
I should like to have it out with this bare count, this charming Fedus, this faded Apollo.
I am already bored. I cannot live as a stranger; in Nice I am used to it, I torment myself always. But in Paris it pains me even more.
We are going soon to Spa; I should like to stay for the Grand Prix, but to be alone once more as everywhere -- the thought makes me melancholy.
I love Paris and I believe, in spite of myself, that I ought to be better off here. One must pray to God and He will make me happy, if I am worthy of it.
I write and I imagine the soiree at the Hotel Rothschild. What an unhappy nature is mine. I love, I adore, I desire what I do not have and what I shall perhaps never have...

Notes

In English in the original.
Peut-on: "May one come in?" -- Russian household phrase.
Maman's remark in Russian.