Tuesday, 9 June 1874

The deacon is already here; he has imposed himself to come hear the mass. This wretched priest is drunk on himself; he assumes airs of a spoiled child, of all that is most adorable in the world, and with that he is one of the most tedious beings I have ever met. He even forgets himself often -- for example, he sends Paul to buy him cigarettes. I blushed ten times with anger.
This wretched deacon, with tarred boots! We are all ready at half past one.
I believe (white Worth dress, hair floating, not bad, I believe) that for the first time I was not late. The audience is very mixed, too mixed; I did not see a single Christian face except the Vicomtesse Vigier, who is painted delightfully.
What shall I say, poor little ignorant creature, about the Requiem Mass? I do not feel strong enough to criticize. It is very beautiful, extremely beautiful, admirable, but it could have been still more beautiful. I should like to hear it several more times; a piece of music so serious is not understood or judged in a single hearing. There are several passages that escaped me and that I rediscover only now.
Verdi on entering was greeted by frantic applause. It excites me like the races (not one passable face in the choir). I listened attentively to Waldmann and Stoltz, for it is known that once I had some pretensions of my own. For nearly a year my voice has been traveling like "The Three Musketeers," but I believe that at this moment it is beginning to return. Stoltz makes too great an effort to sing; she has the air of plowing the earth rather than singing.
It is a memorable morning; perhaps I shall be able to boast one day of having heard this mass of Verdi's sung for the first time in Paris. The heat was excessive, and as soon as we returned we spogliamo. A telegram. What is it? A thousand francs sent by my aunt -- it is still something when one does not have too much. "Requiem... requiem... Requiem aeterno!!" Maman was looking out the window, then turning: "Suppose we went to the Bois." I was about to propose it.
So we go. I am pretty at this moment; I put on Maman's white muslin dress -- it suits me; in the carriage the length does not show. My straw hat, hair half pinned up, some short curls on the nape (natural). I am pleased with myself, very grateful to my aunt.
But at the Bois I behave like a fool. As soon as we reach the level of the infantry post, the devil pushes me; I turn, I catch sight of Fedus -- or merely his gray hat -- and I begin to blush, more from anger that I am blushing than from anything else. To avoid seeing that face I turn my eyes to the side:
-- You see, Maman, there I go blushing -- what a horror.
-- Yes, still, and how! And he is looking at you at the same time.
It is exasperating! So I promise myself a revenge at the next outing. We meet Princess Souvoroff --

Notes

Spogliamo: Italian, "we undress."
Requiem aeterno: Latin, "eternal rest" -- from the Requiem Mass; Marie uses it playfully about money.
In Russian.
Maman's reply in Russian.