Saturday, 22 July 1876

Well, I forgot to say that yesterday in the Bois we saw Lambertye with his eternal smile — though, given my age now, he smiles a little less.
At last I have seen Bertha. She introduced me to her mother, who was very kind and inquired after Maman’s health — though they have never met. I stayed an hour with her, and she invited me this evening to the circus, where she is going with her father, her cousin, her sister Mme York, and Mlle de Toulé, sister of the charming Comte de Toulé whom I knew at Spa.
In spring the Saturday circus is the meeting-place of the upper crust; even so it was nearly full this evening. I was placed between Bertha and Mlle de Toulé, a dry brunette not overly young. M. Boyd is an old fellow of no interest. But the mother and four or five daughters lived in great style at Baden-Baden five or six years ago. They are well known at the watering-places, though I cannot quite make out their position in Paris. In any case they are received almost everywhere, and at the spas they mix with the best and most aristocratic society from all countries. Bertha has been presented at Court in England. They have a house in London, since the splendid marriage of Blanche Boyd — a girl of twenty-six — with Lord Paget, who will be Marquess of Anglesey.
In any case, I am glad to know them — they are agreeable. Besides, all my acquaintances are very agreeable towards me.
My aunt left me at Bertha’s at three o’clock. The apartment is near the circus, so we walked there and back. I felt awkward, being so little used to the society of women. All these women astonished me, I confess, for the Boyd speciality is men. But I was well sustained by the consciousness of my worth in looks and dress. I was wearing what I wore on the last day of the Naples races — an admirable outfit on which I was much complimented, not to mention my celebrated blue mules. On the subject of footwear: I have just invented and had made some bonbon-box shoes — a sky-blue kid shoe attached to a blue taffeta bag into which the foot plunges as into a bag of sweets, gathered and tied at the ankle and leg by a multitude of small blue, pink, and silver ribbons. It is original but unflattering to the foot.
A Monsieur de something-or-other joined us, and old Boyd took us to an ice-cream parlour. Really — can you see me in a café on the Champs-Élysées!
There were many gentlemen at the Circus — “the statuesque poses of the Danish ladies’ troupe are a draw.” Prince Odescalchi was there, the brother of the beautiful Muliterno’s husband. For a moment I felt myself back in Rome.
Bertha is in the A.T.E. society. I shall send her its heart.
As we arrived before the door of No. 33, the carriage containing my aunt drew up there as well, and having said my goodbyes and received kind invitations from these ladies, I got into the carriage.
But it is dreadfully hot.
Before all that we went to Mouzay’s, where I spoke to her about Cassagnac, who interests me greatly. The Countess, who moves a little in all circles and has had some success as a feuilleton writer, knows M. Blanc, Paul de Cassagnac’s intimate friend and his second in all his duels. But I am a little intimidated by the famous Bonapartist’s reputation for gallantry. No matter — I simply must meet him; he charms one in advance, quite apart from the fact that with my ideas I must know journalists, writers, and artists. All those turbulent circles indispensable to anyone who seeks, as I do, to make a noise in the world and be famous.
I inquired whether M. Blanc was in Paris. He is, and I wrote to Mouzay, who will write to him.
No matter — I have some very extraordinary ideas sometimes. I have a heap of plans still in a vaporous state, which will soon take on some solidity; but let us not rush things.
Paul de Cassagnac.
Yssayevitch, not seeing me arrive in Russia, telegraphs to Maman, who writes to tell me that he and Lôbbecke are my true faithful ones. Yes — that is true. I think no more of Antonelli; he is unworthy, and, thank God, I do not love him. But how badly he has behaved, and what a vile man! Up until the day before yesterday I was asking God every evening to keep him faithful and in love with me and to make me triumph. I speak of it to God no more, but God knows I wish to be revenged on him — though I dare not ask for it. Revenge is not a Christian sentiment, but it is a noble one: let us leave the forgetting of wrongs to base people. In any case one forgets them only when one cannot do otherwise.

Notes

In French in the original: haute gomme — 1870s slang for fashionable high society. ↩
In French in the original: souliers-bonbonnières — “bonbonnière shoes” (a bonbonnière is a small box or bag for sweets). Marie says she has just invented and had made this style: a blue kid shoe attached to a taffeta bag. The design is her own; the word bonbonnière itself is ordinary French, not a coinage. ↩
In French in the original: poses plastiques — artistic poses, tableaux vivants; a fashionable but mildly risqué entertainment. ↩