Sunday, 23 July 1876

An unbearable heat kept us in until six. Then we went down to dine and, in passing, I caught sight of Audiffret buried in a newspaper. We were scarcely at table when I mentioned it to my aunt, who doubted it so firmly that I myself am no longer sure of anything.
Mouzay writes that she will see Blanc tomorrow and thinks she can arrange the introduction tomorrow evening at the Opéra.
I read, then let myself drift into reveries whose hero is not Antonelli but an English duke — Hamilton idealised, that is to say, widowed.
The heavy, hot weather melted into rain toward evening, and we took a walk in the Bois in that delicious freshness at nine o’clock, then called on Mouzay. Mme de Mertens asked me what I was doing about the Romans.
“I am sending them my curse,” I replied.
“How so?”
“Yes, it is a new idea. I have done with Rome.”
“Oh! my dear,” cried the Countess, “your place is in Paris.”
And again she spoke of a leading salon in Paris — all that is needed for this, she said, is a recommendation from Potapoff to the embassy, for “you have the fortune, and that child.”
Yes — a letter from Potapoff, who wrote to Rome that he could do nothing about our presentation given that he did not know Uxküll personally and that it lay outside their official relations. Yes — for there is the lawsuit.
crossed out[words crossed out]
And the good woman spoke of the role I could play here, of my great usefulness to the Bonapartist cause. Mme de Mertens spoke of nothing less than marrying me to Napoleon IV.
Paul de Cassagnac is in the country with Blanc. Tomorrow at noon the Countess will give me news of him.
He may keep me here until Thursday. The delays torment me. I must go to Russia, but I must not miss the opportunity to meet the man of the moment. I should not have spoken of it again — but since a few chance words of mine have fallen on fertile ground and Mouzay has taken the matter seriously, I am willing.
Rome... Paris... the stage, singing... painting?
N... no, no. Russia above all! That is the foundation of everything. Come! Since I am posing as a wise woman, let us act accordingly. Let us not be led astray by the will-o’-the-wisps of the imagination.
Russia above all. Only let God help me.
I have written to Maman. Here I am, out of love and up to my ears in business. Oh! only let God help me and all will go well.
May the Virgin Mary pray for me.

Notes

Napoleon IV: the Prince Imperial, Louis-Napoléon (1856–1879), son of Napoleon III and the Empress Eugénie and heir to the Bonapartist claim; he was killed in the Zulu War in 1879. ↩