Sunday, 1 July 1877

Because of all these political machinations, today's review was awaited with great emotion. Popular acclamation for the Marshal was hoped for — some sign of support from the army, at last. There was absolutely nothing of the sort. Barely a few handclaps for the troops. You may judge how intently I listened with all my ears, being unable to see a thing. But let us proceed in order and recount this charming day.
First, dresses were brought to me — not one of them suitable. After bad food, it is the most disagreeable of angers. [Crossed out: Then] we set off at nine o'clock with M. and Mme de Mertens. The Baron is insufferable as always; there are few people with such a talent for getting on one's nerves.
At every moment there were cautions, anxieties, suppositions — about the hour, the seats we would take, our coachman, the sun, the crowd, and all those useless and maddening inanities that the French have a talent for.
At last we arrive — preceded, surrounded, followed by a mad throng such as Paris has never seen. The tickets we have are for places of extremely low standing, and so overcrowded that I cannot stay two minutes — just long enough to glimpse the Maréchale in the central tribune, playing the empress.
We had mere chair tickets. As I refused to stay, and the baronne was suffocating and agreed with me, we withdrew to the lawn, and there we had two hours of pleasure. My aunt was insisting that we could enter the grandstands with some boldness — then she tried to make us believe we had the right tickets; the devil take me if I know why. She knew she was deceiving no one, but there was some desire to… make one believe that one believes… I no longer know what!
Complaints and discontent are in order only when there is someone to relieve them. But to complain loudly, to grumble and say foolish things in front of the policemen,^[In English in the original.] M. and Mme de Mertens, and myself — that was frankly stupid and irritated me greatly. But as I am accustomed to all manner of vexations and tedium, I kept silent, entrenched in that indifference to which I have been surrendering of late — out of weariness and discouragement.
My aunt was performing impatience, I believe, to give herself importance — but in our actual situation it was so stupid!
Despite all these fine impulses, half the world had left before we found our footman and our carriage.
The Maréchale is greeted like a queen… no — hats are lifted tolerably quickly and she nods to right and left. It made no impression on me whatsoever. Whereas the salutes and the faces of those who salute Princess Margherita, the Empress of Austria, and our Grand Duchess Hereditary — those left me with an impression of reverent enthusiasm that makes one think: There must be something in royalty, since people look so moved, so happy, to salute it.
Of the entire review I saw the back of the grandstands and those returning along the Champs-Élysées.
While the President of the Republic was reviewing his troops, I was reviewing my own misfortunes. Paris or Nice — it is all the same; but Paris is larger, and consequently so is the misfortune. It is unlikely I shall ever recover that confidence and self-possession which are, to a degree, necessary for carrying oneself well.
Catching sight of Mme Basilevitch, much faded, surrounded by five or six gentlemen, among them the Comte de Tanlay, I quickly hid behind the baronne — and as we were sitting under trees, she did not see me, nor did M. de Tanlay. We were waiting for our carriage.
I am so unhappy, so discouraged, so lost!!!
I recalled the races at Florence — and so the amusing note I had prepared for Marcuard will not be sent.
But this M. de Tanlay is a tolerable beast! And I have half a mind to write him this:
Monsieur,
It would have been far easier to express your regrets than to send me mere chair tickets, the pleasure of which I was able to appreciate today for two minutes only. [Crossed out: I do not recognise in that the French courtesy due a lady, a foreigner.] OR rather — no, we shall see tomorrow; I should like to meet this gentleman at the Boyds', steer the conversation to the review, and say:
— No, I did not go; as I had only chair tickets, I gave them to my milliner.
To write would be to quarrel outright — and perhaps this winter I shall be glad enough to have the dubious possibility of obtaining an invitation to the Presidential balls.
Oh! One must put an end to it… but how! How to change this wretched existence!! I no longer have even the hope I once had of being married by some nobleman for my beauty. I have become ugly! Sombre thoughts, disappointments, perpetual anxieties, sleepless nights — they have darkened my complexion, dulled my eyes, and given me an expression that is drawn, tired, puffy when I am silent.
Now, for those who see you in a carriage, one is always silent. Perhaps I have not even changed — but I have lost all confidence for want of encouragement, and I no longer expect anything at all!!