Sunday, 5 January 1879

We have given up our apartment and are lodging in two rooms on the third floor, above the entresol we occupied before the Avenue de l’Alma apartment — that is to say, at 71 Champs-Élysées. It will be fifteen or twenty days before our apartment in the Avenue Montaigne is ready.
Tomorrow is Russian Christmas; I am going to open the Gospels at random to see what will happen to me: .. the light of life (3 John VIII).. I shall hold to that. I shall put a comb under my pillow.
I was about to complain, but I remembered my arrangement [As a last resort, to marry a poor but accommodating Italian prince (see 29.12 1878)]. All the same, to be reduced to that is a bit steep, you will admit. Oh, whatever people say, no one ever heard of dreaming without seeing anybody! It is death. Is it my fault...
Thus months pass without my receiving a single tribute. It is not their fault, poor men. I live like a Russian woman of the Middle Ages. Oh, listen: at moments all my philosophy deserts me, all my arrangements, even article 140, grow pale, and I am rebellious, discouraged, dead.
To be so close to everything — at the centre of elegance, the arts, wit, society — and... to be merely beside it!!

Notes

In Italian in the original: .. la luce della vita (3 Giovani VIII).. (so in the source; the verse is John 8:12, “the light of life”, from an Italian Gospel). On the eve of the Russian Christmas Marie opens the Gospel at random to read her future. ↩