Tuesday, 15 April 1879

Julian came in announcing the death of our Emperor, and I was so overcome by it that I cannot make sense of myself at all. Everyone rose to look at me — I turned white, tears in my eyes, lips trembling. Seeing me always mock everything, the amiable Julian had meant it as a joke; the truth is that some individual fired four shots at point-blank range and the Emperor was not hit.
And Julian slapped his thigh and exclaimed that he would never in his life have thought me capable of such emotion. Nor would I. I thank heaven he did not announce the marriage or death of someone else — for I believe it was the moment; I would have trembled at any news at all. In any case, the Emperor does not compromise me — on the contrary, I shall spread the rumor that I am his daughter.
We went to the horse show. At the Gavinis' we find Multedo and Filippini — but at the show, a crowd and nobody, except Madame Randouin.
I was tired and bored.
Then I went to make my peace with Caroline and order a dress.
Bojidar came to dine and to organize my books — he is a little show-off, good-natured, who fancies himself a spoiled child, a character, an original who has seen and read everything, and to whom, like Berthe, extraordinary events are always happening.
Speaking of Berthe — she came yesterday.
It is curious how, when I am alone, I am drawn to elegy. I recite Nadaud's "La Maison Blanche" to myself, and weep at the right moments; as for music, Amneris's underscored monologue in the last act of Aida gives me as much emotion as I could wish. It is an extraordinary and admirable piece of music.