Tuesday, 15 April 1879

Julian came in announcing the death of our Emperor, and I was so struck by it that I cannot understand it at all. Everyone stood up to look at me: I went white, tears in my eyes, lips trembling. Seeing me always making fun of everything, the amiable Julian 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 cried that never in his life would he have believed me capable of such emotion. Nor would I. I thank heaven he did not announce the marriage or the death of someone else, for I think it was because of the moment; I would have trembled at any news whatever. Well, the Emperor is no compromising attachment; on the contrary, I shall spread the rumour 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 no one, except the Randouin woman.
I was tired and bored.
Then I went to make my peace with Caroline and to order a dress.
Bojidar came to dinner and to arrange my books for me; he is a good-natured little poseur who believes himself a spoilt child, a character, an original who has seen everything, read everything, and to whom, as to Berthe, extraordinary things are always happening.
Speaking of Berthe — she came yesterday.
It is curious how, when I am alone, I am inclined to elegy. I recite Nadaud’s La Maison blanche to myself and weep in the right places; as for music, Amneris’s underlined monologue in the last act of Aida gives me as much emotion as I want. It is an extraordinary and admirable piece of music.

Notes

La Maison blanche: “The White House”. ↩