Saturday, 12 July 1879

Read the newspapers.
I went to show the portrait of Dina to Tony, who paid me compliments. But even that cannot lift this drowsiness, this sadness, this something horribly oppressive... It is as if I were attending the unimaginable ceremony over there.
All my personal griefs come to reinforce this deep emotion — an inexplicable pain.
My God! Why did You do this! My God, why did You do this?
Madame Gavini came to fetch me and we went to the Bois. I had counted on this to shake me out of it, but I learned that Cassagnac’s wife goes to the Queen of Spain, and the Queen embraces her, and Madame de Cassagnac told the Queen that she is invited by the Empress for six days to Chislehurst, and would write to her with details from there.
— “She went there like everyone else,” adds Madame Gavini. “As if the Empress is going to concern herself with Madame de Cassagnac. Everyone mocks them — they are such liars, these Cassagnacs.”
— “But Madame, those who know laugh at it — but it impresses the others,” I say.
— “Bah! Everyone in Paris knows it! They laugh.”
All of this is inevitable, but it vexes me nonetheless.
They say Popaul is going over to Monsieur de Chambord — the Legitimists are overjoyed, and Cassagnac’s portraits swarm in convents. For the edification of the nuns, no doubt. But if our candidate accomplishes this evolution he will do so with all the dexterity he possesses. And I believe I now understand the purpose of these latest articles about Jérôme and the guarantees, etc. That will make him very happy. His ideal would be to be the son of a crusader and to defend the King and God, God and the King, with his good Toledo blade. We shall see...
I am very unhappy — something dark and sad envelops me entirely. And I still catch myself thinking of the dreadful ceremonies over there. I have wept, but not enough; I am oppressed.