Sunday, 13 July 1879

I went to show the portrait of Dina to Tony, who paid me compliments. But it does not succeed in lifting this drowsiness, this sadness, this something horribly oppressive... One would say I am 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 — these Cassagnacs are too great liars."
— "But Madame, those who know laugh at it — but it impresses others," say I.
— "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.
I truly do not know what pleasure there is in weeping. One seeks out these emotions, one is avid for newspapers that draw torrents of burning tears... and afterwards one is somehow content.
We went to the great military review, and on leaving I was able to see Arnaud quite close and long enough to tell you: he is not handsome. He was flushed (he had been running to find a carriage), and besides, there are days when one is ugly. In short, I found him ugly — and above all he had an air... of stupidity; I exaggerate nothing. I believe he is courting a tall American woman, rather stout, very blonde, with a large face and a dazzling complexion. Dresses in poor taste. They are two sisters; I saw them at the Chamber. He seems foolish enough to court this person. I admire him now only as a millionaire. As for Madame Arnaud — she is an empress.
How is it possible that she should be a Mademoiselle Guichard, widow Arnaud?
Splendid and elegant dress, bearing, gait, manner — a queen.
The Mouzays arrive and we amuse ourselves turning tables.
I do not know whether these good ladies cheated — I do not think so, however.
The spirit of the Prince came and told us that he loved neither Jérôme nor Victor. Then it was Victor Emmanuel, King of Italy, who told us that he did not love Jérôme, that Jérôme would not reign and would die a violent death in a year and five months. His son Victor will be President or Dictator in seven years.
That King Humbert has no more than two years and some months to live.
I am not very convinced.
They say that Princess Beatrice is going to take the veil. What dreadful things.
But why is it I who feel and weep for all these misfortunes?