Sunday, 9 May 1880

Yesterday, company until eight o’clock; at eight o’clock dinner with Soutzo, and then to the circus — Le Sonnet.
Princess Karageorgevitch and her sons, three rows below us.
I did not look at them, but my aunt and Dina say they looked at us with an insolent air — that is, the mother and Bojidar, not Alexis. Soutzo was accompanying us, which will give that good family of princes something to gossip about.
On the way out, Messrs. de Castex, Molins, and... Blanc, who looks unhappy beneath his feigned gaiety. He says nothing is going well — neither the coal enterprises in Switzerland nor anything else — and that he must give it all up and come and play piquet with my aunt. I go home gloomy; there is a grand ball at the Bambergers’; Soutzo is going. Soutzo knows, as everyone does, about our mediocre situation here. Of course he has never said anything about it, but he must know why the Krishabers no longer come.
And then... I have just come back from the Gavinis’, whom I found at lunch. Among other things, they ask me why we are on bad terms with the Karageorgevitchs. I tell the truth: since our ball and the Berthe affair, in which Alexis took part to the point of spending the night running about trying to reconcile everyone... besides, the Princess is dotty and, what is more, has no breeding at all.
Speaking of Berthe, one naturally speaks of tricks and hoaxes, and Gavini asks me about those moving vans sent to the Palais de la Présidence, to Arnaud de l’Ariège’s. He was told about it at the Chamber. I swear very sincerely that I know nothing about it and find the prank amusing — I regret not being its author. Then they treat me to a little paternal and maternal lecture on the danger of these jokes: “You are pretty, elegant, you are in the public eye; the slightest thing you do is noticed. You must be calm — no more of these tricks; the effect is deplorable! You know — perhaps you do not know — how much we love you. Be prudent, and you will see that the situation will change completely. You must have a position in Paris, but I beg you, my dear friend, my dear child” — and Denis kissed my hand — “be prudent.” And variations on this: I am like their daughter, etc. etc. I know they love me, and I love them too. They are true, good friends and worthy people. But all this pains me. I am not happy; I must get out of this. Maman says there will never be “position” without marriage, and I reply: never marriage without position — for I shall never, or almost never, marry some fellow in search of a million-franc dowry. All this is sad.
I went to the Louvre this morning — there were too many people. At the Salon I just went in and came straight out. At the Louvre, dead calm. I looked and did not find any Peruginos. There is painting, but it is long and painful. There is also death, but there will always be time for that.