Monday, 18 April 1881

The Tchoumakoffs and the Princess dine with us, and in the evening a costume ball at Mme de Lalande’s — a friend of the Juvisys and of la Bailleul, whom the latter brought to us the other Saturday.
A ravishing, artistic apartment — but far too small. Everything was very good, magnificent costumes, but there was no dancing; people were crushed together, and there was no way of seeing either the hems of the skirts or the feet. And the heat!
Many Russians — la Basilevitch, the Kanchines, Engelhardt, Plancy, Tanlay, a crowd of familiar faces.
We go in a group — my father, Dina, myself, Alexis and Bojidar, la Bailleul, la Cerny, the Tchoumakoffs. Ravishing American women, and what seems to me a great many ageing adventuresses of society. Mme Cartwright, whom I met through Sarah when she came to the atelier one day, greets me and invites me to call on her; not knowing how to respond, I introduce Papa, who finds her very beautiful. Then the Comtesse de Trobillant — an eccentric old character of an American, who invites us to her home. La Bailleul knew almost everyone.
I do not like how I look — the same costume as at Dalmas’s, but it seems to me to have lost its chic. We return at half past two. On the whole it was elegant, gay, amusing — but I think of the innocent Isabelle.

Notes

“The innocent Isabelle”: Marie’s ironic nickname for Queen Isabella II of Spain (1830–1904), whose personal life had been notoriously scandalous before and during her reign. The contrast with the costume-ball crowd amuses Marie. ↩