Friday, January 14th, 1876.

We met on the Pincio Count B----, who started at seeing me, then
bowed to my mother.

At five o'clock we went to see Monseigneur F----, a thin, black,
agile old priest in a wig, a Jesuit, a hypocrite. He received us
very courteously in his remarkable drawing-rooms, filled with things
in the best taste. Gobelins, pictures, and all this in the dwelling
of a detestable Jesuit. Well, well!

We all went to walk in the Villa Borghese, which is more beautiful
than the Doria. There was a crowd of people, and the pretty Princess
M---- was walking like any ordinary mortal, followed by her
carriage, with the coachman and two footmen in red livery. This
quantity of carriages with coats of arms saddened me. We know
nobody, God help me! Perhaps I am ridiculous with my complaints,
and my eternal prayers! I am so miserable! This evening Mamma asked
the date of last year's carnival; I took out my journal and, without
noticing it, spent two hours turning over the leaves.

I said to myself: I am living to be happy! Everything must bow
before me! And see how it is--the idea that I could fail in anything
never occurred to me.

A delay, yes, but a complete failure, nonsense!--And I see with
terror and humiliation that I was deceived, that nothing happens as
I wish. It is not because I love some one; I do not love anybody
seriously; I love a coronet and money. It is terrible to think that