Saturday, 9 August 1873

My green dress was delivered — it displeases me; it must be altered. In the evening we found yet another card from Preiss (white dress — I am not at ease). I lunched at the hotel, almost dined. Decidedly, eating is the first thing; one cannot enjoy anything when one is hungry. At the Exposition it is extremely hot — no air, a burning wind. And to be corseted and dressed in this heat is truly disagreeable. There are no people; I am bored — they are third-rate Germans; it is abominable. I am absolutely alone. Not one of our acquaintances — one cannot live alone. Oh! I am bored, bored, bored! The Exposition amuses one for a week, but when one has seen everything, one can only go in company. And it is hot — I am stifling! An hour by the fountain, then walking through the galleries, then at the concert. They played an atrocious piece, then an interval, then a fantasia on Oberon, which I detest. I have played it, and on top of that, as if on purpose, they play it at every concert I attend. But after this, unexpectedly, Strauss (Johann) appears. He gives another character to the orchestra and to the whole ensemble. Each musician has an animated, laughing face. They call him back — once, twice, three times.
We go to dine at the Provencaux without my aunt. Towards the end we hear voices. It is the Saxe woman quarrelling with the restaurateur. It went crescendo. She struck him with her fan. He replied:
— Do not touch me, or I shall strike you.
That is nothing yet; he said such things to her that I will not write them down. He ended by saying that he wants no girls in his establishment, and that she is a "dirty girl." And then:
— Go, or I shall lift your skirts and slap your...
How horrible! Paul asked the waiter what it was about:
— She has been behaving very badly for a long time; they want to be rid of her. Tonight the restaurateur forbade them to serve her.
There is the story. It was a real scandal.
We pretended to hear nothing. But I wanted to hear everything — such a scandal is so new to me. I was at a remove, and in a most proper manner, I witnessed it all.
I like this woman very much. She is so amusing — one can see it in her face.
These — (in great secrecy and mystery) — these women (of the seventh quality) please me. I should like to transform myself into a fly to follow them on their excursions, and I should like to get inside their minds to know what they feel, their sentiments. They are strange creatures, attractive and detestable at the same time. This one makes scenes everywhere — at Monte Carlo they threw her out.
She resembles Gioia in face. Here she wears grand dresses. But let us leave this; I lower myself by speaking of these creatures. I am ashamed to have soiled my journal with this stupid and improper story. (And yet I find this Saxe woman very appealing — I should very much like, in disguise, incognito, to become her friend.) Oh! what horror! Horror!
I wanted to walk in the Prater, but a few drops fell and we returned.
We found Gutman's card and a box for the opera. Without changing my dress — only washing my face with cool water and arranging my hat — we went to the opera: Lucrezia Borgia. We arrived at the second act; the singer Wilt is admirable. It has been a long time since I spent so fine an evening. She has a superb voice, too low (she is a little stout). Truly, I am charmed.
I am very particular, but Wilt is truly very fine. Oh! how I wish I could sing like her! And these Germans who barely applaud her!
How well she sings! I only understand opera with voices like that.