Sunday, 17 August 1873

It was still half-dark when they woke me — "Munich!" My aunt wanted, I believe, to stay a few hours, but I was sleeping. I wanted to read, but the carriages shake so terribly it is almost impossible. I begged my aunt to go to Baden; she would not. I wanted to change into another dress, for in my travelling one I would cut a dreadful figure — which makes me furious.
But it happened that we are at Oos and the dress has not been fetched. Seeing that my aunt takes no action, I resigned myself, furious, and I sat in a corner, my eyes fixed upon a button of the armchair opposite, my lips slightly pouting. Then Paul ran to ask if the dress could still be fetched, but it was naturally too late. My aunt said:
"Let us go."
"Where?"
"To Baden."
"I cannot go without a dress."
"But we could take a walk there."
"No, I do not want to."
Then my aunt, distressed on my account, began to scold — that I do not know myself what I want, etc. etc. etc. For two stations I sat with my face to the wall, weeping bitterly — very bitterly. I am truly, extremely grieved. Especially when, at the moment we leave Oos, Paul and Dina began calling out what they could see: Mercury, the Old Castle, etc. I saw nothing; I did not want to see anything; I was miserable! And even now as I write (Monday, in Paris), my heart constricts — which is proof of a great sorrow; generally my sorrows are momentary. At the third station, I turned around. The rest of the day passes ordinarily, the whole journey.
I forget — in the evening at the frontier we got out to see if there was anything to eat. I cannot bear meats that have been five minutes in a railway carriage... They found some ham and champagne. Paul brought the provisions into the carriage and we had supper. We made merry; I laughed the whole time and my aunt was cross. Then, to crown all the follies, I smoked a cigarette; when I had finished, my aunt imperiously snatched it from my hands and threw it out the window. I paid no attention. I love folly; I love revelry. And when I throw myself into it, I go to the very end.
[Written across the page: I must also confess what I mean by revelry — pleasures more than innocent.]