Monday, 25 August 1873

The deacon comes. I fear he [Crossed out: ruins my] will spoil my day, but fortunately after luncheon we went out with him; he leaves us near the new Opera. I go straight to Laferriere; I try on my dress — it does not fit in the least.
So they change the front. Yesterday, until midnight I could not sleep: my black velvet dress — plain skirt, plain overskirt, plain bodice. All of it graceful and coquettish, for Worth. A black velvet hat, golden hair hanging down. [Sketch: across the page]
The hat in an old-fashioned shape — a sort of simple little cap, delicious, adorable, whose shape cannot be described. That is what keeps me from sleeping (white crepe around the neck) and what haunts me. I terribly want this outfit. And it is within my plan! "A single deviation," I said, "from black velvet." It would be so pretty, so simple! I am dying to have this outfit.
The one from Laferriere is ugly. Tomorrow at two they have promised to deliver it. Oh, how I wish they would break their word! Never have I wanted a dress as I want that one; it would suit me so well! I shall try to arrange the matter. I shall pray to God. From there to Mantel's, where I stayed at least an hour (grey linen dress, good). I ordered a Rubens hat, brown, pretty — but it will be of no use whatsoever if I have the happiness of getting the black outfit. It is madness to have bought this Rubens (one hundred francs). But well! It will perhaps be the smallest folly I commit. We have a cab. I feel as in Vienna — quite dead, sad, drowsy. Dina, whose tastes are always common, says to go to the Bon Marche. We go there, then into old Paris. I go to the hotel to change into my green dress.
I hope my spirits will change. Indeed, I
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wake up, and we stroll along the boulevards as every day. Near Klein's, Dina says to me:
"Look to the right, at the second frame..."
I thought it was Boreel, or I do not know who. I look and I see a beauty — it is Gioia. I point her out to my aunt. Even Paul says:
"Ah! It is Gioia."
For that I reprove him — it is not proper to say her name aloud.
But how beautiful she is! I could not tear my eyes from the portrait. Seeing her the other day at the shooting gallery, I thought her disagreeable — but I am a fool; she is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! The features, the expression, the eyes, the oval, the bust — all superb. She is a beauty. Never have I seen so complete and beautiful a woman.
She is the perfection of feminine beauty. There are pretty faces with ugly bodies, or fine bodies with ugly faces. But here it is perfection. At the same time a lively, witty, feminine expression. There is neither malice nor mischief, neither marble nor simplicity. She is the woman I have dreamed of. She is the perfection I was seeking. I believe he must love her! He must adore her; she is worthy of him — that is the first thought that struck me on seeing the portrait. Never in his life can he abandon her. If a hundred times a day she is unfaithful — besides, I believe that neither she nor he pretends to fidelity — he will love her! If I were a man I should be mad about her!
How can one admit that one could abandon her for anyone in the world! One could remain at her feet for a lifetime!
I shall never be as beautiful as she! I shall never be beautiful! I feel crushed. Far from wanting to see him, I would flee from him. What is the use? Can I pretend that... What madness — never, never. I am a fool. She is so beautiful! She carries triumph in her eyes. She looks as if to say: the world belongs to me.
There, there — that is when I am wretched. I know what powerlessness and envy are! I feel like a sparrow beside an eagle. All hope has perished forever.
She is worthy of him. And so much the better... May God — no, no, I do not know what I am saying.
I am jealous! And powerless! I feel what cannot be explained!
We dine at the Russian restaurant, where the deacon joins us.
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We stroll again; I wanted to pass Klein's once more. I wanted to make sure she is truly so beautiful. But we did not go in the direction of Klein's. I bought a large straw hat for two francs twenty-five centimes.
I wanted by every means to cross to the other side, but I could not succeed — insist? I had no reason to give. So we return.
Paul, speaking of love, said that I shall never forget Remy — how stupid he is. I explained the matter to him, and to Dina and my aunt as well.
Before, I did not realize that Gioia existed. I simply thought it was a question of time, that with time he would love me. Now I see all my folly.
Can I possibly, in advance, silence ideas like that?
A man loves a woman; this woman is a beauty; he loves her. And here a little puppy imagines that this man will forget that woman and go love this little fool. It would truly be more extraordinary than anything in the world.
I was mad!

Notes

In English in the original.