Tuesday, 26 August 1873

We pack our things with the intention of leaving at eleven, but neither the hats nor the dress are ready. We stay until seven in the evening. Laferriere sends my dress; the bodice fits even worse — I send it back.
We go out; at Ferry's my aunt buys ankle boots — for me too, a pair with bar closures. I have the smallest foot in the shop. I have spent over a thousand francs, no doubt. I pass Klein's again; I stop to look at Gioia. But she cannot be so beautiful in reality — I remember her. First, she paints her face a great deal, and then she is not graceful; her way of walking is ugly. It is true that has nothing to do with the features and the bust. I say to Dina: how beautiful she is, but the photographer flatters her a great deal — I want to ask for his address. I go in, I ask. He is an excellent photographer, they tell me. Walery, rue de Londres, 9.
I want to have my portrait done at once. I say this to everyone.
And I shall succeed — I am animated, my eyes are open, and that does not happen to me every day this past month.
On the way, the aunt buys a garment. We take a cab and we are at Walery's, the photographer.
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I go up to the first floor. In a small drawing room to the side, there is Gioia in different poses.
I kept disappearing every minute to look at her, while they asked me what format I wanted. In one of her photographs she is very low-cut. I wonder how, the bodice being so open, one sees nothing. It would be too much if at her age she were developed like me. Yet Maman is older, I believe, and she is still as she was at sixteen in the bust. Gioia is a thousand times better than I. But in ten years she will be old; in ten years I shall be grown. I should be beautiful if I were taller. Being made as I am and a tall figure with it would be superb. The face is always passable — mine is not ugly. I do my hair well and go up. He gives me pretty poses, but too dishevelled.
I posed eight times; three times for a rather pretty pose that would not come out — the photographer insists on it. I posed for the fourth time, saying to myself: well, if this time it comes out, he... I understand myself. I leave without having the result.
Let us see what they make of me. Paul, who poses after me, tells me it went well! I go to the tiresome Laferriere. I try it on; she adjusts, and I believe this time all will be well. She has a style I like. At Mantel's, the hats are being worked on.
We return; the trunks are packed. The dress arrives — it is atrocious. I do not know what to do; I weep. It is always thus.
At last I refuse it; I have only one dress, the one from Worth. I need more — what a business! The hats arrive; they are charming.
We leave tomorrow at eleven. We shall dine at the Russian restaurant. I do not know what dress I shall have. As long as I could not have the black one, I wanted it, and now when I can, I do not know.
After dinner we walk the boulevards in the evening; there are men, women of the worst sort, and foreigners. Not a single grande cocotte.
I bought earrings and a medallion (traveling dress) — a poppy, a daisy; the medallion is a single poppy.