Saturday, 27 September 1873

I light the candle in the morning; since yesterday it has been cold. I saw Mme Boreel at her window and the Hendersons on foot; at last Prodgers's husband has arrived. Mme Skariatine as well.
Now the flowers of the embroidery canvas are done; it remains to fill in the leaves and the background (green dress, not bad). I only had time to buy some notebooks and make one pass along the promenade. I should like to do something wild -- to make a bet, for example, but with a bettor as keen, eccentric, and mad as I am. I should like -- I want -- during the interval (being in a stage box) to step down from the box, cross the stage near the curtain, and go sit in the box opposite. All this, in earnest, wearing a pretty dress and before the public -- that goes without saying.
Bete and Dina suggested the Duke.
"Truly, he would take the bet, I believe -- and he is a charming madman."
I did not see Gioia. Yesterday Maman saw her at Monaco, and they would not let her in. She is really nothing but a prostitute.
We go to the Theatre for "La Baronne." I go for only half an hour (same dress), but the play interests me and I stay, seated behind Dina. Nobody saw me; there was nobody there. This afternoon I met Mme Massaloff; I went down to speak to her. She did not spend this summer in Baden -- still the same as ever.
I did not want to be seen at the theatre. "La Baronne," they say, is immoral. Well, I find it just the opposite. Each act, Maman tried to point out the horrors of the play and read me what I call disguised morality. This is how parents destroy their children's trust.
It is, thank God, over at eleven o'clock, which is early for Nice, where they sometimes torture us until two in the morning.

Notes

In English in the original (possessive form).