Thursday, 2 October 1873

I am indisposed, and instead of studying I thought for two and a quarter hours.
Palajka is no more, and Josephine is not yet used to things, and I cannot find anything. With a thousand pains I managed to dress. The green dress is too warm and the others are dirty; I sent them by Antoine to Louise. I absolutely must have a jacket -- at four o'clock it is warm and at six it is cold. I am in bad humour; I detest this unbleached dress, the new one. I was forced to put it on -- horror! I do not miss a day going to the London House.
This evening they give "La Fille de Madame Angot" for the first time -- the Parisian craze, the extraordinary sensation! I go to see the difference. (New pink dress, simple hairstyle with hair hanging down in back, good.) We could only get a small box, and there we are: Maman (black embroidered dress), my aunt (grey dress, Paris bonnet), Dina (black and white), the Princess (black), and I. I placed myself in the corner so that no one would see me, but I am seen everywhere -- even through the walls. The house is packed, but neither Gioia, nor Wittengstein, nor Soubise -- that hideous Pitou -- were there. Paul, Walitsky, and Khalkionoff are in the stalls; old rat Zibine is with them. We call this motley crew the youth of Nice, and Zibine is of course the strongest and most fashionable.
How corrupt people are -- they want to find indecencies everywhere. For example, my aunt and Bete kept looking at each other and smiling, saying that dreadful things are said in "La Fille de Mme Angot." For my part, I find nothing improper in it -- nothing, absolutely nothing. On the contrary, it is very decent. There were moments when everyone laughed except me; I found nothing funny.
Walitsky, Paul, and Khalkionoff came to our box, and it was more than full. Walitsky comes in and, in a serious tone, addressing everyone, says:
"How funny this Duke of Hamilton is -- what a post he has chosen: door-opener at fifty centimes; he is replacing the usherette."
Khalkionoff did not understand, and it passed off perfectly.
I left with Bete, quickly, quickly, and we got into the carriage to hide. But Chaussade went to the box opposite to see if I was there, and to gossip and prattle with Mme Boutowsky and all that clique.
Poor Paul, what a child he is -- everyone understands and laughs, and he does not. When she sings, "It is done, but one does not speak of it."

Notes

In English in the original.