Saturday, 21 March 1874

I have just abandoned myself to a wild dance in my chemise before the pier glass, and then, and then... the cord of the chemise broke and it fell, but for a wretched cord I did not interrupt myself and continued at the top of my lungs. I would make a good dancer, especially for a lively, spirited dance. It is ten o'clock; a quarter of an hour ago Machenka left me. We chatted for a long time while I did my hair, then I sat on the floor on the sheet Josephine had spread before the mirror (so as not to soil my riding habit -- tomorrow I ride) and listened to her tales of their society, their balls, their entertainments -- for they have one, only it has another name. I find that they amuse themselves like blessed souls. She told me that one day they went, Machenka and Mme Hamsley, in an open carriage with a gentleman who played the violin the entire time; the journey lasted four hours. In short, they have everything in miniature and in ugliness, no doubt, but everything, everything, everything! Then she told me how she married.
I have been losing for three days at roulette -- a little domestic roulette. It bores me.
I went out for half an hour, which I spent at the villa where they are all with Biasini. The plan is nearly settled. Why is Fedus no longer to be seen?
The baron has left. The princess and Le Bec are in mourning. There were a few people at the Strait.
That detestable Rosalie Leon drives about in a coupe with a little girl of five or six. She is ugly and old and has a pinched air, and her face is covered with freckles.
[In the margin: I have two new adorations:
-- 1st, common dogs.
-- 2nd, Paris. I feel extreme pleasure in naming its streets, its squares, etc.] The Immensus does not show himself; yesterday, however, I saw him on foot, quite red. His wife is antipathetic to me.
I play again before dinner so as not to play with that ugly one, that Abrial. He is not my equal; when I have a lawsuit I shall send for him.
During all my lessons, instead of listening, I thought of him and saw him on the steps of the terraces that will be built at 55, on the cypress walk.
-- It is hot and I am no longer myself; I love the cold. My complexion has grown dark and my cheeks burn incessantly, but afterwards I am pale.
In the evening I breathe, and this evening in particular I went out onto the terrace and walked about, admiring the new moon, the freshness of the night, and the stars. It seemed to me there is nothing more beautiful than the night, but in the morning at sunrise I thought the same of the morning.
I love the morning and the evening; the afternoon wearies me -- in summer, of course. I cannot think without enthusiasm of the mornings at Baden-Baden. Those magnificent trees, those lawns, those streams, those little bridges. Impossible to give an idea of all those romantic and elegant beauties, and so well tended at the same time. Those who know the morning at Baden have no need to have it described, and for my part I feel incapable of giving the slightest idea of it. I can only admire, understand, and feel.