Sunday, 22 March 1874

I wake early, for at seven o'clock the horses are already waiting for us, but it is only at eight that we set out. The new bodice of my riding habit suits Nice very well.
The two of us, Paul and I, go alone without the riding master. But even at eight o'clock it is hot, especially on the Promenade. At the window of the Hotel de France I see old Furstenberg smoking a pipe. On the Promenade I see old Galve at his window, also smoking a pipe I believe, and the luggage of Princess Souvoroff, who is leaving with the nine o'clock train. What a pity -- she was nearly the only one here who was respectable and neither ugly nor dusty, and besides, it appears Maman and she are friends now.
[In the margin: Maman has made the acquaintance of "Vocha Danilovski"; he had smallpox.]
Yesterday at Monaco they did not leave each other's side, and Maman returned with an entourage of men -- a respectable one. She is acquiring a taste for what I love, and so much the better. The princess has asked to be telegraphed when my house is furnished; she then promises to come and spend a month with us. That would be very amusing.
But let me return to my ride. We go to 55; we pass through all the terraces. Our horses climb the steps very easily; I let the reins float and my horse grazes. Then we crown Black Prince with roses. If Edward III could see him!!! And we return at a quarter past ten. There was no one interesting, not even Emile, that nice boy who pleases me so!
I undress; I dress again and we go to church (blue dress). Simone has brought the grey dress for the second time -- it is worse than a caricature. It is hot and I am torpid; I have no courage for anything; I am worse than nothing; I cannot bear the heat.
Nice is finished, finished, quite finished for this year. The whole winter was wasted besides -- cold and strange. One would say the Duke of Hamilton took everything with him. There were few balls, no young men, nothing. The beginning was ugly and the end is wretched; there is no spring. When one thinks that last year in April there were still people! The winter before last was the best -- there was sea bathing; last year, no more; and this year, horror!
The Howards spend the afternoon at our house, but something has changed, especially in Mme Howard -- it is no longer the same. Bah!
At half past five we go out a little; there is a [fair] of oil brioches on the Promenade. Saint Peter's Day -- oh horror -- all Nicois, not a soul! I weep and I despair in the depths of my heart. When, then, will the fortunate moment come when I leave here! I had forgotten what summer is like in Nice, but spring has just cruelly reminded me. My heart beats and throbs when I think of Paris or London. The blessed Comtesse de Galve has just settled in London -- the happy woman. To live among the English of the highest society -- it is the height of happiness. I am torn by a thousand doubts about my future. The present is not fine. I believe I shall be happy with my knowledge of men and things. It is quite mad to say so, but I feel it is true. The principal thing is not to live in Nice. Oh, Nice, how I...
Yes, I weep with rage. With rage and with regrets, etc.
O palm trees that they admire, how ugly you are! O Mediterranean, you -- even you appear ugly to me. These houses, these shops, these shopkeepers' faces so well known -- how disgusting you all are!
I shall kiss the ground of Paris on arriving, or of any other city. How one tires of Nice. Nice is like a blue hat which, having been worn several times, becomes odious. Nice, for two months a year, is tolerable. But Nice always, Nice in winter! Nice in summer! Nice in spring! Nice in autumn!
And they say I do as I please. But the first thing I would do would be to leave Nice!!!!
It seems to me I shall die soon, and I am so afraid! The two broken mirrors frighten me. Must I believe in superstitions?
I am afraid.
My complexion will be ruined, my flesh will sag, my hair will fall out, my brain will dry up, my character -- spoilt enough at present -- will become unbearable.
I want to leave. O my God, let me go, and forgive me!