Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 2 May 1874

The cypresslamentations [sic] continue crescendo. I went out earlier than usual (light-coloured dress and hat, not bad, perhaps good) and on the Promenade, my aunt and I met Wittgenstein in a cab. He raised his head; his cheeks were very pink, but I believe he was not in a state of intoxication.
He also has that way of lowering his head and looking at his fingers [Crossed out: until] even in a cab, [Crossed out: also having] he looks as though he is sitting on the edge, as if only for a moment.
This evening I am going to see "A Midsummer Night's Dream"; we have Gioia's box. I go as I am. An insignificant theater, a tedious play devoid of interest and plot. The tenor playing Shakespeare was the Duc de Mouchy in person. Such a resemblance is truly ridiculous. Last time, he had the face of the tailor.
Maman is still unwell; I wish she were better -- for her sake, for mine, and for Paris.