Friday, 15 May 1874

We do without the deacon today. Maman, who has not particularly gnawed all day, makes up for it in the evening and stops me.
We looked at furniture at Smith's. He will look for my room, "in the domain of fantasy." In the evening we go to the Porte Saint-Martin to see "Les Deux Orphelines" -- a very stirring, bloody, heart-rending, gripping drama.
On the way back we saw Paul in a cafe; they called him and he came (drunk, I fear), but not wanting to return with us. Lost soul!
Last night I had a strange dream; I was in Nice. There I meet Wittgenstein; I wrestle with him, I throw him to the ground. He was dressed like the Arabs, in white. I go further and I find Mme Leon at the top of a staircase; I climb towards her. She too is in white, but her face is no longer hers -- she had a different face. I believe I wrestled with her too, then I go back and meet the Prince again; he is afraid she will see him, and so am I. The dream was much longer and more complicated, but I had already recounted it while still dreaming to my aunt; on waking I have almost forgotten it.
It took place in a garden, on a rise that extended from our villa to the staircase. I also dreamed of palaces, of vast gardens, of immense terraces. I believe I saw again that palace with terraces, balustrades, balconies, surrounded by a garden with hills, avenues, flowers, and next to it a little garden that one would take for a public one.
This same palace I have seen many times in dreams, and I am always placed at the same spot; in short, the dream always repeats itself the same way, so that I am beginning to believe I have really seen this palace, so well do I know it.