Saturday, 9 January 1875

I do not go to Laussel’s, not having been able to prepare my lesson. I go out with Dina.
This evening a grand performance at the Italian opera, La Sonnambula; we have the third box on the right in the first tier.
Pelikan and Bottóne dined with us; the latter goes with us to the theatre.
Grand illumination as bright as day; the men in tails and white ties, several of the women décolletées and their heads covered with flowers, but all very elegant.
In a word, this is how one ought always to be in this theatre. The Opera is an elegant theatre; the Français is quite enough for those who want to be free and easy — which Galula remarked as well, that little clerk, quite superb in his big white tie.
I am in blue — that adorable blue silk dress, like those one sees on enamels or on ivory, the dresses of the last century — and my hairstyle. Blue suits me very well, and so does the dress, the bodice at least. The skirt is made like a long skirt and is short, but at the theatre one cannot make out such niceties, especially when one does not show oneself too much.
written across the page
I was decked out like a girl of twenty.
So I am pleased with myself. That settled, let us say how my aunt and Dina are dressed, and make the round of the house.
Dina has a long black-and-white striped silk dress, well made; she is wearing it for the first time. My aunt is in white crêpe de Chine, violet velvet and Valenciennes lace; she is in the middle, and Dina and I take the side seats. In the first box is the Prodgers woman with the Vigier woman, both in red — the first in velvet, the second in silk and some other heavy stuff I cannot name. This fine lady has bared her bosom down to the waist — covered with lace, it is true, but looking no less indecent for that.
The Pamphiloffs separate us from these two vile creatures.
Opposite, two boxes are taken by the Durands and the Lewins, all in gala dress, even the two little girls with flowers and Valenciennes lace on their heads, poor children! That unfortunate Lewin has, I believe, married the whole family. Leaning over, I saw the Galves below us, in blue.
In their box the Sabatiers, next to them the Gonzalès family; old Rémy sent me two bows and two adorable smiles.
A little further on, still at ground level, a box into which came, one after another, Lambertye, Woerman, the Prince de Furstenberg, Count Arnim, Jarochevsky and d’Audiffret. The young men’s box — a little better than Saëtone & Co.
Old Emile with his two little girls in his box, where the young man stays most of the time, a placid dreamer, striking thoroughly melancholy poses.
Count Markoff comes to see us; he arrived only an hour ago and has had time for nothing but to hurry to the opera.
Belona is a handsome brunette, but the absence of rouge and her hairstyle (smooth hair and two plaits) make her plain. She has a fine mezzo-soprano voice, young, fresh and supple, but not trained enough: the notes are not joined, and the voice is not very strong, not brilliant, and makes no great effect.
If one listens carefully one hears that she sings in tune, that her notes are pure and that the voice comes out easily — but no power, no brilliance!
The upshot was that half the house applauded and half hissed.
She came on stage proud and sure of herself, but towards the end, wanting to brave her defeat, this assurance changed into effrontery she put on a brazen air beneath which one could plainly see the injured woman.
She received a quantity of bouquets, and at the end as throughout the evening, when she was called back, she came out, looked with contempt at those who were hissing, and thanked the applauders with charming smiles.
M. d’Olivier saw us back to the carriage.
This evening one saw all the finest flowers of Nice, which look very much like thistles.

Notes

In Italian in the original: a giorno — the whole house fully lit. ↩
In Italian in the original: tranquillo. ↩