Monday, 19 July 1875

Since six o'clock this morning, Désiré has been at the town hall. Tomorrow we shall see whether he passed. Poor little fellow — he is only eighteen and a half, but he is pleasant and intelligent.
What I love best, when there is no one for whom to be, is solitude.
My hair knotted in the Psyche style and more auburn than ever; my feet bare, or nearly so; a woollen dress in that particular white, becoming and graceful; a lace kerchief around my neck. I look like one of those portraits from the time of the First Empire — to complete the picture I should place myself under a tree and hold a book in my hand. Every curve of my figure is visible; I am without a corset.
So I love solitude — before a mirror, to admire myself. To admire my incomparable arms and my hand so slender, so white, barely tinged with rose on the inside.
My bosom so high and firm, outlined through the wool like figures in medieval paintings.
It is perhaps foolish to praise oneself so much. But people who write always describe their heroine — and I am my own heroine. And it would be ridiculous to humble and diminish myself through false modesty.
One may demur in conversation when sure of being contradicted — but in writing, everyone will believe I speak the truth, and they will think me ugly and stupid. That would be absurd.
I am agitated and write with difficulty — one can see it from my handwriting.
At five o'clock, at the sea baths, I wear only a blue cloak and my hat — this chance combination makes an outfit that is quite coquettish and graceful. Léonie carries my dress and everything needed; after the bath I shall dress properly. Machenka — my aunt, I mean — bathes, and I bathe in her honour. We jump from the pier with Marie. Our gentlemen, my aunt, and Olga watch us from the shore.
Machenka stays close to the rope, and stout Étienne blooms in the midst of the waves.
Our two landaus, always side by side, we take a drive, then go to the café, and in the evening they make me play.
Nina comes with Smirnoff, but I retire early.
Saëtone has told Giroflé that Girofla is in Marseille, Place du Terrail, no. 6, and that in ten days he will be here. The later the better — I shall have time to leave.
Melancholy overtakes me, and I console myself by smoking like an unworthy creature.
While showing the magnificent château to Étienne and his wife, my aunt tells them: This is the château of our admirer.

Notes

Désiré is apparently sitting a baccalauréat examination.
The Psyche hairstyle: a simple classical knot, inspired by depictions of the goddess Psyche.
The First Empire (Napoleon I, 1804–1815): associated with Neoclassical portraiture, flowing white dresses, classical simplicity.
Bains de mer — sea baths: fashionable seaside bathing, an upper-class leisure activity (see Translation Memory).