Friday, 6 August 1875

I have just returned from the Opéra. They were giving La Juive. We were in a dark and cramped ground-floor box. I was only seen in the lobby. I was coiffed and dressed as I like and was satisfied with myself.
— "Truly, Worth gowns are rarely seen here, and so well that one trains one's eyes upon you," Smirnoff said to me — he was walking with Machenka behind Stiopa and me.
It was not the gown they were looking at. I have a simple gown of white taffeta, entirely plain, made by Caroline. I have sheer stockings and yellow kid shoes with buckles. It was so lovely that Stiopa asked whether there would be a Buckingham to press my foot as he did Anne of Austria's.
I was looking for d'Audiffret.
The theatre is large — one sees no one without opera glasses — and seeing no one and being seen by no one, I was mortally bored.
As for the singing, I paid almost no attention to it.
I was to sit for my portrait at Walery's but it was too dark. I am so bored that it is unnatural, and I believe my heart is sick.
I have come to the point of longing for Nice. I feel too small here. There I was not bored. But there too I am small — and more unhappy than here. There I am always humiliated and isolated; here I am lost in the multitude, and no one notices me — though as to the latter, I do not believe a word of it.
I undress admiring my skin and my golden curls, and I say to myself: Who then is worthy of being loved, if I am disdained?
I cannot bear anyone — Stiopa, his wife, Smirnoff — everyone jangles my nerves. I am wretched. I need an occupation; as long as I have none I shall think about my defeat and torment myself.
[Written across the page: What defeat? All this defeat is imagined. What did I want, then?]
Ah! If only the weather were fine tomorrow I should go to the Bois — but no, the sky conspires against me and treats me ill!
Let it be known that I desire fine weather in order to see that Niçois monster. Oh! I am a coward.
There are moments when I think tenderly of this man and drift gently toward: I love him — but arriving at those three words I recoil and see that I do not love him, so that I myself do not know what I think, what I want, what I feel.
I am unnerved by the society here. I rage at not being part of it.
I see all these people, all these titled and wealthy women, all these elegant men. In my ears the great names resound, and my eyes are dazzled by the [Crossed out: armorials] coats of arms and the glittering liveries.
My God, why give me only the understanding and the longing!!
My God, take pity on my soul which is tearing itself apart.
My God, forgive my mad ambition!