Monday, 23 August 1875

I go with Machenka to Schwalbach for the eleven-to-twelve concert. I see Obeziana and her brother. I love seeing familiar faces.
At dinner my head spins — I am obliged to go out, I go to my room and fall into an armchair almost senseless. But at four o'clock I am already rosy and pretty, and go again to Schwalbach with Maman. I love to drive, and these little horses are rather nice. There, at the five o'clock concert, there are people but nothing of any quality.
It is curious — of Schlangenbad, where I am staying, I know only my hotel, the baths, and the terrace where the band plays, having been there only once.
Madame Aleinikoff, who leaves tomorrow, spends the evening with us.
Back from Schwalbach I come before my mirror to remove my hat, but instead remain three-quarters of an hour looking at myself without the strength to tear myself away from my own person, so very pretty am I; at this moment it seems to me that nobody has as much charm, grace, and delicacy in the face as I do. My eyes themselves are particularly — no, I was about to say a word that must not be said.