Thursday, 20 July 1876

BOOK 64
From Wednesday, 19 July 1876 to Wednesday, 16 August 1876
Paris: Grand Hôtel, 59
Berlin: Hôtel de Russie, from the 26th July; from the 3rd August, in Petersburg
Moscow, 12 August
Monday 14 August at Chpatovska
But I must not forget to say that this evening we went to the Opéra. They were performing Faust. Mme de Mouzay was with us, for we had a fine front box in the first tier.
My outfit was charming and rather unusual. It was a batiste chemisette, gathered at the neck like a peasant woman's blouse, perfectly plain — so that the drawstring channel appears, as it were, naturally. Wide Russian sleeves, also in batiste, to the elbow. A bodice cut low in a heart shape both front and back, long enough to form a slight point front and back — not quite a point, simply a bodice longer than the waist, which allows it to trace the beginning of the hips. An embroidery on cream foulard silk applied to the bodice, which is likewise in foulard as is the skirt, straight and gathered front and back; the skirt is sewn to the bodice as in old-fashioned dresses. When one walks, the train is raised over the left arm, and by this motion one reveals an underskirt, in foulard like the dress, but short and trimmed with the same embroidery and a wide, yellowed Valenciennes lace. No jewels. Hair dressed in the antique style, cream kid shoes, pink stockings. White silk mittens to the elbow, with cream bows.
But I might as well not have dressed at all. The house is deplorably lit — one cannot make out either the outfits or the faces. Without Mouzay, who was talking all the while, I should have fallen asleep from boredom. The singing is mediocre, Marguerite tolerable, Faust dreadful. Each time I see this opera — the third act especially — I cannot help finding supremely ridiculous the line: Hail, pure and chaste abode! uttered by a man who one hour later defiles that dwelling from cellar to attic. I must read Goethe's Faust — perhaps there the hero's conduct is given some motivation, for in the opera it is so ignoble as to become incomprehensible.
Say what I will, all that is vile and cowardly is and always will be incomprehensible to me.
It was very warm, and during an interval I went out with Mme de Mouzay. For all its dimness and ugliness despite the gilding, the auditorium is made up for by the entrance, the staircases, the galleries and the foyer, which are superb. It calls to mind descriptions of the palaces of the Caesars — marble, gilding, sculpture! The balustrades are in onyx. I leaned against these balustrades, standing with Mme de Mouzay on one of those balconies that seem made to set off a woman's beauty. I expected no effect at all — the darkness of the house had given me the idea that I was plain and badly dressed and that no one was looking at me. But in full light I felt myself come alive again, and my eyes took on some brilliance as the crowd parted to make way for us. I was absorbed by the matchless spectacle offered by those staircases and balconies filled with people, when Mme de Mouzay nudged me.
"Turn around," she said to me.
I turned round and saw a crowd gathered in the corridor in front of the balcony door, as though before a carriage accident.
"Really," I said to the Countess, "they are even more foolish here than in Rome."
And as I always feel a little ill at ease in Paris, I took her arm and we returned to our box, which was fortunately just nearby.
The Countess was radiant with pride, and while the fourth act began she kissed my hand and said the most affectionate things to me. Which makes me cry out: he who has the will lacks the power!
Then there was talk of the Cardinal in his madhouse, and Mme de Mouzay, in her contentment, absolutely insisted on seeing the Cardinal in Méphistophélès, me in Marguerite — before the grey dress — and Pierre in Faust.
This woman turns my head by telling me that I could have exerted whatever influence I wished over the great Cardinal's mind.
But I missed my exit — Chocolat was waiting at the main entrance and we came out by another door.
"Ah! I missed my exit," I said as I got into the carriage.
"Not at all, my dear," said the Countess, "you have been looked at quite enough as it is."
I was woken with a letter whose handwriting made me tremble. But having opened and read it I fell back on the pillow, disappointed, almost angry at having been mistaken.
It is Bertha Boyd writing to me. How did she know I was in Paris? She says she arrived on Tuesday. I had not shown myself on the Champs-Élysées, so she cannot have seen me. I replied immediately, telling her I would expect her at my rooms at four o'clock. Chocolat, entrusted with the errand, came back to tell me she would come. I waited for her in vain, and at six o'clock we went to dine at the stout Countess's.
I wore a batiste dress, very long and perfectly plain, with a wide embroidered flounce at the hem. From top to bottom, down the front, bows of white satin ribbon. The end of the train, which is very long, is simply tucked up and fastened with a button at the back of the waist. So that from behind one sees a skirt matching the dress but short — trailing along the floor a mere ten or fifteen centimetres. As yesterday.
All the boarders dined together, but as they are all acquaintances, it has a most respectable air, and the servant comes to announce: Madame la Baronne is served!
The Baronne de Mertens must have been supernaturally beautiful — she still is, moreover, and so elegant, so comme il faut. It has none of the feel of a hotel or an ordinary boarding house — one is at home, and in a good home.
I was made to sing Verdi's Agnus Dei, the soprano and contralto parts one after the other.
Blanche Armstrong, the Baronne's niece, came to speak English with me — I speak English well despite the lack of practice.
As agreed, Rémy came with his carriage to collect us at nine o'clock.
I was sad, but this nocturnal drive through the Bois in fine weather appealed to me well enough.
Rémy exclaimed at everything I said and took my hands — perhaps too often for a mere friend. But what does it matter.
The Bois all in darkness, the starry sky, those dim alleys peopled with carriages whose lanterns in the shadows came and went like enormous fireflies, the fresh and fragrant night air — all of this did me good; I kept humming airs from Faust and from Ruy Blas. And with Ruy Blas I thought of Antonelli.
I wished he were there, for the most beautiful scenery and weather in the world leave me with a sensation of incomplete pleasure when I have no lover of any kind beside me or facing me.
My thoughts were at their most playful this evening, and poor Rémy sitting opposite me — neither man nor woman to me — irritated me while making me laugh inwardly, above all when I thought of what he would think if I pressed his foot!.. Ah! That would be too funny, truly.
Berthe writes again — it was she who was waiting for me yesterday, for in my letter I had given her the choice of coming or waiting for me. That wretched Chocolat got it mixed up. I wrote to her immediately that tomorrow I would go to her.

Notes

Foulard: a lightweight printed silk fabric.
Valenciennes lace: fine bobbin lace originally made in Valenciennes, northern France.
Onyx balustrades: the Palais Garnier, opened in 1875, was famed for its grand staircase of onyx and marble.
Comme il faut: of good breeding, socially correct; a social register marker of the period.