Monday, 2 July 1877

I return from the Opera, where we were in the right-hand first tier. Berthe was with us. I was neither pretty nor very elegant, and besides, in unfamiliar territory.
In any case it matters little, since God does me the grace of leaving me indifferent to everything. For conscience's sake I made a few efforts to rouse myself, but the apathy persisting… besides, I have no wish to be otherwise — one suffers more when one's mind and heart are open.
Nice was not enough! I am pursued everywhere! My mother has given our address to Georges, who is here at midnight — drunk, hideous, on our doorstep! She must truly be either mad or despicable!
Once I would have screamed — but now I no longer have the moral strength. I only feel lost, and I beg God to let me die rather than to go on tormenting me. To die is already a great punishment, for I adore life.
It appears that Tanlay's tickets were perfectly good — the Boyds had the same kind. I did well, then, to hold back with my fine letter.
Oh! how I hate myself!!!