Monday, 24 September 1877

The two Gonzalèses, then Diaz de Soria. I spoke in a halting fashion and was ugly.
Wardrobe tribulations at Worth's, Reboux's, etc.
On the boulevard we encounter Ferraud, the Naples banker who had asked to be among the first to be introduced and never was. I learned of this from my mandolin teacher.
I dined at the table d'hôte. Gone are the days when I never went there and dressed in white. I am in black and I eat with the Lacedaemonians. I change against my will; I can no longer find my old hairstyles, my old dresses, and it irritates me.
Everything, everything passes still! But my voice! My voice too is lost! It was mine at least — I owed it to no one — no, you see, when one has misfortune one has it with and without reason.
We return from the Gymnase. I am dead. Mme Bashkirtseff's daughter was in black, a dark hat and a large blue-and-green checked cape, such as the Empress of Russia wears.
Rome or Paris?
If I listened to my stupor I would go to Rome. I no longer love anything and no longer hate anything.
I am ugly, foolish, and forsaken.