Tuesday, 29 October 1878

To the Exposition with the Gavinis.
The Chambers opened yesterday, as did the evening course at Julian's.
One might think oneself back in 1877. The Cassagnac election will be debated on Monday.
Coming home from the Champ de Mars, fatigue combined with this election in prospect set me thinking that this man's death has broken something in me, and that a life without that something — without that purpose, without that light — is no life, whatever one does. I would like to find a distraction to change me, and to see whether it is true. For a moment, the passion described in books appeared to me: the passion one theorizes about, which makes everything else repugnant... What if I were to fall victim to it! I thought. It would be detestable, I answered myself. I am happy enough to speak of it for amusement, but I will not let it prevent me from thinking about living. One can forget everything without regret for a happy passion — but a great fantasy from which one derives neither pleasure nor profit: no, upon my word, I want none of that. It would be too serious, too all-consuming, too singular to be enjoyable. I do not even believe myself capable of it, in any case. I am quite willing to continue these Creole adorations — but quietly, in the meantime; let them not encroach on the rest. Have no anxiety — I mention it only for the record, because the thought crossed my mind this morning.