Wednesday, 15 January 1879

I would like to die..
The chimney was smoking and we went to the Louvre with the Swedish women. In my absence Gavini had called and my aunt had promised him I would come to the Opera this evening. I am elegant, and my hair is beautifully done. Such hands and feet!
But wait — first of all, we dined yesterday at Mouzay’s. I was so bored that I took pleasure in thinking that I was sitting where Cassagnac had sat, in looking at the lamp and the vases he nearly knocked over, and in eating grapes because he had once served me some. I am displeased with my Bonapartists; the only way out of that situation was some happy remark. Nobody found one. Well... so, to come back to this evening, I will tell you that hearing The Huguenots with the Gavinis is a profanation. Mlle Jacquemard was with Princess Brâncoveanu, and Mme Gavini, who knows her, has promised to introduce me to her. Gavini went to the princess’s box and told Mlle Jacquemard that I had a medal. I was introduced to the deputy Eschassériaux, the baron’s son and a deputy likewise, and to another deputy. Eschassériaux — René, as Mme Gavini calls him — has one of the handsomest heads one could wish to see. A gentle yet energetic air, fine features, dark hair and a ravishing mouth that smiles with exquisite kindness. I believe he has large grey, intelligent eyes. But! a clumsy body, though fairly tall, and ill-made legs — or trousers. At the Chamber I remember his back, and his frock coat is short in the waist and hangs in a deplorable way.
On the way out Mlle de Fodoas, the canoness, and I exchanged greetings. And Alexandre Dumas was pointed out to me.
You know nothing, you! The madness that has seized me for this great man makes me believe that I know him, and indeed I am going to see him. No, I want to die...
Eschassériaux is handsome, but what a body! I have just written the little note that follows:
You are very handsome, but as badly dressed as it is possible to be. This gives you a clumsy air, and gives others the right to say that you are badly made. A certain frock coat you wear at Versailles is the height of ugliness. This is no longer a proper disdain for the fashionable set; it is quite simply a disgrace.
Prove to us quickly that it is the fault of Crémieux (he is your tailor); otherwise it would be a pity, with a head like yours....
To M. R. Eschassériaux, deputy.
I want to know whether it is he or his trousers.
I think we may have some fun at the carnival... No, it is better to die. It is quicker done. And on that pretext I tire myself out sitting up at night.
I looked in this deputy for something of the Deceased, and it was by finding it that I found him handsome, I believe.
Yes, I must see Dumas. I shall consult him as one consults a priest.