Friday, 16 September 1881

Having said our farewells to Saint Amand and Bojidar, we left Thursday morning — we would have had to spend the night in Bayonne, so we chose Bordeaux instead, where Sarah was giving a performance. We therefore got two balcony stalls for fifty francs, and I saw La Dame aux camélias.¹ Unfortunately I could not hear everything from so far away, and besides I was very tired. But so much has been said about this woman that I cannot take stock of my impressions. It seemed to me in advance that she would do nothing like anyone else, and so one is a little surprised to see her walk, speak, sit down. I have only seen her four times: once six years ago in Le Sphinx, then recently in Le Sphinx again, Hernani, and L'Étrangère.² One pays extraordinary attention to her slightest movements. In the end I do not know — I think she is enchanting. What is certain is that Biarritz is pretty, very pretty. The sea has been of an enchanting hue all day. Such fine grays! We have already had a quarrel with Maman and my aunt. I understand that one respects a mother who is infirm, old, crippled — that one accompanies her everywhere — and the person who would be ashamed of that would no doubt be a vile creature. But Maman is in fairly good health; she is forty; she has the means to dress properly — and she goes out in an old black silk dress, worn-down slippers, white cotton stockings, and a hat with limp feathers. Gloves torn at the fingers. [Word blacked out: Pleasant] journey… It was truly lamentable: an old black tunic, unstitched on one side (made by a cheap little seamstress, very inexpensive silk), no hat, no gloves — she went about the railway stations like that. Place beside that myself, with my determined air and very elegant appearance, and judge how this looks. I am forced to make a scene and swear that I will not go out until she dresses herself

properly, or else I shall always wear my oldest dresses. Ah! how sad it is to have quarrels over such trifles… and what would you have me do.