Tuesday, 11 October 1881

I dreamed that someone was explaining to me what I have in my right lung — in certain parts the air does not penetrate… which causes things to rise… but it is too disgusting to relate. It suffices that I am affected. Ah! I know it, for for some time now I feel a
sort of malaise, a slight, indefinable weakness… but I am no longer as I was before — I do not feel like other people; a kind of weakening vapor envelops me — I speak figuratively, of course. It seems as though I have something foreign to me in my chest, and I have… but what is the use of these absurdities — [blacked out: we shall see]. Instead of writing pretty things about Spain, I… it is pitiable. Besides, I have so far only seen Madrid, which is merely a capital and lacks character, etc. etc. This evening we go to the opera, but in a box on the stage — add to that Guillaume Tell and bad singers. Of the public I say nothing, since I saw nothing. Young Pollack accompanied us, and old Pollack came to call — he knows the director and all the artists; he spoke to them, and when Pandolini approached I told him I had heard him in Paris, where he sang admirably at the Italiens. He really did sing well, and besides he is a superb creature — a Titian, with the easy bearing of the portrait of François I and a head in the manner of a modern Don Carlos. I truly think the little artist is in love with me — I tell you this for no reason in particular… Perhaps I am wrong but I don't think so… In any case he goes out of his way to be agreeable to us.

Notes

Guillaume Tell: Rossini's grand opera William Tell (1829), demanding and rarely performed well; Marie is not impressed by this production.
Pandolini: Agostino Pandolini (1836–1916), Italian baritone, prominent at the Opéra-Comique and other European houses in the 1870s–80s.