I spent the first of
last January in the cars, and I have really travelled a great deal.
To-morrow, yes, to-morrow I shall be glad to go. I am perfectly
happy, for I have made a plan--a plan that will fail like the
others, but which amuses me in the meanwhile. If it were not two
o'clock in the morning, I would write a whole story of the sale of a
soul. The brutes--I have not wept, I have not felt sad once. A very
pleasant day to commence the year. I shall go and think only of
returning. No doubt I shall change my mind in Rome. All the same,
this is where I should like to live.
I had already closed my book, but I and a lot of things to say. I
have looked at the great caricature, there are five of us. I have
thought of everything; of Mme. B----, of the English, of the people
of Nice, of S----, of "Mignon." In a word, a quantity of things. I
had a great deal to say, and lo! I stop.
It is tiresome to go, but it is horrible to stay. P---- has dramatic
emotions so genuine that she delights and thrills me. Come, what was
I going to write? That I am calm and agitated, sorrowful and joyous,
jealous and indifferent. It seems to me that fastidious society is
possible to have and, at the same time, it is impossible.
"I wish to stay and I wish to go,
How it will end I do not know.
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