Sunday, October 10th, 1875.
I was going to talk with my aunt, but why appeal to human beings?
What can men do? God alone can help! God does not hear me! Just God!
Holy Virgin! Jesus! I am not worthy to be heard, but I pray you for
it on my knees, I pray so earnestly! Is not prayer a merit, however
small it may be? Do not the most unworthy obtain what they ask
through prayer? Is it nothing to believe and to turn to God? And
though I should write until to-morrow I could say nothing but the
words:
"My God, have pity on me!"
* * * * *
I who thought I must succeed in everything, see that I am failing
everywhere. I shall never console myself for it. How everything in
this world repeats itself! I went lately to the Aquaviva terrace and
looked to the right. It was in winter, and the mist was gathering on
the Promenade. I saw the Duc de H---- go into G----'s, and now it is
precisely the same thing, only then I ordered myself to love him,
and now I forbid myself to love.
Then I was crazy over the man; now he interests me because he looked
at me.
In a word, why and how? What do the reasons matter? I do not love
him. Oh, but I am so provoked! "Come," I said, "rouse yourself, I
won't cry about that."
To straighten myself, throw back my head, smile scornfully, then
indifferently, and that is all; moisten the ropes, as they did in
moving the obelisk of Sixtus Quintus, and I shall be on my
pedestal--and I have not an instant's strength. I preferred to stay
in my armchair and murmur:
"I fail in everything now."
Confess, you who will read these lines, am I a man? Confess that I
have reason to be angry over it.
I, the queen, the goddess. I, who should be worshipped kneeling; I,
who do not want to move my little finger lest I should bestow too
much honour; I with my ideas; I with my ambition; I with my pride! I
confess that, after having seen him go into G----'s like a master, I
feel a sort of respect for him; he acts the duke.
This evening "_Alice de Nevers_," a comic opera by Hervé, was given
for the first time. Our box had been engaged a long while, first
proscenium at the right. I was dressed with more care than usual;
hair arranged in Marie Antoinette style, without the powder. The
whole was drawn up, even the fringe in front. I left only a few
little locks at each side. My beautiful white forehead, thus bared,
gave me a royal air, and at the back I let two curls hang, waved
just at the end.
Gown of dove-grey taffeta and a white fichu. In short, Marie
Antoinette in miniature. I felt well satisfied, and gazed at the
base multitude from the height of my grandeur. Lighting _a giorno_.
I was looked at quite enough.
He could not help staring at me like the rest. Everybody came to our
box.
At every intermission I went to the back, so that I would not have
to turn my head at each visit. Just as the curtain was rising the
Prefect's son and A---- entered our box. I received them with
perfect ease; he has a foreign air.
"What, Mademoiselle, are you really going away?"
"Oh, yes, Monsieur."
"No, no," he said, as if he had been pricked by a pin, "Mademoiselle
shall not go."
I did not deign to answer. I was courteous, agreeable, but cold. He
turned and asked me if I always gave trouble.
"Yes, always."
* * * * *
We are going to the S----'s. I do not see M----. She is shut up at
home. This is what has happened--during the two months since the
C---- family arrived from Mexico, he has no longer written to her.
I know that people who say what I have just said are not popular. We
prefer those who, like Dina, veil what they know by a false
sentiment of sham delicacy and misplaced pity.
Listen carefully to these commonplace, but true words. C---- deserts
you. Write him a letter full of pride and withdraw with honour.