Poor M----. This is what it means to love with the heart. I
understood at once when she told me that C---- had not written to
her for so long. On account of anonymous letters he received;
because he thought that he no longer loved her. I instantly
comprehended his object. I am frantic for her, when I think what a
satisfied face the booby will take with him to Mexico! And that poor
girl has been crying ever since this morning. I am pleased. I
foresaw everything, we must hold ourselves proudly, especially when
the man wants to draw back. He invents excuses, and the poor woman
believes she is deserving of reproach, and this, that, and the other
thing, while in reality she has no cause for blaming herself. I
always try to protect myself against every affront.
"Yes," said Mamma, "I was told that you received him yesterday from
the summit of your grandeur."
"Not only yesterday," my aunt interrupted, "but for a long time
past."
"That is true," I replied; "otherwise I should never console myself,
for he has wounded me by confounding me with other young ladies."
"How glad I am that we have no C---- in our house," remarked Mamma.
"My daughter is pure and free from any love."
"Oh! oh!" said my aunt.
* * * * *
Oh, women, women, you will always be the same.
Learn to behave yourselves, wretched sex! See how man marches
straight on, without fear, without reproach, and without being
afraid of wounding you; he abuses you, and you endure and bow
before it. Oh, you men, if you read this, know that I am grieved to
the bottom of my heart to allow you so much importance, but it would
be both bad taste and bad tactics to decry your worth; the value of
our enemies enhances our own. What credit is it to conquer dunces?
Know, you who wear trousers, know that in me you have a foe. I take
pleasure in magnifying you men in order to maintain in myself the
noble ardour which animates me.
Saturday, October 23d, 1875.
I forgot to tell my yesterday's dream. I saw some mice, against
which I threw cats that choked them. Then these mice became serpents
and went into their holes, while the cats rushed upon me, especially
one that scratched my right leg. It is a bad dream. Ah! yes;
malediction! I see that there is nothing good for me in this world.
Why do you want to live when everything fails, everything goes
wrong? We have courage up to a certain point, we make ourselves
bold, we hope, but a moment comes when we have strength no longer.
Well! Jeer at me, you hardened people. What! you will say, you dare
to utter such words, when your mother is living, when you have an
aunt who worships you, a mother who obeys you, a fortune at your
command, when you are neither infirm nor ill. You are tempting God.
That is what you will tell me, and I shall answer that life is made
up of little things as the body is formed of molecules. When all the
molecules decay and go to the Old Nick, the body can no longer live.
It is the same with life when all that composes it, colours it,
makes it lovable, is lacking, turns out badly, when everything
escapes, when not the slightest wish is realised, when everything
vanishes, everything deceives. No, to go on in this way is
impossible. So I believe that God will recall me soon. It is not in
vain that two mirrors were broken this year. People will say that
when we are young, we often feel a desire to die, but that is
nonsense. I have no desire to die; but I foresee my own death, for a
life so useless, so miserable, cannot last.
I have interrupted myself ten times to weep and to think of this
summer; when I compare it with the present I am thoroughly wretched.
How many lost illusions! What hopes deceived! And I am rid of them.
I was going to say that my heart is torn, but it is not true; my
heart is whole, my mind is embittered, and deceptions destroy man.
Let us surround our hearts with triple brass. I will trouble myself
no more about this man. I will no longer think of him, I will no
longer speak of him as before, I forbid myself to do it.
October 24th, 1875.
I boasted of my conduct yesterday; there was no reason for it; if I
appeared indifferent it was because I was indifferent. These people
don't know how to talk; the Arts, history, one doesn't even hear
their names. I feel that I am gradually growing stupid. I am doing
nothing. I want to go to Rome--to take up my lessons again. I am
bored. I feel myself being gradually enveloped in the spider's web
which covers everything here, but I am struggling, I am reading.
At the theatre P---- with R----, her good friend, as they say in
Nice, began to yawn when she saw all the people in our box.
Why do women yawn when they are jealous and curious? My mother has
noticed it a hundred times, and I, too, in my short life.
Wretched feminine position! Men have all the privileges, women have
only that of waiting their good pleasure.
I should be quite proud if I could make myself really loved by this
man.
Wild, reckless, ruined, vicious, fickle, brutalised by association
with wicked women! His feelings of delicacy, of true love, of
virtue, which are the bloom of the human heart, have been early
swept away from him. The desire for money holds the first place,
money to lead a gay life, to support the riffraff he has in his
train.
How much women are to be pitied! It is the man who first takes
notice, it is the man who asks to be introduced, it is the man who
makes the first advances, it is the man who gives the invitation to
dance, it is the man who pays attention, it is the man who offers
marriage. The woman is like this paper, this nice paper on which we
write whatever we please. God does not hear me, yet I will not doubt
God. Often a desire to do it seizes possession of me, but I am very
quickly punished.
Pshaw! Life is an ugly thing!
* * * * *
Before dinner we went to walk, it was wonderful moonlight. I said a
thousand foolish things to O----, and if Dina and M---- were as
crazy as we, a great scandal would have happened, for we wanted to
dance a ring around a priest who was passing.
O---- is writing a novel, it appears. After dinner we went in search
of her; I shut myself up with her, and the good girl read it. But at
the second page I stopped her and proposed that we should write one
together. I gave the idea, everything, everything, and the girl
imagines she is composing too. It would be the story of Dumas with
the _Tour de Nesle_, but I shall not assert my rights, I am giving
her a love scene for to-morrow. She makes no pretensions, and asks
for ideas, details, and love scenes with perfect simplicity.
As for me, I set to work and, at one dash, wrote the first chapter,
in which my hero bursts open a door and leaps through the window.
People are doing me the honour to busy themselves very much about
me, to gossip a great deal over me. Haven't I always desired it?
My journal is suffering because I have begun to write a novel, and I
shall succeed. Thank Heaven, I am capable of doing everything I
wish. Two chapters in two days is going on finely. I have read it to
Dina, and my story interests her. But I am able to judge for myself
personally, and I believe it will go.
While we were walking, surrounded by a group of young men, I was
happy, proud, and of what? I am little and vain; I took good care to
express a wish to return to the carriage, before my cavaliers
desired to leave. They even begged me to take another turn. That was
all right. They escorted me to the landau.
Monday, November 15th, 1875.
All day long the day of the opera I was restless.
At half past eight o'clock we set off. I was dressed in a white
muslin gown, a plain skirt with a wide ruche around the bottom,
Marie Stuart waist, and hair arranged to match the costume. A very
pretty auditorium. Everybody admired me. Toward the middle of the
entertainment, I began to feel as lovely as possible. In going out I
passed between two rows of gentlemen who stared at me till their
eyes bulged, and they didn't think me bad-looking, one could see
that. My heart swelled with pride and joy. Léonie came to undress
me, but I sent her away and shut myself up. As I entered I suddenly
saw myself in the glass. I looked like a queen, a portrait that had
come down from its frame. I no longer had to say: "Ah! if I dressed
as people used to do--" I _was_ dressed as people used to do. I was
beautiful.
It always seems as if others did not see me as I am. How unfortunate
that, instead of these little black letters, I could not trace my
portrait as I was--my wonderful complexion, my golden hair, my eyes
so dark at night, my mouth, my figure! Those who saw me know how I
looked.
While remaining simple, as suits one of my age, barely beyond
childhood, I was gowned like a grown person. That is where the
difficulty lies--to be like a grown person and yet not extravagant
and overdressed.
Later I felt very unhappy and began to sing: "Knowst thou the land?"
and fell on my knees, weeping. Why? It is a relief to lie on the
ground. Because, in the last scene, a love scene, P---- had in her
voice--it gave one a thrill--I would die for the truth--and
joyfully.
This is it, he who slays with the sword shall perish by the sword.
It seems as if I had loved. I feel in despair; I don't know why, but
it was a torturing feeling and made me weep.
Tuesday, November 16th, 1875.