"Do you want a pillow?" she asked.
"No."
"Are you ill?"
"No."
"But you look so pale."
"I am tired."
"You must be ill; where do you feel pain?"
"Everywhere!--Come, Aunt, don't disturb me, I am composing."
"Ah!"
"Oh! there is nothing like the rolling of a carriage to give ideas."
"Aha! That's different; well, well, I didn't know."
And she left me to compose at my ease. Then, after a silence:
"Why did A---- turn so pale when P---- began to sing: 'Knowst thou
the land?'"
"How could you have seen? For my part, I can never notice whether a
person turns pale or blushes."
"Yes, you, because you can't see at a distance, but I can. He turned
as white as a sheet when she sang: 'There would I fain live!'"
"I saw nothing."
Wednesday, November 17th, 1875.
Many things have changed since Monday. I don't wish to die, no
matter where and no matter how, and I have since been ashamed of
myself. I meant to trifle with the man, and it seems as if the man
was trifling with me. This insult, joined to the wrath I feel for my
weakness Monday, makes me detest him.
At six o'clock we arrived without having secured any accommodations
at the Grand Hotel, so we took rooms at the Hôtel Splendide.
"Is it worth while to choose for a hero a miserable Nice scamp like
that A----?" said my aunt, "and to write a lot of stuff about him?"
Certainly my aunt understands nothing of the matter, and that is
very fortunate. I do think of him, and yet if he loved me, I would
not consent to be his wife. No one in the household considered him
a suitable match. They noticed him because I was interested in him.
They talked about him because they saw it gave me pleasure, yet if I
said I wanted to marry him they would think me crazy, would raise a
loud outcry, for they are dreaming of a throne for me. So I don't
want to marry him. I only say I am jealous; that is why I am going
to Rome. If I stayed in Nice I could not work; I should only torment
myself. Since knowing him, since he has paid me attention, my
studies have suffered greatly, especially since it has seemed to me,
and I am almost sure of it, that he is not madly in love with me, I
have not been able to read a book or practise an hour on the piano.
Paris, November 18th, 1875.
Tired enough, finery will use me up, me and my money. But that is
why I came to Paris, and we must do things conscientiously. I need
not say that I am not having anything made in colours, everything is
white.
I feel sad, unnerved, I should like to smile and to weep. No,
really, love is full of interest.
I was in good spirits this evening, I talked with my aunt, and
complained of M---- A----. She answered that M---- A---- was a girl
of the street, a worthless creature. I declared that she deserved
every punishment for having, without knowing me, from mere gossip,
formed a bad opinion of me and basely slandered me. Seizing a sheet
of paper, I wrote:
"Contemptible old creature, your daughter no longer loves G----,
she loves a door-keeper in the Théâtre Italien, who is a very
handsome fellow."
I sent this to D----, who is going to mail it as if it came from
Nice.
I wanted to howl this morning, but it would be too much like the
dogs--I sigh and I laugh, which is amusing.
"Good Heavens," I said to my aunt yesterday, "do you suppose I could
be in love? What I want is wealth. If my heart beats, it is when I
see superb carriages, magnificent horses; if I am agitated, it is
with the longing to have all these things.
"No, Madame, even if I loved any one, the luxury here would cure me
very quickly. You don't know me, or you pretend not to know me."
I never spoke more truthfully; my aunt believed me, and began to
comfort me; to calculate, to try to have money enough to satisfy my
wants.
I worship people when they show good will. But the line of railroad
that leads me to the Duc de H---- has made a tremendous curve!
Yesterday he suddenly presented himself to my mind, so handsome that
I am again completely captivated.
November 19th, 1875.
I have spent a day between L---- and W----. It is full of interest,
for dress forms an art, a talent, a science! Finery to this degree
of perfection is a treat.
Oh, dear, how tiresome life is when one hasn't an income of at least
300,000 francs!
I have a dozen gowns made, a few hats, and stop there! It's absurd;
one ought not to be embarrassed by such things. Oh, money, money! I
must have it; I'll take any husband, if he will give it to me.
"And she has such ideas at fifteen," said my aunt.
"Yes, Aunt; not at fifteen; since I was thirteen--always."
"You are crazy," replied my aunt.
"I think so, too, but what is to be done?"
"If you don't sleep for ten nights wealth will not arrive any the
more; come, go to bed; it's heartrending, heartrending."
"Madame, I must be married!"
"To E----? No, indeed, he doesn't suit me."
I have written a lot of nonsense this evening; my ideas are very
much confused, and the novel especially. And every time I talked
seriously, my aunt was alarmed. Whenever I laughed, she laughed
too.
Saturday, November 20th, 1875.
For three hours everything in the house has been in a state of
revolution, but all the flames were extinguished in a business
interview with D----. With pride and confidence I assure myself that
I am the wise head of the household. I believe that this time all
the difficulties are smoothed, unless the matter is upset when I am
no longer here.
Sunday, November 21st, 1875.
I want to return to Nice, the longer I stay here, the longer my
departure for Rome is delayed. I spend my time in complaining; my
aunt says I am crazy. I laugh, and so does she. Life is full of
interest.
Monday, November 22nd, 1875.
We went to my beautifiers, and also to B----'s. To-morrow we shall
decide upon the carriages. Then I went to see B----, with whom I
always keep up a correspondence. I spent an hour with her; we are
not intimate friends, like young girls, we are mere acquaintances.
We received a letter from Mamma, with a clipping from a newspaper in
which the opening of the opera at Nice was described, and a number
of complimentary things said about us. So people are interested in
me, but let us pass on. Mamma has been to the opera again, there was
some mistake about the box, and old A---- came to give her a box by
the side of his. Everybody came to see her--he was with Dina and
O----. Everybody enquired for us except G----.
While reading this letter I committed a thousand extravagances, to
the amazement of my aunt. Instantly taking a sheet of paper I wrote,
disguising my hand, a letter to A---- D----.
"Sir, here is a recent and true story from which your wonderful
talent will be able to make a drama or a striking romance.
"A rich man, forty-five years old, married in Spain a young girl of
sixteen and took her to his château in France. He was a widower, and
had a son eight years old. This child, at the end of fifteen years,
became a young man of three and twenty. He is handsome, impetuous,
spoiled, but good and loyal. His stepmother is scarcely thirty-one,
and beautiful. They love each other.
"Pursued by remorse, she could no longer endure the presence of her
husband, who knew nothing. She planned that he should surprise her
with some one else. The husband fired at her, but missed his aim.
"She fled to a convent where the husband is going to pursue her,
wants to bring a lawsuit, take away her children--the oldest a girl
of fifteen. The story could be turned to excellent account.
"There was also an interview between the young man and the woman, in
which he sought to lead her into a reconciliation, showed her the
scandal which this rupture would bring upon her daughters. It ended
by a total separation, but if you wish you can kill off whichever
you like, except the son, who is very well.
"Answer me through the correspondence of the Figaro, if you think
there is anything in it, addressing the initials C.P.L."
"That is wicked and absurd," said my aunt.
"It is worse than wicked, worse than absurd, it is cowardly, but
what do you expect, doesn't everybody know the story?"
"Yes, but people don't talk about it, not on account of the old man,
who is a fool, whom everybody recognises as such, but for the sake
of the young one, who is beloved. It is only since the son's
appearance in society that his father has been let alone."
"Why does he look so fierce?" C----asked B---- one day.
"Because so many stones have been thrown at him."
Wednesday, November 24th, 1875.
I slept for twelve hours and, while trying on at L----'s I felt ill.
True, they kept me two hours with those wretched gowns.
We ordered from B---- a landau with eight springs, dark-blue, five
seats, everything the very best, at the price of 6,000 francs; also
a park phaeton of the same colour, the phaeton is for me. I already
see myself in that little carriage, driving and saying: "Knowst thou
the land--"
November 28th, 1875.
I am in Nice. From Paris to Lyon, we were in the midst of snow, but
it is strange that I am not so delighted as I was before on reaching
my villa.
At Toulon we met C---- and took her with us. Mamma and the S----'s
were waiting for us at the station. The grown-ups took a cab, and we
entered our carriage.
We went to the opera. I wore a white barège costume made a little
like a night-gown--open in front, as if by chance, and confined at
the waist by a wide sash like a child's. We laughed heartily in
spite of the general dulness.
I returned stupid, indifferent. It is the most detestable condition.
I would rather weep. I don't love him. I hate him with all the
strength with which I might have loved him. Nothing in the world
effaces the resentment I have once felt.
Do you remember all that is wounding and terrible expressed in the
one word "scorn"?
_I_ understand, I who remember the slap my brother gave me more than
twelve years ago, at whose recollection I am still as furious as if
I had received it now; I who have kept a sort of hatred of my,
brother on account of that childish affront. It was my only blow,
but to make up for it, I have given a goodly number and to
everybody. There was so much wickedness in my eyes that, when I
looked in the glass, I was frightened by it. Everything can be
pardoned except scorn. I would forgive a cruelty, a fit of passion,
insults uttered in a moment of anger, even an infidelity, when
people return and still love, but scorn--!
Monday, November 29th, 1875.
We went out at three o'clock. I who came to Nice in search of fine
weather encountered Parisian cold. I wore an otter skin hat, made in
the style of a baby hood, and my big sable pelisse covered with
white cloth. The costume created a sensation, and my face did not
look ugly, in spite of my fatigue.
I am so happy to be at home in my own house. I am sleeping in my
big dressing room. My chamber will be ready in a month; I shall find
it finished on my return from Rome. I am thinking only of that, of
having my carriage, of spending a month in Nice, of continuing the
studies I shall have begun in Rome, of following my professor's
directions, and then of going to Russia. So many things have
suffered, so much money has been lost because we failed to take our
journey. There was a crowd to hear the band play. General B---- and
V---- were near us. A---- was near the carriage.
"Are you going to stay long in Nice?"
"A week."
"Are you going away again?"
"Why, yes," replied my aunt.
"And where?"
"To Rome."
"Yes, to Rome," I added.
"But you do nothing but travel. Mademoiselle, you are a regular
whirler."
"What a ridiculous man!"
We were walking, I, my aunt, and the General, who made me laugh by
calling my attention to the different ways in which people looked at
me, the men at my face, the women at my gown.
From this time I will no longer trouble myself about any one. I will
become Galatea, let people love me, if they like!
I wonder why I am unhappy. No! I have no brains. Do people ask such
things when they have? We are happy or we are unhappy, nothing does
any good; neither prayer, nor tears, nor faith. I am a living proof,
I lack everything.
When shall I go to Rome? I want to study, I am losing my time for
nothing. If one does nothing, one ought to go into society; I am
losing my time and I am bored.
O, misery of miseries! I will go all the same to pray to God, who
knows?
While there is life, there is hope.
Saturday, December 4th, 1875.
I have told Mamma that I was going to study singing, and I shall do
it, if it is God's pleasure to preserve my voice; it is the only way
of gaining the fame for which I thirst, for which I would give ten
years of my life without hesitation. I need renown, glory, and I
will have them. _Deo juvante._ It has never happened that people
wanted it, and did not have it! I have the most comprehensive ideas
in the world. A fig for all that! Do I want it? A hundred times, no,
a thousand times no! I was born to be a remarkable woman, it
matters little in what way or how. All my tendencies are toward the
great things of this world. I shall be famous, I shall be great, or
I shall die!
It is impossible that God should have given me this _gloria
cupidatis_, like S----, for nothing, without an object; my time will
come. I am happy when I think as I do to-day. Oh, my voice!
We went to the opera house to get a box for this evening. They gave
the "Barber," my favourite little opera. I aspire to something
unheard of, fabulous; I want to be famous, I will sing. It is queer,
the whole Italian company saluted me. We were in No. 2. I wore my
Empire gown, in which I like myself best. Hair dressed like an
Olympian goddess, falling lower than the belt, and curled naturally
at the ends. The General, always charming, was with us.
"Come," I said, "do you know what I am going to do?"
"What are you going to do, Mademoiselle?"
"I am going to make a mirror."
"How?"
"Look."
I took the attitude of old A----, who sat opposite. He put his hand
on the balustrade; I did the same. He leaned on his hand; I leaned
on mine. He played with his chain; I played with my ribbon. He
pulled his ear; I pulled mine.
The General laughed, Dina laughed, everybody laughed.
Every time he changed his position I imitated him like the most
faithful mirror.
It was the last act, the house was half empty, and I continued my
game in freedom till the last moment. I went out fairly jumping for
joy and returned home gay and talkative.
To-night "Mignon" was given at the theatre.
I listened with pleasure and emotion. I forgot everything, toilette
and audience, and, with my head resting against the pillar, I
devoured the charming melodies. If I had "Mignon" given in my room I
should enjoy it just as much, even more. With an interesting
audience one hears nothing. I have seen this opera so many times!
And I am always moved.
One could not imagine my impatience to go to Rome and resume my
work. To study, to study, that is my desire! I grow joyous at the
sight of my dear books, my adored classics, my beloved Plutarch.
I shall carry with me a few volumes to read, for I suppose we shall
not see many people; we know no one there.
Saturday, December 11th, 1875.
The weather is magnificent. A tremendous crowd when we go out. We
move at a walk, between hedges formed of the young men of Nice. They
all take off their hats, and it seems as if I were the daughter of a
queen whom they salute as she passes.
We met the Marvel, who alighted from his carriage and raised his hat
to us twice. I was amused, I laughed, I went with O----. Why did we
laugh so much? I shall remember later.
Sunday, December 19th, 1875.
To-morrow there is to be a concert at the _Cercle de la Méditerranée_
for the benefit of the free _École des beaux-arts_. I went to the
club to get tickets. Entering through the big door I was ushered
through well-heated, well-lighted corridors to the room of the
secretary, who gave me the little book containing the by-laws and
the names of the members. Men are lucky!
The club made a charming impression upon me. There is a fraternity
of spirit a homelike air, which reminds one of the convent. I am no
longer surprised that these men avoid their badly lighted, poorly
heated homes, with household cares neglected, ill-disciplined
servants, a wife in a wrapper and a bad humour, to go to a place
where everything is nice, comfortable, elegant (in a land where the
orange tree blossoms, where the breeze is softer and the bird
swifter of wing).
O women, don't pity yourselves, but attend to your homes.
Long instructions might be given. I am content to say: "Make your
house resemble a club as much as possible and treat your husbands
as these ladies, L----and C----, treat them, and you will be happy
and your husbands too."
Now I am calm and I think. O misery of miseries! O despair! What I
have written expresses the best portion of what I feel. O God, have
pity on me. Good people, do not jeer at me. Perhaps I give cause for
amusement, but I am to be pitied. With my temperament, my ideas, I
shall never explain what I feel. I shall never give an idea of my
unhappiness, it is because while dying of shame, of scorn, of rage,
I have the courage to jest. I really do have good health and a good
disposition. Provided that what I have just said doesn't bring me
misfortune!
I have a great many other things to say, but I am tired. I am going
to write in big letters, "I am unhappy," and in letters still
larger, "O God, aid me, have pity on me!"
These big letters represent an hour and a half of rage, tears,
irritated self love, and two hours of prayer!
I have exhausted all words, I have exhausted my energy, I no longer
have patience or strength, yet I still have one resource.
My voice. To preserve it I must take care of my health. Another week
like this one, and good-bye to singing!
No, I will be sensible, I will pray to God. I will go to Rome. I am
desperate, I will implore the Pope to pray for me. In my madness, I
hope for that.
To-morrow I will talk with Mamma about my idea; aid me, my God.
Thursday, December 23d, 1875.
I am sorrowful and discouraged. My departure is an exile to me. I
want to stay in Nice, and it is impossible. We always insist upon
the impossible. The simplest thing, by resisting, gains in value.
Friday, December 24th, 1875.
B---- has been to our house. By a few words in the conversation he
awoke in me so much love for Nice, so much regret at leaving, that I
became unhappy and went to my room to sing--with such earnestness,
such warmth, that I am still weeping from it--that eternal air, and
these delightful words:
"Alas! Would it were possible I might return,
Unto that vanished land whence I was torn,
There, there alone to live my heart doth yearn,
To live, to love, to die."
How I pity those who are not like me! They do not understand how
much truth there is in this familiar fragment that is sung in every
drawing-room. Yes, _there alone to live my heart doth yearn_. Yes,
at Nice, in my beloved villa. People may go through the world. They
will find sublime landscapes, impressive mountains, frightful gulfs,
wild beauties of nature, picturesque towns, great cities; but, on
returning to Nice one would say that elsewhere it was beautiful,
magnificent! but here it is pleasant, attractive, congenial; here
one wants to stay; here one is alone and surrounded, hidden and in
sight, as one desires. Nowhere else does one breathe as freely, as
joyously. Nowhere else is there this extraordinary blending of the
real and the artificial, the simple and the exquisite! Finally, what
shall I say? Nice is my city. I am going, but I shall return.
_Go, but still regret it,
Regret has its charms,_
as one of the pleasant simpletons called poets has said.
To-morrow will be Christmas, and I am planning a joke with C----. We
are going to buy a pair of huge slippers, a jockey, reins for
driving (suitable for a child), and two little sheep. We will put
these things into the slippers, make a package, and under the cord
slip a letter written in this form:
"Santa Claus has found little E----very good, and hopes he will
continue to be. The toys are for little E----, the slippers for
little 'papa.'" And on the envelope one may guess what. But we shall
not send it, Dina is going to disguise herself as a boy, and, with
her blue spectacles and pale complexion, she appears like a
professor of mathematics. C---- and I will also make ourselves
unrecognisable and, at eight o'clock, go to the club, and tell the
coachman to give the package to the janitor from M. E----. We
laughed as we used to do. What amuses me is to see a serious woman
play pranks with me.
This morning we had a call from a Sister T----. She left two
visiting cards. _The Sisters of the Good Shepherd._ I took one,
added P.P.C. and, with an address written on it, sent it to Tour.
Saturday, December 25th, 1875.
_Ah! son felica! Ah! son rapita!_
Find me a language which expresses thought with so much enthusiasm.
So I use it to define my condition. It is heavenly weather,
everybody is out of doors, in spite of my vigil yesterday, I look
pretty.
I go to walk enchanted, happy, I sing "Mignon" softly and everything
seems beautiful to me. Everybody looks at me so pleasantly, those
whom I know salute me. I should like to hug them all. Oh, how
comfortable we are in Nice, I should not want to go away.
I have a longing for amusement, I should like to invite everybody to
the house, to give a dinner, a ball, a supper, a reception, to have
some sort of diabolical carnival--I should like to have everybody,
everybody. I am not ill-natured at heart, I am only a little crazy.
_Ah! son felica! Ah! son rapita
Dio Virgina Sanctissima._
We went to the opera, Mamma and I in the 3d box in the first row, my
aunt and Dina in the 2nd next to the Marvel. T---- came in, General
B---- was with us. The door opened and the Marvel appeared.
"Well," said I, "you celebrated Christmas."
"Ah! yes, just think, I received a pair of slippers."
"Slippers!"
"Yes, and mine were so worn out that they came very opportunely, and
an anonymous letter which was not signed--that is very natural,
anonymous letters are never signed. And the same day I received a
letter, a visiting card: _The Sisters of the Good Shepherd_."
Everybody laughed.
"What does P.P.C. mean?" I asked.
"Pays Parting Calls."
"Oh, yes, that's true."
"But for some time I have received a great many things, the other
day a bit of broken rock, pierced by an arrow. All the people in the
box shouted with laughter, and so did I. But I saw plainly that he
was furiously angry and suspected everything. It is terrible that
only the most foolish little pranks should be remembered."
"You are very fortunate, I received nothing at all."
"Ah! If you wish, I'll send you some slippers."
"But if they are so big, what should I do with them?"
"Never mind, I'll send you all the things."
"That is kind, I am quite overpowered."