Friday, 12 September 1873

Today I worked well; I am pleased with myself. The Englishwoman told me that "you speak very well; indeed I would never say that you are a foreigner in hearing you." I cannot believe that I speak well. I so longed to speak English, and now that I speak it, I cannot believe it. I never believe praise -- that is to say, I believe that those who tell me so mean it, but within myself I cannot grant myself any quality.
I am studying, then, English, French, Italian, Latin, and German. Piano and drawing. And of course all the sciences -- geography, cosmography, arithmetic, grammar, literature, history, natural history, etc. etc.
I played the piano for an hour and a half and dinner is served; I have studied nine hours exactly.
Tomorrow Dominique will come with his landau.
Little Nadia bores me supremely with her kisses.
We go out; I meet Manotte, who will come tomorrow. We go to Mouton's; he has bought two horses, one of which is very handsome. I was in the stables -- the horses are perfectly kept. I should like to ride Khalkionoff's horse; Mouton assures me it is not wild. We eat ices and return home.
Orgechko, the two Anitchkoffs, and Khalkionoff are at our house. Maman is in bed, ill.
I begin to speak of horses, of Khalkionoff's horse; he claims it is very wild and especially apt to take fright and throw its rider. I believe, quite simply, he does not want me to take his horse. Instantly Papa reveals his feelings and cites a hundred examples: how a cousin broke his head, the Comte de Toulouse-Lautrec his leg, and another his skull, etc. etc. He goes to Maman and tells her this child (I) must be prevented from riding, she insists on it, etc. etc. etc.! I said nothing of the sort. Maman begs me not to go, with all the consequences. In short, I know not how, but they contrive to make it appear that I am throwing tantrums, that I absolutely insist on riding, that I am headstrong -- when never in my life have I thought any such thing. The Anitchkoffs are delighted by the opportunity, meddle in the affair, and take Maman's side -- poor woman -- while I am an impertinent, capricious girl, etc. I calmly asked Maman to stop, so as not to make a mountain out of a molehill, but on the contrary, she continues, and so on. True to my promise, I did not let myself be carried away -- and, my God, there was cause enough! I remain alone with Maman, explain everything to her, but she weeps; it is her nerves. Before hearing reason, she is in despair. We have made peace -- not I, for I was never at war, but she. At last everything is settled; the Princess thinks she has influenced me and thereby restored calm to the invalid; the donkeys fancy themselves guardian angels. Everyone is satisfied with themselves. And I, in turmoil, cannot remain indifferent to so much stupidity, so much obstinacy, that I-know-not-what that infuriates me. I cannot manage to make these people understand that... ah! well. When someone says a fly has flown by -- oh really, but whose fault is that? I did nothing. It is always thus: why do you say it is not so? you think it was me. Oh! devil take it, who made it fly? Everyone falls upon me. I am insulted without cause! And so on. This is life every day, every instant. And they think it easy for a person of sense to live among madmen. For on any point whatsoever, each of them is touched. I try to do the best of everything, but truly it is unbearable. Like this evening with the horse. Simply because I said the horse is fine and Mouton assures me it is quiet, they have made out that I insist on galloping on this horse, that I shall kill myself, that this horse will hurl me against a wall, that, that, that -- I truly no longer know what.
Ah! My God, it is an ordeal; I shall endure it since it is imposed upon me. Poor Maman is so martyred by her entourage that she has become very irritable and nervous. Papa gnaws at her.

Notes

In English in the original.
In English in the original.