Friday, 19 June 1874

We have no more money -- it is distressing! Never have I needed and wanted so many things. It is the cruelest and most wretched position in the world. In this state one is capable of anything.
Having to deny myself so many things! Never in my life, I say, have I found so many things to buy; never have I so desired, with such desire, all these little and great follies I cannot buy!
What a wretched and pitiful position!
There is nothing more dreadful, dreadful, than to lack money. One feels ruined, lowered; every will breaks upon this reef, every faculty grows dim, and the best heart is worth nothing!
During our drive in the Bois (in a landau as almost always) my anger, my indignation, my despair overflowed in half-words, silences, glances. How humiliated and wretched I am!
Maman is overwrought and as wretched as I; we temper our sufferings by martyring each other. At dinner she wept as though outraged by my behaviour; I did not weep -- I made myself hard and impenetrable as a stone. And when Dina looks at me with little Christian eyes, virtuously indignant, I laugh in her face.
At this juncture Moreno arrived; I withdrew to the bedroom where I philosophically ate strawberries and cream. When I appeared (I was wearing Maman’s grey skirt and a red jacket) he found me very tall. It is the second time he has come; the first time he did not find us in. He knew me as a small child; he asked permission to examine me, and I consented. Then this superb desert monkey looked at me through his pince-nez.
-- One thing: you must not put on any more weight.
To prove to him that I am not fat I went and put on my grey bodice. Then he was -- or pretended to be -- dumbfounded. This animal paid me every possible and impossible flattery.
-- But you are wearing a crinoline.
-- Not at all, I have nothing underneath.
-- But what hips! but it is incredible, etc. etc. etc.
He was astonished and admired without end, but I said:
-- Monsieur, since I know you and you knew me as a small child, I permit you much, and I am frank with you: I have no crinoline, I never put on anything but my dress.
This old scoundrel kept looking at how I am made. In truth, with a long skirt without trimmings and this bodice that suits me so well, I am, from the neck down, perfection.
-- But do you know, Madame, he said to Maman, that one could make the devil dream, or something of the sort -- worse still, I believe. This remark is too strong, and if I were a flower I should close my petals. Bah! He is a Brazilian; those monkeys always remain animals and nothing more.
I spoke French very well and purely.
(But I forget the end of yesterday: we were at the Theatre Francais, in a stage box; I was dressed up. They gave Le Village and Le Sphinx -- now there is a theatre. Croizette is admirable. The moonlit scene is very beautiful; I shall not analyse the play, it has been done. I shall say only that I found it magnificent, natural, interesting, and that I burn to see it again.)
The monkey spoke of Rémy. He will spend the winter in Nice, and Rémy will come in March. This idea already occupies me. I need an admirer; I cannot be bored, it is too stupid. This time I shall make eyes at that boy and make him do foolish things -- it will be so amusing!
In my second journal the style is much better. But I do not understand myself. Only at page 68 [Volume I] do I find myself again.
Oh, the idea I had there came to me from God; it is the right one, the best; nothing has changed in my mind regarding it. If it could come true, what I think lost is perhaps not entirely lost.
If what I was then thinking of doing could be done, I would have nothing to fear, nothing to desire. If.... And what if it should be? Oh, if only it could be... (I write these last words with a dreamy hand, but alas, that does not show.)
That idea! My desires of a year ago are my desires of today. The basic furnishing of my mind does not change; only the fancy pieces change. Oh! if God were indulgent enough to allow me to be happy

Notes

Moreno is M. de Gonzalès Moreno, the father of Rémy, whom the family had known at Baden-Baden in 1870. Later in this entry Marie calls him a Brazilian; he was Argentine, as she says herself in her 1884 preface («le République-argentinais Gonzalès»). ↩
Le Village (“The Village”) and Le Sphinx (“The Sphinx”): plays by Octave Feuillet. The French titles are kept; no established English titles. ↩