Tuesday, 3 November 1874

Why the devil am I not as attractive by day as I am in the evening!
When I looked at myself just now in the mirror before which I do my hair, take my tea, read and write, I was — I dare say it — quite beautiful. Ears very pink, cheeks the same, mouth crimson and moist, teeth small, white, and bright. In my portrait I lied — I have now, through much care, white and bright teeth as I have just described. Eyes more brilliant than ever; the eyebrows too stood out particularly against the brow, whiter than usual this evening; the hair disheveled but not loose — in this disorder two curls had fallen forward and formed quite a poetic knot.
Yes — apart from the nose, which is in fact very passable — I would not wish to change my face as it is tonight.
I believe I have said before that when I am satisfied with my face I am satisfied with everything, or at least I have the most brilliant hopes about the villa, the arrangements, everything in a word. Indeed it seems to me that the world is mine when I am pretty.
With something like satisfaction I observed a double row of carriages around the public gardens. Many of the regulars are here, and a few well-made dresses are to be noticed. We encountered my ghost once in his carriage and once on foot — I did not blush! The little scoundrel has his top hat on again. Perhaps I, too, often wear things that are unbecoming to me — one cannot see oneself. He stared at me again, straight in the eyes; when he sees us he seems not to want to lose a single instant, and gazes with a furious intensity as long as he can see — one would think he wanted to examine people down to the smallest detail.
But God forgive me, I think I speak of him often enough! Bah! If Saëtone looked at me as he does, I would speak of him too. I am always flattered when people look at me — not like that miserable Lambertye, for example!
He will arrive as well, and I shall have the affront of enduring his smiles which I cannot fathom for the life of me. Wretch — I shall circulate an acrostic about you among our friends, and you will be ridiculous, you rascal; I shall put ridicule into it, and I shall also write verses easy to remember and sing to a well-known tune.
But alas! No one pays you enough attention for that.
While after dinner Nina, Pâris, and the rest of us were talking of various things, I was pacing back and forth, not listening to them and thinking — no one will guess who I was thinking about... I wager they will say Audiffret — but no: simply the Duke of Hamilton. Of late he comes to mind so often; I even dreamed of him the night of my evening terror. Often I would slip out into the corridor or the anteroom, close my eyes, and lean my head against the wall — it seemed to me then that he was about to come, that he was there... but I opened my eyes and saw only the sharp gaslight and the staircase. Wretchedness of wretchednesses! I am thinking of a man who does not know I exist and who is married.
I did not love him so much when I used to see him — that is, a year and nine months ago — but [crossed out: those two years] during these almost two years I have thought of him so constantly... that I love him two, three, a hundred times more than then. I have analyzed him without knowing him, studied him, conversed with him almost; oh! My God, I do nothing to think of him — but he recalls himself to my mind at every instant; I think of him without meaning to, and when I do I am so happy. I should have written nothing tonight without him — but I felt so strongly that I love him that I needed to say it, at least to this sad journal.
A year and nine months ago I saw him for the last time. It was the 12th of February 1873.
[Across the page: Affectation, to counterbalance Audiffret, whom Maman and the others have put into my head with their teasing.]
But what madness — at this very hour he is perhaps a father! Oh no — him a father, how sordid — and what business is it of mine, good God?
I purposely had The Morning Post sent, in order to find his name in it, but up to today still nothing.
At dinner someone mentioned Hamilton, and all confused and blushing I turned red as a brass tuba, thus exaggerating my cold.
Everyone knows — and I had to endure Dina averting her eyes.

Notes

In English in the original.