Thursday, 19 November 1874

I wrote to Foster to ask him to find me a horse. I refuse to ride hired horses when those Howard hams¹ ride their own and are attended by a groom².

I have a wide-brimmed felt hat, the kind called a chapeau Mademoiselle — it suits me, but with walking dresses, smaller hats are better.

There are people about the Jardin Public and also at the Détroit des Mouches, but none of any standing.

When all is said and done, I detest Nice — fie on this vile town, this vile crowd!

And yet, if one only knew how bitterly I wept last night before falling asleep! There is cause enough. Ah, how dreadful it is to live as we live! My God, my God, if people only knew how I seethe inwardly, how my heart tightens, how many times the tears rise all the way to my throat and choke me.

And there are people who call themselves Spanish — no, that is not what I meant to say! There are people who will dare to mock me and consider all these sorrows ridiculous... Wretches! Let them feel what I feel, if they would have me believe them. Ah, for anyone with amour-propre — a situation such as ours, oh no, I would not wish it on anyone, on anyone, for God, knowing that I know what a horrible torment and constant humiliation it is, would punish me.

And why must it be so, my God! There is nothing but this cursed lawsuit, nothing else — it is not a crime. Why does everyone tend rather to avoid us.

Today, walking along the Quai Masséna, I suffered one of the cruelest pains of my life. The two Seignettes — that species of parvenu — were passing; Maman had often met them at Mme Howard's, and she looked at them and smiled in greeting — but those horrid creatures fixed their eyes straight ahead and did not look back. Then Maman, dreading my reaction, tried to conceal her greeting and maintained a strained and pitiful smile, [Crossed out: as if it were natural,] looking as if she were glancing at the shop windows. I watched her — watching with pain that fear of me, that humiliation — for I often lament my misfortunes in her presence and she takes my complaints as reproaches; she feels the full truth of everything I say, for she would say it herself; she suffers more than I do, for she suffers because I suffer, and she dreads my reaction like fire on such occasions.

I watched that smile which was tearing my soul, and my heart swelled with all the horror there is in this world!

At last I heaved a kind of sigh that was more like a roar, and from it came so much rage compressed these several minutes, so much fury, so much malice — si che [illegible] che l'aer ne temere³

Zoé spent the evening with us, with her father.

Nina has gone to Geneva and Pâris has moved in with us.