Saturday, 19 December 1874

To the drop of ink in the glass of water a teaspoonful of ink has been added. What a pity — a pretty girl like me, fresh and rosy, riddled with troubles! Every time I look in the looking-glass I tell myself: if I were only twelve I could be patient; but at sixteen I have no time — and I weep ten times a day; when I am not weeping I sigh; when at last I am not sighing, dreadful thoughts [run?] through my mind.¹

Now is truly the moment to say that I am altogether unhappy — not before, when I said it carelessly.

Poor wretch that I am — shall I ever say sufficiently how unhappy I am?

When it happens that I cannot hold back my tears before my mother and aunt, they say to me: “What a pleasure, making yourself miserable over trifles and ruining your eyes and complexion! Trifles³, charming trifles⁴!”

But it is my whole life, my whole happiness; I prize nothing above it; if I were told that I would always live as I do now — I would die with joy! But!... Ah, my God, what am I saying — not only do I prize nothing above it, I know nothing in the world that can approach it!

Lord Jesus! Holy Virgin! Oh, save me, save me! If only I could invent words to convey some idea of my incessant torments! We took little Foster out, and are bringing her to the opera. (Pink dress — good.)

Apart from that, the regulars of the stalls, of no consequence⁵. And Constantin, who has his stall beneath our box and who, Maman says, never lowers his eyes⁶. My mother’s remark made me observe, and I caught his eyes fixed on me twice — hand supporting his head behind his ear, arm resting on the chair-back. I say nothing of all the other glances I saw and felt; for as Maman says, he almost never lowered his eyes⁷ — almost. It amuses me, but the man is so uninteresting that I see him only noticed him when Maman said so — and even after that, only when I felt his eyes on me. And not always then.

He seemed to watch for the moments when I turned round to speak to Foster, for then he saw me face on.

We went out with the crowd; Foster had wept at the last act of Lucia,⁸ and I teased her about it as we left.

— “And you,” she said, “you have no heart!”

— “My dear,” I said, leaning toward her ear, “I have two, I assure you.”

— “And I have four.”

— “And you haven’t given away a single one?”

— “No — but you have given all four.”

— “To one person!”

— “What a conversation for leaving the theatre!” interrupted Dina.

Everything I say could be said in a public square. At that moment I caught sight of Enotëas⁹ pressed against the wall of the corridor — we were scarcely halfway along, so dense was the crowd. “What a pleasure to leave so late,” said Dina, “one gets mixed up with the crowd.” “The pleasure of watching the tenor run out first — and then, to mingle with the crowd in a republic¹⁰ is all very well.” When we were at Maman’s, the usual questions came: who was there, how was this or that person dressed, etc.

— “Lambertye was there,” said my aunt.

— “And was he looking?¹¹” said Maman.

— “No, not much¹² — Constantin, isn’t he something to you?¹³” (One could see she had been waiting for the moment to raise it; I could see a satisfied smile on her face, showing she was eager to tell.)

— “You know, he was sitting below the box and looking the whole time.¹⁴”

— “Yes, yes, I know,¹⁵” said Maman, “I know exactly what he’s thinking — and yet he is married; he has quite lost his mind.¹⁶”

Then Dina joined the conversation and said it was true.

— “He was looking the whole time and he went to the exit,¹⁷” my aunt continued. “In the corridor¹⁸.”

— “Pardon me,” I interrupted, “he was not in the corridor, nor at the exit.”

— “But how, Moussia¹⁹ — he was in the corridor the whole time with Saëtone, stuck to the wall like a snail!²⁰”

— “Yes²¹,” Dina continued, “and when you said that bit about the republic,²² he nudged Saëtone and they laughed. They were following us the whole time.”

That may be, but I did not see him; I saw Enotëas glued to the wall, and it is possible that the small dark figure was hidden under the wings of that redhead. Yes — thinking about it now, I believe he was there; for why would Saëtone be near our box? His way home was on the other side of the theatre. They must have been waiting for us to come out — for I had seen Constantin leave before the end of the opera, and I was rather disappointed: how is it, I thought, that this man is going away without wanting to see me come out? I was wrong; he went out and placed himself near our box so as not to lose us.

I am the opposite of other people — I occupy myself with those who notice me; since Terffidua stopped looking at me I have said nothing about him. No — that is not what I mean to say; it is not that I occupy myself with those who look at me — no, but I simply note the facts; and such facts, whoever they come from, must be noted by a woman.