Monday, 10 May 1875

At eight o'clock I am already out with Sabatini (short unbleached linen dress, unbleached stockings, golden shoes — the whole thing smart and charming as always). Not a living soul about — one could go out in one's nightgown. At nine o'clock the Sapogenikoffs join me, then Maman and Dina, then Walitsky, and we go to the Bains Georges, the fashionable bathing establishment.
At half past ten I return for Leclerc, with whom I set up my laboratory in the former kitchen of the garden pavilion.
Speaking of Leclerc — I dreamed that, having come to give me my lesson, he suddenly undressed and asked me if he were white. Seeing him quite naked shocks me not at all, and I replied perfectly naturally: "Why yes — you are white."
Then Collignon comes in and is angry — reproaches me for this scandal. But this man, this little old Leclerc! A dream like that!
I only go out at six o'clock, and for twenty minutes only. But after dinner I go with Collignon to Delbeechi's to buy a sketchbook — I often have the urge to draw or to copy certain engravings, and I had only loose sheets. With a sketchbook I am content.
Again I think a great deal about Alcibiades — but also about the other man whom I consider inevitable. That wretched Miloradovitch. But as I have already said, I shall not restrain myself.
[Black ink blot, illegible] ...no pressing need... to marry, and with whom? With a Russian. If only he had a title at least. It is true he is of old nobility and rich — very rich — but not rich enough to be accepted with pleasure without a title.
I should like by my marriage to take revenge upon all the people who have humiliated me, and to appear before them with a halo of glory. To be a duchess, at least.
"Mme Miloradovitch" — that does not sound very well; it is not dazzling, stunning, overwhelming as I should like it to be.
They say he has fine connections. I know nothing about it, but I shall see for myself over there in Russia.
God forgive me! I speak of it as though it were a certainty, I believe.
I should very much like to get married — for, for reasons one cannot admit to...
Ah! Those of you who think I am thinking about... — no, I have no such thoughts! I want to marry for shameful reasons — honestly — in order to be able to wear the dresses married women wear. For God, no doubt to urge me to fulfil His will, makes me think of nothing but dresses. And I invent and imagine such dresses that it is enough to drive one mad. If he asks for my hand I shall not refuse. I should dread being left with nothing; and after all, why refuse the concrete and go chasing after vapours? And yet it is not such a marriage I want. Perhaps God wishes, in marrying me off, to open my path and give me the means of arriving. No — God does not lead us into evil; to marry this man would be evil for me.
If I refuse I shall torment myself; if I accept I shall torment myself as well. There is a predicament! But there, too, is a madwoman!
He will not want me.
Ah! Ah! There it is — one is all the stronger for it; he will seem difficult to obtain, and I shall persist. God wills it. I foresee everything, and I know that — "But if Olympus wills my downfall, sooner or later it must be! As La Belle Hélène says."
Coquine de Biou! as the Nice people say. What a mixture of piety and impiety.

Notes

A footnote in the original manuscript appears here; its content is not preserved.
A paraphrase from Offenbach's operetta La Belle Hélène (1864), in which Helen of Troy resigns herself to fate and the will of the gods.
Coquine de Biou: a Niçois dialect exclamation, roughly "you little rascal" or "devil take it."