Friday, 18 June 1875

All night I dreamed I was playing with my fan — rivalry in love, a fight, if my Dream Key is to be believed.
Editors’ note
[Three lines crossed out]
And now my aunt says that Audiffret has cooled. You understand? Besides, everything is turning out better than I thought. People are talking (I should like to know how many times I have written that gentleman’s name).
People are talking, and I take everything awkward in good part. Ah, Monsieur, if these really are nothing but pranks, you shall pay me for them. You cause me unpleasantness, you force me to twist and turn a hundred different ways so as not to look ridiculous.
Believe me, it is neither anger nor pique that makes me speak.
I am perfectly calm and indifferent. It is not the handsome Niçois’s face that makes me concern myself with him. That is well known. It seemed to me that he was interested; I looked at him. The Sapogenikoffs came; I laughed a great deal. We went to his house twice — only once, the day of the English girls. The first time, when that coachman was bent on making us go in, we merely passed by. He seemed to be running after us — the Niçois, this was before the introduction; I thought a great many things, or rather one thing, and the idea came to me that it would be amusing if one could have a little fun.
The man is twenty-four, I am sixteen, we are both good-looking. It would do no one any harm. In the first days I did not know what to make of it, and I still do not.
Let us wait.
Yes, that is what I tell myself every day, but waiting is very tiresome and I am so impatient.
One would think me some Indian deity before whom the peoples fall prostrate, unthinking, as she passes.
in the margin
My nose is as it was before, and I am very glad of it.
This morning they were talking of this affair in Maman’s room, and I said:
— But really, Madame, you are quite mistaken. It is absurd to imagine that wherever I go people must fall on their knees and worship me!
And do I not imagine it myself?
By Jove! I am so truthful in this diary that if it is ever read I shall have to go and hide at the ends of the earth.
No sooner are we seated on the charming shore of the blue Mediterranean than Audiffret and Saëtone arrive. The first sits down facing us and the second behind me. It is the second I talk to; I am merry, I describe how I shall be a queen, and we laugh. Then the other says he wants to be king.
Saëtone says he acknowledges only fair women; Audiffret agrees with him and adds that men ought to be dark.
I don’t think, I say slowly, as if pondering it, that men should always be dark.
But all the same, he says, a man who is fair, quite fair, is not good-looking.
Not quite fair, but like my aunt, for instance, or a little fairer.
Thank God! I am beginning to believe he does not think me in love with him. He knows that Saëtone cannot interest me, but then I too knew that Olga could not interest him.
My aunt insists that he went away furious; I don’t believe a word of it.
He is a contrary fellow, and, as I said before I knew him: if one takes a step towards him, he leaps back.
Collignon says she does not like him because one never knows how to behave with him — he is a sly one.
Bravo! I am of the same opinion.
He leaves for Monaco at six; we stay on another quarter of an hour, and I laugh and amuse myself with Saëtone, that disgusting Niçois. The Comte de Cessole and some other fright were listening.
At table I am merry; I laugh and make others laugh.
Olga, who had been at Lefèvre’s with everyone except the three of us — my aunt, Dina and me — Olga, I say, eats nothing and is deathly sad. I take her out onto the terrace and talk to her about the man. I enjoy watching her light up at his name. By Jove!
Here my heart is perfectly free; I can play as I please. And what a pleasure it is!
Childishness! Childishness no doubt — I do not hide it, quite the contrary. I shall have time enough to be old.
In the evening they tell the story of my birth all over again, the things I said as a little child, etc., etc. Every day it is the same. I answer these old refrains with the line that Tiste repeats so many times in La Boule:
The first time I met her, etc.
But then, I was no fool. Maman had just come back from the Crimea; a few minutes after kissing me (I was two or three), she said to me, over some mischief or other that I no longer remember: Marie is silly.
No, I said.
Yes, Marie is silly.
Marthe, I said to my nurse — for until the age of three and a half I was nursed at the breast — Marthe, let us go away, Maman has not recognised Marie.

Notes

In French in the original: Bigre ! ↩
La Boule — comedy by Henri Meilhac and Ludovic Halévy, first performed at the Théâtre du Palais-Royal in 1874. ↩