Monday, 11 October 1875

I am utterly wretched; all this is destroying me — if such a fever continues I shall fall ill! And they wonder at my pallor!
But it is true — they do not understand that one can suffer for what I suffer!
I open my eyes and see grey wallpaper; I reach out my hand and it meets percale curtains; coming in I throw myself onto a chair, and the chair is a wooden one; in the evening I want to stretch out on a sofa, and the coarse fabric stuffed with horsehair scratches my face!
I want to look out of the window and the window is small — we are on the second floor — and fitted with a mosquito screen!
All this together will drive me mad — if I am not already.
Good God, good God, preserve my health, preserve my face, give me patience — or speed things up!
As she announced in her telegram, my dear mother arrives today. We all go — the Sapogenikoffs included — to receive her at the station. Great rejoicing on all sides; the whole day is spent at our house, with shouting and running about. In Maman's room: the Three Graces on the floor, Coco (Yourkoff) serious, Dina triumphant, Marie radiant — a letter has been brought for her from her dear Cima. Giroflé follows me like a shadow; I alone speak the language she loves.
Grand-papa — I believe he is pleased; in any case one knows nothing of it. The poor man was never very tender, and with age he has become unfeeling, irritating and stupid. God forgive me these words.
Nina comes to dinner — she has been at odds with her dear friend these past ten days.
How good of everyone at our house to tolerate such a scandal — and even to encourage it, as tonight.
We publicly and forcibly obliged Yourkoff to make peace, and I, excited by the example, forgot myself to the point of crying: "On your knees, Coco!!"
Nothing is more curious than hearing Marie recount Nina's quarrels with Coco. We call them that between ourselves. And the lady herself has told me more than once. So that I am no longer surprised at anything, and think it almost quite natural, and that things could not go otherwise.
Nothing more extraordinary than M. Sapogenikoff in this affair either. He reconciles them when needed and looks upon them as his children — out of love for her, they say. I understand nothing of it.
When we are alone, we bring Maman up to date on everything — Girofla, the Sapogenikoff pretensions, etc. etc.
I enjoy this conversation infinitely more than the others [one line cancelled] during which I was bored, unable either to speak of the topic of the day or to recite my verses.
Besides, I have kept my masterpieces to myself, though I was pressed for them — Nina in particular asked loudly: "The waltz!" What pompous titles. The Waltz, Cassandra's Prophecy, and The Lament of the Most Unfortunate Girofla.
We recount everything — the coldness with Saetone, our travels, everything.
I have written very badly — stupidly and uglily.
I spoke chiefly of this coming winter.
I want to go into society!
The great, the eternal phrase.