Monday, 8 November 1875

My face looks ugly today, but towards three o'clock I improve and go out.
My aunt says every ill thing imaginable about the Surprising One.
— Take Biasini the contractor, she says, fill him with filth, and you will have your Audiffret.
— Take care, Madame; I note everything in my diary, and I remember there were days when you said the exact contrary of what you say now. Audiffret is ugly, a peasant, stupid, ill-bred! That does very well for today — but one particular evening you said: Audiffret is handsome, a grand seigneur, well-bred, witty! charming! That was when he was mine. I am always just — let him do as he pleases, I have said and will say again: Audiffret is handsome, well-bred, and comme il faut. He never permitted himself a liberty, never a word, never a gesture too many — and, thank God, opportunities were not wanting.
You think I love him — you are wrong. I am furious, that is all.
Now, you cannot understand this. Nothing engages you. I am not weary of everything — everything amuses me. A theatrical performance, a dress, an Audiffret, a horse! I take everything to heart; I am sixteen!
— But Audiffret is a horror! I detest him!
— So do I, but he amuses me. You understand, I hope, that I prefer to spend my time with him rather than with Bihovetz.
— Bihovetz is a hundred times better!
— For you! Not for me. How old are you? Thirty-five? And I am sixteen!
— But look, there is Godard, I said — let us stop. We stop and talk with the little, the stupid Désiré.
— I am furious! cried my aunt.
— So am I. Why are you furious?
— Because it is not for you to run after the gentlemen, but for the gentlemen to run after you.
— You are right, I said, sighing.
It is astonishing how a small snub disposes the mind to meditation and to the contemplation of nature.
This morning I watched for a long time the sea — furious and silver under a sun as pale as the moon. I myself was pale and sullen.
Do you know, far from complaining, I am greatly amused. No doubt a success is better than a defeat, but a defeat compared with nothing at all is still something. One lives, at least.
How beautifully the moon shines tonight! On such a night one ought to think of nothing but love — and so I do. But no, I have no luck!
— It was funny yesterday, said Dina.
— Yes, everyone behaved strangely, said my aunt, and Audiffret was quite idiotic.
— Everything was perfectly ordinary, said Maman, only one could see that two children were sulking and making faces at each other.
Would to heaven it were so. But he is not sulking at me. Perfect indifference, a little awkwardness — and that is all. Which is perfectly natural: one always feels a little awkward before the woman one has left in the lurch.