Friday, 12 November 1875

Good God, I thought, looking at myself in the glass this morning — I am as pale as at Spa! Oh! This time I know to whom I owe it!
I went out to the garden and stayed there an hour, thinking and biting my nails, turning all these things over in my mind. I no longer want to enter the drawing room — it reminds me of the good old days and shows me all the tedium of the present.
I no longer believe in the cards! The cards were my consolation!
I ought to have seen from the beginning that there was nothing serious in it. The truth is there was enough to believe a great deal — for others, yes — but not for me; I saw and understood the game, but I hoped for something else.
How is one to stop hoping, stop waiting, for what one desires!
I have taken up smoking again — it happens every time I am miserable; I shut myself in my room most of the time, write, think, wander about the room, look at myself in the mirror, and smoke. I am absolutely incapable of reading, of doing anything.
The account of the party at Antonoff's in La Vie mondaine so closely resembles the one we composed with Pépino that I laughed greatly about it with him yesterday.
— How malicious he is! said Maman, as we were driving home from the theatre — he is punishing her because she was a little flirtatious with Pépino.
— He is not punishing her, said my aunt — he is an ill-bred peasant. What I will say is this: his acquaintance can only be compromising. He is seen with a young girl, and immediately they are talked about everywhere — and then he withdraws.
My aunt is right. It is known that he associates only with women whom he courts. And he does it deliberately: he shows everyone that he is interested, he pursues the person, he is always with her — taking care to pay court publicly so as to make people talk — and then withdraws, satisfied with the effect.
Is that not infamous!
Oh! If I were a man I would do the same — and more.
It is not since today that I have seen clearly — I have always seen it thus, but I counted on taking revenge, and at the same time avenging so many women, by making him genuinely love me. I wanted to martyr him, to drive him to despair, to kill him even.
And what was I asking that was so extraordinary?
Does it not happen every day that a rake, a womanizer, falls madly in love and is in turn ill-treated! What the devil — people fall in love with women far uglier and stupider than I!
No! I am not as I was at Spa! It was a moment, in the morning. Thank God! The fear of being pale and weak for a year as at Spa made me shudder every time I saw myself a little pale.
Three encounters!
The first is papa in an open cab, dressed in grey. I mean old Audiffret — between ourselves we call him papa.
The second is near the Italian Theatre — barely has the carriage stopped before the man from the other day, the one who nearly leapt onto the carriage and whom we have not seen since, makes a movement to open the door, then draws back as if stupefied.
I step out of the carriage, quite flushed — he had only to jump at me, but he did nothing. Good, I thought, he is going to take me for an Italian singer.
But in the antechamber I stopped short — for through the glass door of the office-salon, I recognized the Surprising One, sitting on his cane — or rather, standing on his cane — gesticulating, chattering, and swaying, before Cresci, the man at the desk, the prima donna, and several other people.
I waited for Maman and entered only behind her.
— Good day, Mademoiselle, how do you do? he said, extending his hand.
— Good day, Monsieur, I replied — trembling within, pale without.
Total absence of a jolt. You see clearly that it does not come from my side.
Cresci immediately began making bows, presenting his artists to us, fussing around me.
Poor man! He does not know I am in disgrace.
E quando ci darete Mignon?
Lunédi, signorina, Lunédi.
Corne Lunédi! io pensa che sarebbe sabato!
Then, with an air of great surprise, he began to say that it was for my sake he had delayed the performance. Indeed I had asked him to at the Antonoffs', but I had not thought he would actually do it. The evening had been set for the 13th and here it is moved to the 15th. Cresci assures me with perfect sincerity that it is for me.
The strange man had meanwhile entered and sat down.
— But you are not leaving, grimaced the Surprising One — Madame will leave, but Mademoiselle will stay.
— On the contrary, said Maman — it is Madame who will stay, and Mademoiselle who is leaving.
— Oh! but not at all!
I was so moved and inwardly agitated that I remember nothing of what was said. Ah! Yes — I remember that the Surprising One said:
Vedete, la signorina ha gran fretta d'andar a Parigi per il Grand Hôtel.
Si, si! I said, with a light tone, my head tilted to one side.
— Madame, you are going to choose a subscription, I said, turning to my mother.
— Well then, we are going to leave now, said the Surprising One, and he departed after shaking hands with my mother, with me, and with the others.
— Marie, said Maman softly, you will stay here, and I shall go ask who that man is.
— Very well; and while she went to ask, I examined the theatre plan, still quite stunned from the encounter and especially from the man's departure.
— Well, my dear, said Maman on returning — do you know who that man is? He is the baritone of the Opera!
We take a subscription and go out.
Maman had found the man pirouetting in front of my aunt's carriage.
— I asked you who that man was because he stared at our carriage in a most improper manner.
— Is he not a lunatic? asked my aunt.
— Why?
— Because he behaved in such a strange fashion!
— But Madame, if he looked so, it was the stupefaction of admiration!
Then Maman asked him for news of his marriage.
— Never in my life, Madame! It is false!
— But the whole city is talking of it.
We go to the promenade; I am furious, wounded — I complain, I grumble!
Every time I hope for a return, and every time I am disagreeably disappointed!
Bigre de bigre!

Notes

In Italian in the original: "And when will you give us Mignon?"
In Italian in the original: "Monday, miss, Monday."
In Italian in the original (with Marie's characteristic errors): "What, Monday! I thought it would be Saturday!"
In Italian in the original: "You see, the young lady is in a great hurry to go to Paris for the Grand Hôtel."