Monday, 20 December 1875

Yesterday I fell asleep in a state so troubled that I understood nothing. Desperate, in tears, I saw the waves of my mind black and heaving like those of the Mediterranean in November — and above all, Audiffret, leaping about like a devil, going to the Gonzaleses', ogling her. In short, a heap of nonsense.
I told Maman my resolution — she says nothing, or does not listen, or is too weak, or dares nothing. It is deplorable.
At two o'clock we go to the Fine Arts concert; I am pale as a dead woman in my white dress. Comte Markoff comes and places himself near us. In the large box are the Club members — among them Belle-de-Jour and the Surprising One. In general, little animation and a wretched crowd.
I had intended to see Audiffret about that cursed invitation; not having done so, I have the carriage stopped before the Cercle's offices and send for the Surprising One. He came out onto the steps, looking about and asking who had called him — with such a pleasant air that I could have thrown my arms round his neck.
"It is we," says Maman. "But step inside the carriage for a moment — it is raining very hard."
"With pleasure, Madame," — and he sat down beside me.
"Now — where are we going?" he asked, laughing.
The coachman shut the door and asked whether he should drive home.
"No, no!" we all cried, bursting out laughing — "wait!"
As for the gentleman, he seemed to say: "I am very comfortable — carry me off."
Any other day I should have laughed like a madwoman — but this time I was cold and trembling.
"Come then — what is it?" asked the man, after laughing with the rest...
"Well," I say, "I should like to attend an afternoon dance, and I am asking you to whom one applies for an invitation."
I wanted to strangle myself.
"One must apply to Vigier," he replied; "there is a committee charged with that."
"And of whom is this committee composed?"
"Of Vigier, Barral, and Lewin."
"Ah! Very good."
"But does a permanent member not have the right?" asked my mother.
"No, Madame — no."
At which Madame my mother said that I have strange fancies sometimes, that she does not wish to ask for an invitation — that since she has been known in town for so long, one ought to have sent her one — and so on. And Audiffret says he will "speak of it this evening at the Cercle."
Without any doubt he could obtain one without difficulty — but he will ask for nothing because people will say he asks because he is courting me. It is absurd and wounding. He would seem to be trying to force the door open for his protégées! How vile — how filthy!
Damnation! I need not describe my state — let one judge from what is happening.
What is the use of knowing anyone at all if your acquaintances are of no use to you?
One had to be desperate, stunned, dazed as I was, to speak to Audiffret of that invitation. For others it would be the simplest thing in the world; for us, who are afraid, who doubt — it is atrocious.
Well — one more piece of filth! A fine business — that is where I have come to! I no longer weep. I am too unhappy, too humiliated to weep.
Half seriously, half laughing, I spend the evening asking about the afternoon dance. I am told it is impossible and that I am going to Rome.
Am I so certain? Everything within me has changed. I no longer know at all what I want. Nice, its society, the Cercle de la Méditerranée — all seem to me so many paradises. It seems to me that here alone one enjoys oneself, here alone one is at ease, here alone one is elegant. "Qui solo vorrei restare, amar et morir."
Audiffret holds me back — he has been spoken of so much at home that it seems to me there is something extraordinary in all of it. It seems to me that this Nice nonsense will have an influence over my whole life. The man seems to me mine — everything that happens to me, and everything that will happen, will be only a means of reaching him. All my plans lead back to this wretch. Why do I want to leave? To come back and receive guests here. I want to get married to spite the Nice man, to come back to Nice for his sake too. I should not keep my word if I did not set down my most intimate thoughts, however fleeting.
Let no one think I have a particular love or some such nonsense — no, it is not in my character. I am made like a man: a pretty face pleases me and I do not restrain myself from speaking of it as much as I please. This man caught my eye; he pleases me; I am jealous over him. He resists me — I love him three times more for it. What can one do — it is a caprice, a fancy.
I am leaving — but I shall return.
I should like to return married.
And what do I see at the end of it all? Audiffret. Always him. If he loved me, I should probably not love him. Who put him in my head? I truly do not know how it came about. From the first moment — more than a year ago now — he changed every day, now making me think him the best there is, now spitting on me. And it was thus not only after we knew him, but well before.
Now my past Journal seems to me incomplete — have I said that during the Surprising One's absences, when we did not know him, I was bored? That I dressed, went out, went to the theatre only for him? If I have not said so, I say it now — and one has already seen and understood it without my saying so.
My desires were so fixed before! I wanted to leave.
Now I want and I don't want. It thoroughly displeases me to leave the handsome Nice man at the mercy of the Buenos, Robensons, Gonzaleses. Ah! — this last one: before going to the Willises', the Surprising One went to her box, and before and after looked at her through his opera glass.
I was there — and yet it was to Mlle de Gonzales's box he went, and not to mine; it was she he ogled and not me. While he was in her box I could see him — he was no doubt saying charming things to her, for the girl's face was radiant.
He has never said anything amiable to me — he has always treated me either as an indifferent acquaintance or as a little girl.
I rage when I think of the stupid self-satisfaction of old Moreno — he who told me the news of my marriage, and now it is his daughter who is favoured.
Faugh — how foul, faugh — how vile, faugh — how humiliating! Faugh! Faugh! Faugh! Faugh! Faugh!
I am the most unhappy creature on earth — I pray to God as I have never prayed — and I fall asleep content.

Notes

"Qui solo vorrei restare, amar et morir" (Italian): "Here alone I would wish to stay, to love and to die" — an operatic phrase, possibly from an aria; Marie applies it to her longing to remain in Nice. In Italian in the original.
"I am made like a man" (Je suis faite comme un homme): one of Marie's most characteristic self-descriptions — she claims the male prerogative of frank physical desire and jealousy, without sentimental wrapping.