Friday, 11 February 1876

Mme Soukowkine comes. I detest her — after every encounter with her I feel desperate on every front. There are people who produce that effect. Pretentious, boring, a scandalmonger — omnisapiente. She drives me to despair, I assure you.
Potapoff has replied — a letter as polite and agreeable as possible, containing a magnificent refusal. He does not know the ambassador personally and can do nothing officially.
I expected nothing else. Now be astonished in advance — you are about to hear something extraordinary: I renounce everything. I do not wish to seek the acquaintance of anyone; I shall devour my rage in silence and await the journey to Russia. If I succeed in arranging everything, we shall need no one — if not, may God's will be done, since my own will cannot be.
To seek, to beg, to solicit! No — that is not for me. I shall die of humiliation.
Besides, whatever we do, our position will always be doubtful and false so long as that wretched affair in Russia remains unresolved. It is better to wait quietly; to try now is wasted effort, is to create immense sorrows for oneself. Time passes — and it passes miserably, I know — but no one is obliged to do the impossible.
I resign myself — I shall avoid everyone, desire nothing, wait — regarding this time of waiting as a sad and ugly necessity.
I shall pray to God that all may end well.
Since I have been in Rome — since my mother has taken up the trade of solliciteuse — I feel par terre. I have never gone seeking anyone; I am accustomed to being treated as an equal. I will not beg for invitations!
The few people we knew in Nice treated us as equals. I have fallen so low here!
These patronages from de Falloux, who gives dinners and does not invite us — this Mme de Reculât, this M. d'Épinay. I do not want to be treated this way. That is not what I ask. No — a hundred times no! I have been, I am, and I shall be myself by myself. Fie! I want to weep.
Now I shall weep no more — because I shall go and solicit nothing more.
I shall await Russia.
The weather is abominable; I do not go out; I am as bored as you can possibly imagine.
This evening it is not raining in torrents, and on that account, no doubt, Soroka stays less long — Galula alone persists until half past ten. As Dina cried that he had gone down on his knees, I ran to the window and looked: he was standing — it was merely an effect of his grey trousers and the wet paving. But the presumptuous, detestable Galula took my presence and Maman's at the window as encouragement — and I would swear he blew kisses. But I was so alarmed by his hands moving from his lips toward the balcony that I closed the shutters and ran to beg the absurd Dina to cease her antics at the corner window — the one that Soroka and Galula prefer above all others.
Truly — it is a scandal before all the inhabitants of the hotel.
Philippe the manservant, while serving dinner, looks out of the window.
How stupid one must be! That girl understands nothing — and sways about more and more with black veils, white fichus, etc., etc.
As for me, I go to the window only to see whether they are truly there — to verify what the others say — and even then I never open the window, especially now: I am suffocating! I believe I have swallowed the soul of Frère Émile, taking it for an oyster, and the unknown monsters make me cough and choke.
I observe that Galula is more assiduous than Soroka.
That Soukowkine keeps running through my head. I see her constantly — with her monkey face and her air of profound despair at the slightest word.
— Good morning, Madame — how are you?
— Very well, thank you — she replies with a look of utter desolation, pressing her small, wrinkled, mobile face against her fist, as if to say: Ah! do not speak of it — it is heartbreaking!
My hoarseness gives me a slight headache, which in turn gives me a slight fever. All these small disagreeablenesses, taken separately — together they compose for me a small condition quite agreeable in its way.
Only I should like to be at home, taking good tea, with a great many people talking and laughing all around — Sorokas, a Surprising One, even Galulas — so that I could complain to them of my illness; and as I can only whisper, it would be full of interest.
But what does this Galula think? Did I really see what I think I saw?
You know that my novel, abandoned at the 2nd chapter for a very long time, is continuing — I have written three pages. I have had all the main scenes for a long time, but the detail embarrasses me greatly: the secondary characters, the accessories, the background in a word. Bigre!

Notes

Omnisapiente: Marie's mock-Latin coinage for "all-knowing" — a satirical epithet for Mme Soukowkine's pretension to universal knowledge.
Solliciteuse: a woman who solicits favours, petitions, begs for social access. Marie finds the role humiliating.
Par terre: literally "on the ground" — here: crushed, brought low, defeated.
An obscure private joke: "Frère Émile" was evidently a religious figure whose soul Marie imagines drifting like an incorporeal thing, swallowed accidentally like an oyster.