1876-11-24-25

Until the evening things went tolerably enough, but suddenly a very serious, very measured, very honest conversation was entered upon concerning my future. Maman expressed herself in suitable terms in every respect. Then one should have seen my father! He cast his eyes down, he whistled hypocrises, and as for answering... not a word.

There is a Little Russian¹ dialogue that characterises the nation and may at the same time give an idea of my father's manner.

Two peasants: 1st — We were walking together on the high road. 2nd — Yes, we were walking. 1st — We found a fur pelisse? 2nd — We found one. 1st — I gave it to you? 2nd — You gave it to me? 1st — You took it? 2nd — I took it. 1st — Where is it? 2nd — What? 1st — The pelisse! 2nd — What pelisse? 1st — But we were walking on the high road? 2nd — Yes. 1st — We found a pelisse. 2nd — We found one. 1st — I gave it to you? 2nd — You gave it to me. 1st — And you took it? 2nd — I took it. 1st — Where is it, then? 2nd — What? 1st — The pelisse! 2nd — What pelisse?

And so on to infinity — except that as the subject was not very amusing for me, I was suffocating, and something was rising in my throat that hurt me dreadfully, above all because I would not permit myself to cry. I asked to go home with Dina, leaving Maman and her husband at the Russian restaurant. [Two lines cancelled] For a full hour I sat motionless, lips pressed together, chest constricted, knowing neither what I was thinking nor what was happening around me. Then my father came to kiss my hair, my hands, my face, with hypocritical, cowardly laments.
— The day when you truly need help or protection, say a word to me and I will extend my hand. I gathered my last strength and, stiffening my throat, said:
— That day has come. Where is your hand?
— Just now you don't yet need it, he hastened to reply.
— Yes, I do need it.
— No, no. And he spoke of something else.
— Do you think, sir, that the day will come when I shall need money? Oh! how impertinent you are! When that day comes, I shall become a singer or a piano teacher — but I shall ask you for nothing! He did not take offence — it was enough for him to see me so miserable that I could bear no more.
— I am having my revenge! he said to Maman. Oh, the coward. [Written across the page: By attributing a spirit of vengeance to his conduct, I ennoble him, I justify him. He was not taking revenge. No. He was vile and wicked as always.] I had only the strength to undress and get into bed. It was not yet nine o'clock. The next day I woke very early and fell to thinking about yesterday. I remember going to a marvellous embroiderer and designer named Duchod. I went there with Mme de Mertens, who made me a singular proposal. No less than a marriage offer. M. Janvier de La Motte, former prefect and Bonapartist deputy, wishes to marry off his son — a young man of twenty-seven, mayor of his department, general councillor and deputy like his father. This M. February — no, January — wants a dowry and a wit who will make him a political salon.² This struck me as bizarre applied to me, and I replied that I had no desire whatsoever to marry; the Baroness insisted on the charms of the two La Motte gentlemen.
— In any case, she said, I assure you that you ought to know them.
— To know them? Very well.
— They are friends of Cassagnac, rabid Bonapartists, and you who love "conspiracies," politics... Old fool. My grief and humiliation of yesterday were rewarded this morning. Maman woke me giving me a note from Mouzay inviting me to lunch today, to which was joined a note from Cassagnac. That dear, excellent woman! Monsieur my father, who had meant to leave during the night, did nothing of the sort after receiving the invitation (yesterday, Thursday); on the contrary, he put on a frock coat with the buttonhole decorations he wears and presented himself with admirable docility at the fourth floor of 420 rue Saint-Honoré. He will return to Paris and Cassagnac will bring him along. He who does us nothing but harm will have this connection — thanks to me! Well, what can one do?