Sunday, 26 November 1876
## Saturday, 26 November 1876# Dimanche 26 novembre 1876
My dear Cassagnac was already there, filling half the drawing room.
But he intimidates me... which I believe makes me more reserved, more correct.
The introductions took place. My father conducted himself like an honest man — much to his credit! First, he values Cassagnac, and second, he fears him. Cassagnac... I adore him.
We were served a luncheon I was far from expecting — that is to say, superb. I sat between Cassagnac and Blanc,1 and it was with the latter that I spoke chiefly, while longing to engage the former. But the other is so grave that I must assume the airs of a Virginie on pain of appearing insolent.
He knows that Maman was in Paris two months ago.
And as the talk turned to photographs —
— I have prepared one for you, Cassagnac told me; but, he added, I shall allow myself to offer it to Mademoiselle only after having asked the permission of Madame her mother.
— Good God, how proper Cassagnac is! said Blanc in his mocking tone.
— That seems to surprise you, I said.
Mon cher Cassagnac était déjà là, remplissant la moitié du salon.
As I ate nothing but grapes, he kept putting them on my plate. I upset my carafe, which knocked over a glass of Pommard, which brought down in its fall a small glass of Syracuse wine and another small empty glass — all of it onto Cassagnac's place setting.
— That brings good luck, sir — and it is a triple chance.
— I have all the luck I need, and need no more.
See what a conceited fellow.2
Leaving the table, he caught on a lamp and a heap of other things on the mantelpiece; Mouzay had a moment of alarm, but the enormous deputy extended his arm and encircled everything that intended to fall... Ah, if only it were the same with the Empire.
Comme je ne mangeai que du raisin, il m'en mettait sans cesse sur l'assiette. Je renversai mon bocal qui renversa un verre de Pommard, qui entraîna dans sa chute un petit verre de vin de Syracuse et un autre petit verre vide. Tout ça sur le couvert de Cassagnac.
He offered tickets to the Chamber.
— What, he said — having me at your disposal, you said nothing to me about it!
— I hate to ask.
— It is the only way to obtain anything.
— Blanc! Telegram to my father that I absolutely need four seats for tomorrow's session — absolutely need them.
I sat down in a ray of sunlight that gilded me entirely. Cassagnac is leaving tomorrow evening to hunt wild boar in Bavaria. He is certainly lying, and it is not to Bavaria that he is going.
Il s'offrit pour des billets à la Chambre.
[Words blacked out: I took] his letter and went to Alexis with Maman and Dina.3
Alexis took it, sniffed it, told me it was from yesterday and that the person who had written it had seen me this morning and was leaving tomorrow on a journey.
As for Pietro — it is extraordinary. He told me at first that he could not see the person and that the person was no doubt dead.
This filled me with joy.
— Really, dead?
— Wait.
He went through his manoeuvres again and told me he could see him at last — but far from Italy, whence this letter came. This letter was written long ago; since then there has been a great upheaval in this person's life — a death in his family; relations broken with me.
— I can see him now. He is a young military man... he is far away, he is a soldier, he is travelling... and not by railway — oh no! On horseback, yes, on horseback; he is surrounded by foreign men, there are no women — he is in the East.
[Mots noircis : Je pris] sa lettre et je m'en allai chez Alexis avec maman et Dina.
That sounds like Serbia —
Departing for Serbia...
This gallant stripling
Wishes to devote his life
To punishing the wicked.
One day therefore he sets out,
Pious as a verger,
Noting the signs of heaven,
Taking his slender luggage:
A pair of undershorts,
Some darned socks,
A very old pair of trousers
And two worn handkerchiefs.
His horse stumbles beneath him,
He is quite out of breath,
His waistcoat is of plush
And his nose... is frozen, stiff.
Ça ressemble à la Serbie-
Phew. Alexis claims he is exceedingly unhappy.
My father has gone! For the first time in four months, I can breathe!
— You have everything needed to be perfectly happy physically. But your spirit suffers and you are not happy. Oh, what a nervous system — it is frightening. You are too lively, you want to live too fast. You have (all too truly) an excessive need for affection and... you lack it. You are extremely susceptible in... affection above all, and nothing is easier than to wound you. Your nature needs... to be loved, and you are not loved enough — or you imagine it so. — Alexis.
Ah! What a pity that Paul et Vir... no — Paul de Cassagnac is leaving tomorrow.
This superb Creole4 had an anxious air, and Alexis told me so. How could he have known? Eh?
He leaves tomorrow; moreover, he said today that he would not go to the Chamber... We shall see...
Ouf. Alexis prétend qu'il est excessivement malheureux.
He is so droll.
— What a pity we shall not see you at Versailles, Maman told him.
— What does it matter?
— It matters that it would be agreeable to us to encounter you.
— What can that possibly matter to you?
— That, M. de Cassagnac, I said — you don't wish to be told agreeable things?
— Because I don't believe them.
He is so tall... so broad, so stout, so dark.
He had barely closed the door when a concert of praises broke out — and immediately he came back in like a hurricane to fetch his gloves. It was dreadful; fortunately I had said nothing.
[Four lines cancelled]
Il est si drôle.
Maman is so ill that one cannot think of taking her to Versailles. M. and Mme de Mertens came to fetch us. I was dressed in white as always, but had a black velvet bonnet that set off my fair hair admirably. It was raining. We were already in the carriage when there arrived a decorated gentleman — still young — one of those Frenchmen par excellence who are half rascal, half gallant, agreeable in appearance, cold in reality, pleasant to all, coarse and malicious at heart. Vain and envious, witty and stupid.
— Permit me, dear child, said the Baroness, to present M. Janvier de La Motte, the leader of his party and consequently your friend.
I bowed while introductions were being made around me.
— Is there a seat? said a sharp voice suddenly from outside.
— Ah, it is my son, said M. Janvier de La Motte — yes, there is a seat; get in.
The son was presented — resembling his father enormously. A young man made of milk, blood, and ink. Moustaches and a small pointed beard. Twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, as had been said.
Maman est si malade qu'on ne peut penser de l'emmener à Versailles. M. et Mme de Mertens nous vinrent prendre. J'étais habillée de blanc comme toujours, mais j'avais un bonnet de velours noir qui dorait admirablement mes cheveux blonds. Il pleuvait. Nous étions déjà en wagon lorsqu'arriva un monsieur décoré, jeune encore, un de ces Français par excellence moitié canaille moitié galant homme, aimable à l'apparence sec en réalité, bon pour tous, grossier et méchant au fond. Vaniteux et envieux, spirituel et stupide.
M. de La Motte père let his eyes wander from me to Dina, not knowing which of us was which. I did nothing to enlighten him, as I had disliked both of them at first sight. The young deputy fell to conversing with me about political matters.
— That is what M. de Cassagnac was telling me yesterday, I said in reply to some phrase.
— You [words blacked out: have seen] Paul de Cassagnac, Mademoiselle?
— Yes, sir.
— And... where?
— At our place (I say "our place" for the Baroness, who was supposed not to know about the luncheon).
— At your place! His father: Paul de Cassagnac had the honour of being introduced to Mademoiselle yesterday! — this was almost shouted, as if asking: Why did you put me in this position, since Paul de Cassagnac...
— Oh no, I said coldly — not yesterday. Four months ago.
M. de La Motte père promenait ses yeux de moi à Dina ne sachant laquelle était elle . Je ne fis rien pour le renseigner, car tous deux me déplurent du premier abord. Le jeune député se prit à causer avec moi de choses de la politique.
This train of deputies reminded me of the trains at the pigeon shoot at Monaco — except that instead of a gun one has a portfolio. The La Mottes placed us in the front row on the right, above the Bonapartists, so that we were directly facing the republican benches. The chamber — or at least the president's chair and the podium — reminded me again of the pigeon shoot; only M. Grévy,5 instead of pulling the cage strings, fenced with his bell — which did not prevent the Left from interrupting several times the excellent speech of the Keeper of the Seals, M. Dufaure.6 He is an honest man and bravely and learnedly combated the infamies of the republican curs.
The budget of religious affairs was being debated.
With attention, and remembering what I had read in the newspapers, I was at once in command of the subject. M. de La Motte père came to see us twice and pointed out all the celebrities in the chamber.
Ce train de députés me rappela les trains du tir aux pigeons à Monaco seulement au lieu de fusil on a des portefeuilles. MM. de La Motte nous placèrent au premier rang à droite, au dessus des bonapartistes de sorte que nous étions juste en face des bancs républicains. La salle ou du moins le fauteuil du président et la tribune me rappelèrent encore le tir aux pigeons, seulement M. Grévy au lieu de tenir la ficelle des cages s'escrimait avec la sonnette ce qui n'empêcha point à la gauche d'interrompre plusieurs fois l'excellent discours du garde des Sceaux M. Dufaure. C'est un honnête homme et il a bravement et savamment lutté contre les infamies des chiens républicains.
If there is in the world an ignoble and repulsive face, it is Gambetta's.7 The illustrious rascal, the celebrated grocer, did not speak, and not a gesture betrayed his thoughts; he closed his eyes and seemed to say: carry on.
Had no one explained the sides to me, I should have recognised them myself. On the left — a pack of fierce, dirty, worst-bred curs in the world, shouting, howling, barking. Some held their knees between their arms and seemed to say: Oh, I cannot bear it! Others covered their faces as if to say: Oh, good gracious. Others still made inexplicable gestures signifying perhaps: is that a good one?
The centre-left like the centre-right is mixed. The right begins with handsome, well-built, well-dressed men of fine bearing and fine manners — these are for: God and the king; at the extreme right sit men almost as fine as the first: my own people. All these parties drive me to despair!
S'il y a au monde une figure ignoble et repoussante c'est Gambetta. L'illustre faquin, le célèbre épicier, ne parla pas et pas un geste ne trahit sa pensée; il fermait les yeux et semblait dire : faites.
Let us make no mistake — this is a genuine marriage interview. And the father's cynicism... appalled me. He leaned to Mme de Mertens' ear and told her a heap of things as if I were not there — among them:
— She is far from displeasing to my son, I am quite sure of that; only one would need to know what she thinks of him.
The blood rose to my face and I wanted to turn around and size him up with a look to make clear what I thought.
Instead I ogled the Count of Mon — a handsome and agreeable legitimist: a deeply religious and honest man. The session was in any case very calm.
It was still raining, and instead of seeking a cab we took the omnibus.
Ne vous dissimulez rien, c'est une vraie entrevue de mariage. Et le cynisme du Père... m'épouvanta. Il se penchait à l'oreille de Mme de Mertens et lui disait un tas choses comme si je n'étais pas là et entre autre:
The return was as shocking as it was strange.
The Son, detained on serious business, left us with the Father, who conducted himself as I have never seen. He spoke of waists, calves, feet — he took my foot in his hand, and Dina's, and the Baroness's.
— I wager you are admirably made, he said.
— Oh, sir, you are going a little far, it seems to me, I said, laughing so as not to be compelled to cause a scene.
Then it was worse — the old fool woman and the old imbecile man spoke of my constitution, my blood, my flesh... as if of a mare at a stud farm.
These curs think Cassagnac pleases me and have the tactlessness to speak ill of him.
Cassagnac does not lie — he did not go to the Chamber yesterday and he has indeed left this evening.
Le retour a été aussi choquant qu'étrange.
The result of this session for me... yes — Rome, ever more adored, yields place to the impure, mercenary, materialist city. The beautiful vision... I shall punish myself with Paris.
I found a photograph of the Cardinal when he was younger, and... the resemblance to Pietro is so striking that... it gave me great pleasure... Did I truly love him?
I went home indignant, cursing the La Mottes and all Frenchmen... except Paul... de Cassagnac — but he is Creole, and Gascon.
Maman found him charming, and we chattered about him until nightfall.
Le résultat de cette séance pour moi... oui, Rome de plus en plus adorée... fait place à la ville impure, mercenaire, matérielle. La belle vision... je me punirai par Paris.
Notes
Blanc — a political associate at Mouzay's table; luncheon at 420 rue Saint-Honoré, 4th floor. ↩
Fat — conceited, self-satisfied (1870s French); not "fat" in the physical sense. See TranslationMemory. ↩
Alexis — the famous Parisian somnambule (clairvoyant) consulted by fashionable Parisians. He conducts psychometric readings using objects. ↩
Cassagnac was from Gascony (southwest France), of a family with roots in the colonial world; Marie calls him "Creole" — a term sometimes used loosely for people with southern or mixed ancestry. ↩
Jules Grévy (1807–1891) — republican politician, president of the Chamber of Deputies. ↩
Jules Dufaure (1798–1881) — Keeper of the Seals (garde des Sceaux), speaking in defense of the religious affairs budget. ↩
Léon Gambetta (1838–1882) — republican leader, key figure of the Third Republic. Marie's contempt reflects her ardent Bonapartism. ↩