Tuesday, 16 January 1877

The letter I sent to Angelini on the day I left Rome was copied out by Katorbinsky and contained the following:
If you knew how well the red bonbonnière shoe to be had at Spillman’s would suit my foot.
Find an honest man for the first time in your life... and send him to me at San Remo, Villa Rocca, Principessa N.E. You will not regret it at Carnival.
This morning I finally received the slipper; it is of red satin and bigger than my foot.
Then came Emilie — the Russian dressmaker, as they call her in Nice — to bring me a gown to which she had been commissioned to add a flounce, and to reel off to me everything that goes on in Nice.
The gown is by Laferrière, for the Skating; it is of white matelassé with a broad band of uncurled feathers that looks like a marvellous fur of snow, laid on like a shawl crossed in front and falling to the feet. Tight sleeves with a thick cuff of the same feathers, forming a dainty little muff at each wrist. A large hat set on the forehead, with two feathers springing from the front beneath a bow and falling back over the hair behind.
Incontestably adorable and incontestably harmful, for the more I am seen, the more harm it does me.
That is to say, what I imagine people must be saying... But what can they say? you will ask... How should I know! Only, what I do know is that a girl who draws every eye is exposed to every tongue, in my deplorable position.
It is true that, apart from the Howards and the consul, none of them has ever known us and we have never been to their houses; but we have, so to speak, accepted a general contempt by withdrawing in all haste; perhaps it was wise, but it also makes any step impossible now.
Then why dress like this? Because I am too proud and above all too attached. Because if I dressed poorly they would invent something new.
I watch my mothers’ despair with a delighted rage, and I...
Beneath my monk’s hood I spew out the grossest insults, I call them infamous and I weep; and to keep up a sort of impassivity towards them I keep my hood pulled down to my chin.
May God forgive me these insults; He sees that I do not utter them out of perversity, but that I use them reluctantly, as a means of getting somewhere by driving my mothers to act.
Afterwards I stayed without saying a word, my head resting on the table, until half past two in the morning.
When I uncovered my face I saw that I was alone and that it was dark. [Three lines crossed out]
I crossed the garden dazzled by a starry sky such as I have never seen.
Out of habit I looked at the château. Not a light — just as by day there is never anyone at the window. Which goes to show that I was right to take the lights and the apparitions as meant for me.
The Surprising One was not at the Skating, but Belle-de-jour and Lewin were there and came to talk to me... Maman was with M. and Mme Zoubaloff and Collignon, then Bihovetz; the latter has put the name inspector of dogs into circulation. Belle-de-jour is called nothing else now, and Broussais believes him to be a real inspector of dogs and is indignant that a man in such a social position should dare to pay court to the ladies. Walitsky has persuaded him that the Vulture sold dogs.
I am afraid of everything!
Reality, worked on by an imagination like mine, takes on colossal proportions and monstrous shapes.
I am afraid of everything!

Notes

In Italian in the original (Marie’s faulty Italian): Io sapessi come mi starabbe bene al piede la scarpa rossa bonbonnière che si trova da Spillman. ↩
In Italian in the original (Marie’s faulty Italian): Trovi un galantiamo per la prima volta nella tua vita... e mandemelo à San Remo, villa Rocca, Principessa N.E. Non ti pentirai al Carnaval. (In the French, e is italicised.) ↩
In French: nous ayant retirés [sic] — the editors’ [sic]; the masculine plural, where the feminine retirées would be expected of two women. ↩