Wednesday, 17 January 1877

In Nice people are wondering — and please believe me, it is a serious matter — what my gown is trimmed with, swan or feathers. As for me, I say it is Siberian monkeys.
My meagre success makes you suppose that I think myself better than I am, that I exaggerate my charms. You are mistaken. If only I could appear in the salons with a suitable chaperone, I should see all this rabble at my feet. They need a shock; without it they dare not break away from their own set to come to me. That is all.
Barnola came and told us the news over lunch.
Collignon accompanies us as far as the —, where I walk about very gracefully in view of Manara, the boorish owner of the big grey dog. I am no longer surprised at his boorishness; he plies the same trade as Yourkoff. And he looks like a cocotte. Fie.
written across the page
Manara has an income of a hundred thousand francs and plies no ugly trade.
The Surprising One’s Viennese lady was there; she is small but pretty, and I detest her as I do all the women the man courts, as much because he made fun of me as because he is becoming more and more the fashion.
Then, when everyone had gone to the matinée at the Cercle, we remained alone with the Anitchkoffs, and Mme Smelsky, who introduces her husband to me, and her sister. If Patton knew that we are acquainted with them he would start bowing again. The Smelskys had a letter from Princess Galitzine for us; Mme Tutcheff prevented them from using it, and now Pelikan and Mme Anitchkoff are counterbalancing. Merjeewsky came to see us. And in the evening there was a gathering of the eternal friends, Pelikan, Anitchkoff, Zurmüllen, Broussais... I sang.
Ah! what a life.
Berthe writes and calls me to Paris. I shall go — only I shall weep for as long as I do not go back to Rome.
When shall I ever know what this Love is that everyone speaks of so much?
I might have loved Antonelli, but I despise him.
I might have loved Audiffret, but he wounded us in things that rule out all love.
Once I adored Boreel... I was thirteen...
Then I loved the Duke of Hamilton, to the point of exaltation. A love owed entirely to the duke’s fortune, his name, his extravagances, and to an imagination... out of the common line.
So, after this pun, To whom shall I pay court?
I should like to marry a prince and become a widow after giving him two sons, so as not to be left without one should either of them die. A... regent can sleep in peace. And then.
Oh! My father is a coward!
Rereading the days spent with Audiffret, above all the two country balls, I feel surges of longing... and when I examine my conduct it seems to me that out of excessive pride and a desire to appear disdainful I repulsed the man... And yet... The devil take it! All I can do is sing like Faust:
O source of regrets, and of eternal doubts.
The more I reread, the more I believe that if I was ever in love, it was in the summer of 1875. Perhaps he loved me too, and we failed to understand each other through one of those misunderstandings that a mere nothing sometimes produces...
The fact is that I have never been happier than then, and that the winter before, and the summer, have been and will remain my finest memories. That whole period was nothing but one long burst of laughter mingled with sweet sighs.
And again I am tormented; it seems to me that it is my fault! No, no, I must not think it; I have proved to myself a hundred times that such regrets lead nowhere.
The thing is, you see... I have read books in which, for want of a word, or because of the most insignificant, most involuntary thing, two hearts were parted for ever.
How can I not regret the happiest year of my life! How can I not deplore... For I shall never be so gay again... I was sixteen; consequently I had not yet endured these eighteen months of desolation; I set my hopes on Russia, I had everything before me, I had a great many illusions... and it was the first time...
With him it was a misunderstanding... and the others?
Well, the only boorish ones were Saëtone and Godard.
Danis left Nice long ago, and the others are polite.
Why must this torment come and poison the most charming perfumes!!
I am constant all the same. Rome and all it held have passed over Girofla, and he gets up again with only a few bruises, like Bagatelle under the break at Spa... but what am I saying? Girofla has risen again like Antaeus, with new strength. I need distractions... it is truly atrocious to say so much about a man who is not laughing at you when one is not compensated by others. And who knows? There are those who take an interest in me, and I take an interest in him, and it makes me furious. I should like never to remember him, and to see him degraded, a beggar, a draper. What is most tormenting is that I envy the man’s successes as I would a rival’s.
At last I have found the right expression for my feelings!
I always have to write three pages before I find it.