Friday, 23 February 1877

Great agitation for an unknown reason; several visits from Doenhoff, with whom we go in the evening to see races and games at the Skating Rink. That absurd white figure, that hat like Mont Blanc, displaying itself majestically! Well — this abomination has found a passionate admirer. He is an Englishman I cannot bear to look at, while he dines opposite us and does everything in the world to merit a word — in vain!
This evening I dined at the table d’hôte and this man told his neighbour and friend that it is a treat for him, that yesterday and the day before he was sad — and all sorts of things to which I pay no attention.
Only, at that moment, I imagined what faces all those diners would pull if I whipped away the tablecloth. Dina began to laugh, having doubtless imagined the same picture; the Englishman invited us; my neighbour began to drink but, having raised his eyes to us, burst out laughing into his glass — then this amiable gaiety spread to all the others, who without knowing why began to laugh, and within five minutes there was no one left at the table, everyone having gone out in fits of laughter — young, old, invalids, stiff upright Englishmen — everyone!
written across the page
I spoke to Dina in Russian.
Merisano came and stood opposite the balcony but, seeing Rosalie there alone, stayed only a few minutes; he had already once whistled at her in the corridor — we had just gone out and that monkey was at Larderel’s. But the girl simply said with her Parisian street accent: Now there’s a type for you!
Since I have been mad about Larderel I do nothing but chat with Rosalie — she tells me comical things and I repeat to her a hundred times: Larderel. I had thought of telegraphing in Altamura’s or Merisano’s name, but that would be found out too easily; then I had the idea — seriously — of sending Rosalie to Florence for a day; and this is finally what I settled upon.
Florence, Count Alessandro Larderel
6,000 lire at your convenience, your conditions when Naples
reply paid at once to the Rosati office.
Poor fellow — when he finds out it is a hoax.
Six thousand francs — he will be pleased to receive this offer.
Listen — I truly do not know what is wrong with me; I do not know whether it is these masked balls that have soiled me, or something else — but I hold myself in horror!
Can my brain truly be disordered? It seems to me that everywhere I am taken for a woman of bad character, that people are outraged by my presence, that they wish to insult me.
Once, when I entered a room, I blossomed under the public gaze; now I wilt like those flowers beaten down by the nocturnal frost of which Dante speaks; I want to hide.
The slightest glance is literally like a blow from a bludgeon...
Something ought to be done about this — I do not know what — but this state is unbearable; I suffer so, I hate myself, I am ashamed of myself, I am afraid someone will slap me in the street.
It is doubtless the consequence of all my happiness in this world.
I am losing my memory; I fear the simplest things, and I throw myself into extravagances as if it were perfectly natural.
That Englishman almost moves me to tenderness — this evening in the crowd at the Skating Rink he gave up his place for us, with humble airs and eyes full of respectful admiration — I cannot bear him.
Let us attend to my brain — soon you shall have the pleasure of reading the lucubrations of a perfectly sound brain, as Audiffret would say — but let us pass on.
Have I said that Foster writes to me? No? Well, I say so now, and I have written to him also. Why not maintain agreeable relations with proper people.
Oh! but everything I do seems to me improper, extravagant, atrocious, frightful!
Am I going mad. No — but after the article in the Figaro it is the very least that one’s ideas should be turned upside down. Am I attacked enough, soiled enough?
Before I have even begun to live!
Restore my mind, O God — or else let me die.
written across the page
I should like to know how other people manage. I am turning into a savage — I no longer know how to behave!
in the margin
Ah! if I could see other people, I should see how it is done and recover — perhaps I am not even doing anything wrong. But I no longer know anything!!]

Notes

In English in the original. ↩
In French in the original: En v’là un genre ! — Parisian working-class slang, dismissive contempt. ↩
In Italian in the original (Marie’s draft telegram, three lines): Firenze, comte Alessandro Larderel / 6.000 lire a suo comodo, condizioni sue quando Napoli / risposta agata subito a d’Uffizio Rosati. ↩
risposta agata stands for risposta pagata (“reply paid”, the prepaid-answer formula of telegrams). The telegram was never sent. ↩
Dante, Inferno II.127–129: the simile of flowers drooping in night frost and reviving in morning sun — here Marie reverses it, wilting rather than blooming. ↩
Marie refers to a Figaro article that apparently reported on her family or her own social missteps in a damaging way; the specifics are unclear. ↩