Friday, 18 May 1877

I am a monster and a wretch! They provoke me and I show my most hideous face! Walitsky was rude at lunch, and a reply made to me said that I beat people. Terrified that people would believe it and repeat it, I called him a “coward.” But those not initiated into my daily terrors and exasperations will see in this outburst nothing but monstrous brutality in a girl of my age. Mme Kondareff has already told Maman, and no doubt I shall be turned into a bogey for Lise, to whom they will point me out with the words “You see that one — well, you’ll end up like her if you...” or else “Don’t think I’ll allow you this or that the way I do with Marie, etc. etc.”
I stayed a long time in the garden playing the mandoline; the night is so beautiful... I am so unhappy... I am irritable to the point of fury, and they provoke me! Just think — they have taken to speaking to me in the tone used to humour the mad. Instead of song, a few drops of blood came from my throat; I reported it with a kind of triumph and Maman came to tell me...
“You really made a mistake not to have married Audiffret.”
But if you could imagine what was in the tone in which this was said — of natural history, of hygiene... you would be mad with rage, as I am!
Having nothing at the moment, I remake myself a present by leafing through this journal. It is a strange sensation to find there, under one’s hand and eyes, an entire existence... it forces one to analyse, to take stock...
All the same, the adventure with Larderel is very strange — that is to say, I was in love and consequently out of my mind. I did not leave two days after his arrival, as I might perhaps have done well to do, because there were the races — that excuse justified me. And then... then... it is all very well. You see, I am greatly tormented when I discover too late what I should have done...

Notes

Marie died of tuberculosis in 1884, aged twenty-five. ↩