Tuesday, 19 June 1877

Every day for a month I have been repeating that I am to leave on the 15th of June, and begging everyone to make ready, saying each time that I expect scenes and imploring them to spare me.
In short, today they drove me into a state fit to bite through iron! At the very moment of departure the same pretexts as always, advanced with a composure and an impudence!!!
For three days I have been a little mad, as if in a daze… I began to weep — they persisted; I shouted — no more success; and so I smashed what I could, uttered terrible curses, and shoved and struck my aunt!
Forgive me this monstrosity, in consideration of the fact that I confess it so bluntly.
If you were in my place, you might not condemn me quite so severely.
After this dreadful scene I fell into such a torpor that I remained three or four hours in the same armchair while a game of piquet was played with the Anitchkoffs.
My aunt and Maman are good and merciful; they do not even hold it against me. What would frighten them is anything that might rebound upon me. They know that I am half mad and entirely unhappy. If I were not so disgusted and horrified, I would say that they have fallen into a passive obedience, and that within the sort of black cloud that envelops me, I take pleasure in this monstrous power.
Mme Anitchkoff says she would like to see me always like this.
— You are calm; your face is rested and breathes tranquillity and goodness — and you are pretty.
For the first time since my childhood I have spent an entire day in everyone’s company.
Mme Kondareff arrived as merry as a bird, with her cousin Baranvitch, who was very ill. You remember him, do you not — from the first days of my arrival? We took tea in the garden.
Rosalie, who is very fond of Monsieur le comte, speaks of him only with difficulty, because I laugh, I say cruel things, I lump him in with my dogs, and I end by saying that all I need in this world is two ropes, one for him and one for me. But I make her go on, and she answers:
— That it pains her too much, and that she has already told me everything.
— I know, but I have forgotten.
— But you are making fun of poor Monsieur le comte.
— Not at all, it amuses me.
— There, you see — it amuses you!
— Well, no! It gives me pleasure! Come, say it again… that is to say, look: as for everything before the travels, I know it all and it is over; but tell me what Séraphin has told you now, now! I do not want Séraphin’s guesses or yours.
— Well, as I said, Séraphin told me that Monsieur le comte has changed — oh, but changed so much! I asked him how the journey had gone, and said that of course he had made a great many acquaintances. And Séraphin said:
— Oh, no, not at all; you will never imagine how much he has changed; he is in despair, he is bored, he is not what he was; in short, he told me he positively has marriage in mind…
— Séraphin said so?
— No, no! Monsieur le comte.
— He wants to marry, but that proves nothing.
— Wait: so I (to Séraphin) asked him whether he had anyone in view. “You are making fun of me!” he said, just like that. “How am I making fun?” “Why, you know very well that it is Mademoiselle Marie, and Monsieur le comte told me so.” And perhaps all this came about after the letters Monsieur le comte received from his family in Florence.
— Is that Séraphin’s guess?
— And Monsieur le comte told him so.
— But then Monsieur le comte is out of his mind.
— What can one do about it, if he is mad about you!
— Perhaps he was, Rosalie, a long time ago.
— No, no — now.
Come, why would anyone say so? At Naples, towards the end, nobody said anything because there was nothing in it.
— When, then?
— It came over him again on his travels.
— Who says so?
— Monsieur le comte, to Séraphin.
— Are you sure?
— Yes.
— Swear it.
— I swear it.
— On the head of the good Lord?
— What an oath!
— Go on!
— Well then, on the head of the good Lord.
— And if you were lying?
— But I tell you I am not — and it is a great pity, too, because even before… but now you do nothing but make fun. And Monsieur le comte is in love with you, and he confessed it to Séraphin…
— At Naples?
— No, on his travels.
— Swear on your mother’s head.
— I swear on my mother’s head.
— Take care, do not damn yourself.
— Me? Good Lord! My emperor! What is there so astonishing in that!
If I had never told this girl a single lie, I would believe her more. But I am always afraid that she is inventing, building on what I told her about the adoption of little Alexandrine… Anyway, from this dialogue you can gather roughly what was said, for I made her repeat several things to me ten times over.
— But if it were true, Rosalie, he would behave differently… he would not go to Monaco.
— He goes out of spite, I know that very well.
— Take care, Rosalie, you are telling tales.
— But I swear to you I am not. Do you think, then, that it is any pleasure to have a devil like that Torniole about one!
— He would come here… if it were true; come now, what is stopping him?
While Rosalie was talking about the coldness of his reception, I thought that perhaps there was something stopping him — and for anyone else it would be a weighty enough reason. But it seems to me that he takes no account of it, any more than I do. It is very hard to meet again after a pretty scene such as ours. And even if he had changed his mind, how could he come back after such a declaration and such letters? I give you all these reasons for your sake, and because everyone thinks so.
As for me, I do not know how it is, but I remember nothing that could stand in the way, and it seems to me that he must feel the same, which rules out any idea of pleasure, of return… What my maid tells me is so natural, and fits so well with what she does not know, that I am tempted… one is always tempted to believe what gives one excessive pleasure.
Well, I make her repeat it to me like a fairy tale.
Maman did not go to Monaco, which means a complete absence of news…
Mme Kondareff has just come back from Monaco; Alexandre was not there. Rosalie, who went round to the servant’s this morning, heard Monsieur le comte talking in bed in a sad, sickly voice. So he stayed at home — poor dear, how bored he must have been.
He has not seen my apartment — what a pity. Bah! Yesterday’s despair has passed, and as for Alexandre, I say to myself as before that line of Marguerite’s: “Dear Alexandre (Valentin), if God hears me, I shall see you again…”

Notes

In French in the original: Mon empereur — Larderel’s tipsy exclamation, which Marie has adopted. ↩
In Italian in the original: cameriere (chambermaid). ↩