Saturday, 23 June 1877

My heart had told me: every soul is sister to a soul; God created them in pairs and made them man and woman. The world may in vain separate them for a time — their destiny, sooner or later, is to meet.
Why do they say, then, that it is rare for both to love?
It is true that poets and anatomists see things differently.
Again this cursed pilgrimage, which infuriates me!!
We were at Mme de Mouzay's.
I am ill at ease in Paris, and the future — in this lair — terrifies me. I suffer from living in obscurity and tremble at the idea of showing myself.
I detest my past so much that the photographs before me — some thirty-five of them perhaps, each tracing an impression or an intimate thought — irritate me; I should like to tear them all up.
The most gracious of all the Georgeses came this evening — drunk… in quite a state!
His beauty has abandoned him for the twenty-fifth or thirtieth time in seven years. Hence despair.
He rambles and asserts that he has been told they are going to lock us all up in a madhouse. This absurdity is disagreeable to me — to such a degree do I take everything to heart, everything of that sort. I am so terrified by fictions and realities alike that if someone came to tell me that the President of the Republic was expelling me from France, I should bow my head and end by finding reasonable causes to justify this act of high authority.
And what has become of my poor Alexandre?
Maman writes that Torlonia was so agreeable that one could not refrain from inviting him. So he stayed — despite having a direct ticket to Rome — went to Monaco with the ladies, and did not leave until the following day, after lunching at our house. That may perhaps disarm him. He is said to have admired everything, approved of everything; he is so enchanted by the welcome we gave him, by us.
What a pity that a man so proper, so distinguished, should be a drunken and vicious brute. And I cannot help doing him justice by declaring that he is one of the men (of all those I know) — among the most gentlemanly, the best bred, those who know best how to speak and conduct themselves, without banality and without licence. Alexandre would be the same, were his friendship with Maman not to give him certain privileges that sometimes make him too free. I am obsessed with respect, and the slightest thing wounds me.
What frightens me is that I am known here more than I thought. For example, several ladies whose names I have never heard have mentioned me to Caroline, and know me by sight from Nice and Paris. All of the more or less fashionable Paris has been more or less to Nice.
Well! What is there to fear? I shall study, and… come what may.