Friday, 20 July 1877

Rémy came to see us and speaks so much of Biarritz that I am tempted to go: tempted is only a word — nothing tempts me, nothing attracts me; I only want to find a place where one would hear no echo of the rest of the world, where one would be free to spend the whole day lying in a corner without anyone's remorse, reproaches, or advice being able to drag one out of there or give one the idea that some other existence exists.
I wanted to go to bed at ten, but Blanc came and I chatted from my room until midnight. There was much talk of Cassagnac, and we suppose that Blanc is on the outs with him. Or else Cassagnac does not want to see us. At another moment I might perhaps have been put out, but now!
I am so stupefied that I had to abandon serious reading and buy a novel, La Dame aux Perles. There is a great deal of love in it, as you know, and as I could not fall asleep after putting out the lamp I amused myself by recalling what I had read and, in reply to a reflection of Alexandre's — Dumas, that is — here is what I found and wrote in complete darkness with a pencil.
Why does one swear, and often believe, that one will love for ever? Because one finds oneself happy and desires always to be so, and because one believes that this happiness comes from this love. But the moment one no longer loves and consequently this love no longer creates happiness, why would one stubbornly persist in loving? To keep one's promise? But one does keep it! One says: I shall love always — but without even realizing it, one means by this: I am happy and I wish always to be so, I shall always be happy... To begin with, whenever anything pleases us, we say: I shall do it always! Should this kind of promise — which is nothing but a misunderstood wish — make one ashamed when one believes one can no longer keep it? No, for one always keeps it. One said I shall love always because I believe it will always give me pleasure; but from the moment that it is something else that gives pleasure, it is therefore something else that you have promised, desired, vowed.
These are dreadful paradoxes, I fear — but perhaps also great truths. Who knows?
Rémy came this evening to take us to Musart. I have never been there, and consequently felt nervous on entering for the first time. M. de Gonzalès was walking with the Durands; he came to us at once and after about five minutes Rémy was bringing me his sister. You will remember that Mme and Mlle de Gonzalès did not pay us a call in Nice; in spite of this I was obliged to be agreeable. One would have to be very ill-bred not to respond to people's civilities when there are no important reasons — and even then!
The father is perpetually at my feet and gives me his word of honour that he esteems me thus because he knows me, and says it so insistently that his whole family adores me, and even his acquaintances. Matildita stayed with my aunt while I showed myself on the arm of my old friend, doing a few turns. The little one is to marry some Bourbon prince or other from Havana. Very grand. She has money, no doubt, but she is so stupid! Not knowing what to talk to her about, I compliment her on her fan... instantly the father says to her in Spanish to offer it to me, she said no, he insisted. I blushed deeply and was finally obliged to accept the fan, which was quite plain.
I feel strangely; I have had a good evening, I even caused a sensation despite the thinness of the crowd and above all the absence of the people who notice — and yet! I know nothing of it, I have neither will nor courage! I am sad!
Twenty times I look at the portrait of that madman from Florence — but no, it is not that. There before me is this absurd portrait, but I care little.

Notes

La Dame aux Perles (1854) by Alexandre Dumas fils: a novel of ruinous passion.