Saturday, 15 September 1877

We go for a walk in the morning with Lisander; Lautrec appears at the Lese-cabinet and leads us to see a kind of panorama. The Dutchman Lanz joins our party of three, and then Diftiriani. The weather is fine, the sun doing its utmost. A few people around the Kurhaus and on the lake. Mme Batourine and Mlle Lisander dine with us.
I fell asleep and detest myself. Maman goes to pay calls; then the Gerbels arrive, but fortunately all this world departs for the half-past-three concert.
I rest and recover in a beneficent solitude. We take tea at Mme Batourine's; from the first moment I had but one fixed idea: to leave. She entertains well and as well as one could wish, being herself daughter, granddaughter, sister, niece and cousin of the grandest people in St. Petersburg — but as she never invites us with other people and never introduces any new acquaintances, it is as if one were taking tea at the cobbler's across the way. Lisander had been invited with us but Mme Batourine had seen her rolling about, so to speak, in our rooms like a daughter of the house. We return home; Mme Lisander arrives; I play the mandoline to accompany the pretty good things that are told about all Wiesbaden society. Lautrec whispered to me: I am going to make her talk. And indeed, Mme Lisander, who asked for nothing better, let herself be led onto any ground with a suppleness of tongue well appreciated by connoisseurs.
I cannot understand how these ladies, these wretched cavaliers, this poor Wiesbaden society in short, can occupy one with their intrigues, their gossip, their husband-hunting, etc. etc. As if I were a queen of a capital.
It is indeed I, is it not, who let my hand be kissed. It is I whose feet were pressed, whose knee was touched, whose waist was held, whose mouth was kissed? I did not understand then! I rewrite these abominations and I doubt. But it was not so. Only I did not understand! I was a child, whatever I may say... or else I was and am simply very limited.
It took me a year to understand. I understood everything well enough, etc. — but I did not understand the serious side, the proper side.
What does that Monsieur think of me now? What I gave him the right to think, by God! — without properly understanding what I was doing. He respects and honours, as the others do, girls such as I imagined myself to be and was not... And was not. That is the whole horror of it! At least you, unknown souls, be charitable and believe as I do that I was innocent and a child, while thinking myself a woman of the world! Or else that I am foolish — then everything arranges itself.
So there it is: one thinks me a girl who lets young men kiss her, and as I accepted everything in a kind of stupor, he supposed it was my habit. The other took me for a girl who wanted to catch herself a husband — for a starving dog, a husband-hunter — and put me in my place with all the cold, polite contempt that such young women deserve.
And even if I were to die this instant, that would not change! There is the horror, there is the curse! I ask for nothing more now than to be rehabilitated! If I were, I should be halfway to perfect happiness.
What is to be done?
I have only myself to blame. I need four months to find a response that will in one stroke overturn all the unfavourable impressions and restore me as I truly am. Four months.
I am quick at repartee. Poor Alexandre — it is not he who makes me bite my fingers in anger and rage! Him... I loved him, and I acted like a madwoman, I acted as I could, it was involuntary and I reproach myself with nothing. But that other one!!!!