Sunday, 9 December 1877

Grand-papa has had a fainting fit; everyone except me thought that... Things were going very badly. Edmond predicted nothing to me... for the moment. But I am shaken simply by seeing the prostration of the others.
Madame York and Berthe came, and I went out for a moment with them. Then Baron d'Alt called, and finally Marcuard.
I was pale and frightened; otherwise I should have asked for news of Florence — he has fresh news from friends who arrived yesterday.
Doctor Charcot has just left; I attended the consultation, and what the doctors said to one another afterwards, since I am the only calm one and they treat me as a third physician. If there is no softening of the brain, as they fear, it may last some years yet — in any case no catastrophe for the moment.
Poor Grand-papa — I should have been distressed had he died at once, because we have often quarrelled; but as his illness continues I have time to make up for my sharpness. I stayed in his room at the worst moment... besides, my presence at a sick person's side is always a sign of urgency, because I detest useless fuss and only appear troubled when I allow myself to be.
You see how on every occasion I sing my own praises.
I saw the new moon with my left eye — that vexes me.
Do not think, I beg you, that I was brutal with Grand-papa — I only treated him as an equal and never let anything pass; but since he is ill, very ill, I regret it and wish I had endured everything without a word.
We do not leave him; he calls at once for whoever is absent. Georges is at his side and sleeps in the dining room near his door so as to hear him in the night. Dina is always at the bedside, needless to say; Maman is ill with anxiety; Walitsky — dear Walitsky — runs about and tends and grumbles and consoles.
Pincio and Prater are fighting as usual; as for Renard, he does not stir from under his master's bed, and when the latter is a little better, comes to lick his hands.
I said I would have wished to endure everything without a word — I sound like a poor wretch who was mistreated; there was nothing to endure, but I am irritable and irritating, and since Grand-papa was also, I grew impatient and replied sharply, and sometimes I was wrong.
I do not wish to pose as an angel hiding beneath a mask of wickedness.

Notes

Jean-Martin Charcot (1825–1893), the celebrated neurologist at the Salpêtrière, considered the greatest nerve specialist in France. A consultation from Charcot was the highest available medical authority.