Sunday, 24 February 1878

In that wretched atelier they are saying I am to marry Cassagnac. There it is! That was all that was lacking! To separate him from us.
It is nine o'clock in the evening; I have stopped playing the harp to write something about Florence, where I have left my family — and above all my darling mother, my mother so charming, so kind, so sweet, so... darling. It is a sweet madness, it is even silly, but I write it as I feel it, and as I write the words, darling Mother — I am truly moved.
I have forgotten Alexandre, but my mother and my family — I shall never forget them.
[PAGES 63 TO 68 MISSING (noted by the BN at the beginning of the notebook)]
...embassy at her house. There would then be reason to call, and one could find me amusing without my appearing an adventuress. I do not say he would come for that reason — but it would produce a better effect; I would gain by it, and it would be more natural and more... respectable. As I am not the sort of material from which one fashions a mistress, all these considerations are of great importance. Without being aware of it, one is influenced by all that I lack. If the young princess Troubetskoy were as extravagant as I, she would be found incomparable, and she would not risk what I risk. If I said as much to anyone — to Cassagnac himself — he would reply: What madness, my dear, how little you know me. — he would even think it — but he would feel that there is something true, and unfortunately extremely just, in my words.
If there were no one around, it would be nothing — but what is he doing in the midst of M. d'Abzac, or Mme de Fayet, or M. de Beaurepaire? Have you seen Cassagnac at Mme So-and-so's? She entertains a great deal? Not in the least. Whom, then, is he courting? There — you see!
It must embarrass him too, just as it embarrasses me.
Blanc is a different matter entirely.
What I say about it is to prove to you... no one contests anything! Only my family. It is they who have accustomed me to thinking myself obliged to prove and argue things that no one
contests.
I am far from believing that if I were in a more brilliant position, people would fling themselves on both knees and make declarations of love to me. I speak from the standpoint of simple acquaintance or friendship — though even love is subject to being influenced by all of this.
Was I in love with Alexandre?
Yes — leaving Naples, on the first journey, at the station. That moment seems to me now as though it were two years ago.
I need to go to Italy, and if Mme Yorke and Berthe would come it would be the most charming thing I can imagine in the world.
To go to Florence, to have a letter of introduction to someone there, and to meet my family. There is one of those easy satisfactions that is impossible for me.
II!!!!!!
Blanc came before dinner. I tell him about the Swedish woman who wears boots at eighteen francs fifty the pair.
As for Paul de Cassagnac — he has not come, and I shall not invite him, you may be quite certain; and that because I have no need of him. I have explained the matter to you.
I shall go... to the atelier, and I shall prove that one succeeds when one truly wills it, when one is as desperate, relentless, bruised, and furious as I am.
Ah, the road is long, one grows impatient — that is natural; yes, I am impatient, but... at twenty-one I shall not be too old to begin showing myself, and at twenty-one I shall see already whether my hopes are well-founded.
You understand... it is impossible. I am too conspicuous to be left in peace, to live outside society — while showing myself — without there being some indefinable shadow cast upon my white dress.
O despair, O rage! — to go to Florence and go to the theatre and to the Cascine. Faugh! The only refuge, the only possible life, is the atelier.
These last four months I have been at peace.

Notes

Quotation from Corneille's Le Cid (1637), Don Diègue's monologue (Act I, scene 4): "Ô rage! ô désespoir!"