Wednesday, 24 April 1878

Instead of reading I played the guitar during the sitting. You see — I am learning it by heart.
"They say that you are to be married.
You know that I shall die of it."
I sing it with all the requisite feeling — a calm despair and candid eyes. But only for the song's sake, for in reality I was only slightly moved, and only in the evening. Grandfather insisted I play and sing the whole evening at his place, and then maman began to lament over Popaul's marriage. "Now that it is all over," she said, "one can say everything. In all the universe there were only two beings who suited each other — Marie and Cassagnac. And now it is that hypocrite with the dark hair who is to have everything and be happy! She has won him through his senti-
ments, I am certain!" Etc., etc.
And so on, and so forth.
If I had played the sentimental game — or rather if I had not always played the madwoman and the fury — I might perhaps have gained something. I had suspected maman's secret thoughts, and I was not wrong. I myself had harboured no such thoughts, for I had forbidden them to myself, and I had done well — and all would be tolerably well, if this evening I had not been provoked against a fate that is unjust, wicked, taunting and cruel.
But I allow myself no outbursts — I gather myself inwardly, stop my eyes and ears, and wait for the storm to pass, all the while telling myself: you have seen far worse, courage once again.
How tiresome that maman says all these things — even if I felt something, it would be better to leave me in peace. You know how it is with children who hurt themselves: if you console them, they cry all the more.
As for me — I am going to paint; but I feel as though someone had stripped away my skin and all the stuffing inside me were about to fly to the devil. I have seen that happen to dolls when their cotton covering is removed, and the horsehair falls out on every side.
I had forbidden myself everything except painting — and now someone comes to trouble my mind and my soul and my heart and all the rest. My girl, if you are distressed, always think this: it is only a matter of time — time will make you forget, time soothes all sorrows. Let us be patient and trust in God. But tomorrow Paul de Cassagnac is supposed to come to dinner.
If he is to marry, I should prefer not to see him. I shall be afraid — and... I shall be afraid.
Cassagnac is to marry... I receive this news with murmurs — that is only natural — but I should be almost indifferent if maman were not so vexed. I show no resentment, but I do not scruple to say it is an unpleasant event; such a bearing befits a woman whom the dirty waters of the universe have [Words blacked out: forced to] take refuge on the mountain.
It is half past ten — I shall go to bed in order to be at the atelier at five minutes to eight as is my habit.