Wednesday, 1 May 1878

What do you say to Dina and me going unmasked to spend an evening at Paul de Cassagnac's? But what do you say to the way we spent it? First let us say that Dina was wearing the peasant man's costume that served me at Nice, and that I was in my atelier smock. You understand — we went there to have a genuine séance of mesmerism, but Dina having refused to serve as subject that evening, there was nothing but a session of madness on which I can only reflect with a confusion mingled with stupor.
First, since it is Russian Easter one must kiss. I beg you to believe that our host did not deprive himself — but I defended myself with all my strength, and I succumbed, yet I did not kiss him, that I assure you. Listen — I am very much ashamed [Words blacked out: when thinking of the] despair of maman if she knew the business. Dina found that I lacked dignity — so do I. But on the other hand each foolishness was accompanied by words that
gave an acceptable tone to everything.
[Written across the page: I could have stopped him with a single word.
Succumbed — that is to say, I allowed myself to be kissed. There are people so depraved that they must imagine the worst horrors from the way I have expressed myself.]
Listen to me: I swear before God, I swear on the Gospel, I give you my sacred word of honour — and if I do not speak the truth may the most dreadful misfortunes crush me — I swear on the salvation of my soul that Paul de Cassagnac, for today at least, is not a man to me.
It is so incredible a thing that I felt I needed all these oaths.
And I swear again — I, who always have rather free thoughts — I swear to you that I felt barely six years old when Dina was on the sofa sitting in the Turkish fashion, Cassagnac was on the floor leaning against the sofa, and I was likewise on the floor, nestled close to him, my head on his chest and encircled by his arm.
[1880. I have never been so happy in my life.]
If it were entirely so as regards our feelings, he would be the basest of men and I a play-actress.
I make him a fraternal declaration; he replies in kind, and assuming a grave air that contrasted diabolically with what had preceded and what followed, he swore to me solemnly that he adored me as his dear little sister.
This extraordinary creature who is at the same time a child of six and a woman of forty had need to find in the world a person like me — as extraordinary and as mad as herself — who understands her and takes things as they ought to be taken. And so I love him well. Mark this — I give you my word of honour that I adore this child, and that she will never have a more tender and devoted friend than I.
Multedo has kissed my hand and that kiss troubled me; Cassagnac has kissed me on the face and those kisses reminded me of maman's. Explain it as you will. I am certain that at bottom he is a very honourable man and that he has had the most saintly thoughts; I believe in magnetic currents — and a simple handshake produces a sensation exactly in harmony with the feeling that accompanies it.
So here we are, Angels — let us sing hymns and rejoice.
No matter — I am all astonishment; but if for a single instant I had sensed a base intention I should have died of shame, for there would not even be the most wretched love to serve as an excuse. I am even in some sense content — this evening has given me the measure of... no, that is not it.
Dina sings another song and maintains that the harm is none the less great, and that the road by which one arrives matters little once one arrives. It is even more detestable, she says — a priest who places his hand on his heart saying "my sister, my sister, can you be in danger with a brother..." and then behaves like all other men.
My God yes — I told you — this man would lead you to the ends of the earth without your noticing anything. Only in this I rely on him absolutely, for I cannot imagine a depravity that would be odious when accompanied by such escorts of noble and great sentiments, expressed in even greater words.
It remains none the less true that I was kissed on the mouth — and this, he says, because I defended myself too much, whereas to give a kiss in such circumstances would be perfectly simple.
I am none the less disgusted and ashamed before Dina, who no longer believes in my infallibility.
And this, like everything irrevocable, enrages me, makes me angry, fills me with despair.
Enough — it is done. Never [Word blacked out: let us regret] what is past — that is to say [Words blacked out: let us regret] lost joys, since it is impossible not to — but let us not regret the foolish things done; there is nothing more useless and more deplorably stupid.
Let us make the best of it.
I have already begun to make the best of it by persuading myself of the gentleman's innocence. We were two women; if I had been alone... oh! then — but Dina received as much as I did.
If you knew how extraordinary it all seems to me!!
Dina no longer believes in my loftiness that rose up in the middle of the family like the obelisk rising in the middle of the Place de la Concorde. I would throw myself into the flames to save this girl if she were in danger — but on the other hand I should be content if she could be disposed of. This witness of my humiliation embarrasses me. The fact is she does not believe in all the saintliness by which I sustain myself... God preserve me from doubting it — but if one day I could legitimate those kisses as one legitimates
children... I should be content, and this almost makes me desire it.
Neither saintliness nor horrors — but simply jokes. I console myself with the thought that I was full of spirit, and that in the most critical moments I retained my presence of mind in quite extraordinary fashion — which led the Ogre to say that the poor wretch who loved me was much to be pitied.
"You see this delightful little woman, who is made like an antique Venus, who is pretty, who is witty as a demon... for she has everything to inspire the most serious passions — well, I wager that if one were to make her a declaration of love, speaking with ardour, with passion, with all that one can imagine finest in the world, she would burst out laughing and reply with cruel mockery or make some epigram. She is incapable of listening seriously — oh! I believe it absolutely."
And perhaps you are right.
We returned home at eleven o'clock. Dina had spoken of leaving five minutes after our arrival. But when we did leave I thought it was one in the morning. The hands of the clock-lamp beside the writing desk had been removed.
He came with us to one house away from ours.
All three of us were dreadful in the cab.
Do what I will, I cannot persuade myself it is worse to be kissed by Paul de Cassagnac than by Anna Nordgren or by Schaeppi. It is absurd — but so it is, whatever effort I have made since this morning to believe it dreadful.
Maman asked us what we had been doing.
"Joking," I replied.
If the poor woman could suspect the half of this joking, she would not even be angry — but she would weep every tear in her body and remain in despair. It is that thought above all that grieves me.
No matter — Cassagnac no doubt dreamed of it; as for me, I went to bed and fell asleep at once, calm and pleased at having enjoyed myself well.
And today is the opening of the Exposition — I shall keep Le Figaro for you, which will describe it. As for me, I spent two dreadful hours in a common gallery full of all sorts of people. Dina was almost in white satin; our horribly elegant toilettes were atrociously out of place; I fled as soon as one could get out, and we took a cab. I should know once and for all that since I cannot go with princes and ambassadors, I should remain at
home, on pain of aging two years in two hours.
Now — yesterday's events will become a source of commentary. For my part it matters nothing: I know what I know and what I have told you; but what if he were on that account to respect me less? That is an odious thought, and if it were true I should never be consoled. Oh! I shall tell him — rest assured.
Do you know what? Well — whatever change has occurred in him, a great one has occurred in me. I no longer respect him, and I no longer admire his delicacy; he was lacking in it — he has diminished himself, lost his lustre. He is still much, but he is less.
And then — I had been drinking cider, and the great man poured himself some in the same glass (there was only one), asking whether I permitted him to drink after me. A great man, come now! This Exposition, which despite the Bonapartist machinations has kept its word, buries them in the third basement.
Oh! I am ashamed before Dina.