Monday, 6 May 1878

I worked all day long — something I had not been doing very regularly for the past three weeks. You know I bathe as many times a day as possible, and this evening I had just freshened up and put on something long, white, and clinging (without a corset, which gives one a great deal of grace and a certain dramatic quality), when Blanc arrived, and after a few minutes of conversation he tells us that "Paul has told him nothing, but he is convinced Paul is going to marry, because every time one mentions it he looks bored, and the origins of the Acard family are not quite as spotless as one might have wished..."
That wretched frigate captain has hurt me again; had it not been for Tuesday's mad business I should not be so angry... Well! I congratulate his future wife! Either he is a swine or he doesn't love her.
A girl who conducts herself as wildly as that — oh yes, wildly — must not expect anyone to think much of her. I am sure the other woman plays the saint all the more fervently because she knows what an old rake she is dealing with, and the imbecile is too happy to touch the tips of her fingers or to — horror! — kiss her hand.
When the candles are lit, I veil myself with some Indian muslin or God knows what Egyptian fabric, soft and matte — it is almost impossible for me to have my face and head uncovered when something vexes me, something I dare not grieve over openly, but which leaves me cold all over, limp... one push and I would fall like the veil that covers me — without sound and without resistance.
If it is not maddening to see Blanc playing piquet with my dear mother!! Do I want to see Blanc! Do I want to hear that I am, through art, elevated above mere mortals and their miseries! Yes, I am. I have made a complete break with my past — I shall never speak of it again, I have no use for it. Every word I say from now on must count. It is not that I speak to you like Bossuet, but my expressions, when I have spoken seriously, no longer have anything exaggerated about them.
Mme Baudouin — you know, Jeanne's mother — came this evening; she leaves tomorrow. I talked all evening about my marriage to Gambetta, and towards the end I began to believe it is a possible thing — and why not? If he wished it I would consent at once. I have written him this very evening an anonymous letter, reasonable enough that he would take notice. It would be superb, dazzling, and splendid.
[Written across the page: I have forgotten the initials I gave. Impossible to know if there is a reply.]
What a stir, my Emperor! I would then become President of the Republic
Blanc finds it idiotic. Which is why?...
Mme Doubelt's father has died. That lady, after the warm friendship you know of, had borrowed a diamond brooch from Maman which she never returned — never showing her face herself; [word blotted: previously] frequently writing little notes of invitation and promise.
[Written across the page: She brought the jewel back after three months]
Let us move on — it is not interesting. So here I am, thinking again of all the beautiful things written during Schaeppi's fitting. Indeed, what a pity and what a bore!.. For a moment I thought it would cause me more pain than one might imagine, but after an hour of those pitiless arguments I have acquired through long practice with adversity in my previous life, my boredom reduced to its simplest expression is a confused thing I have absolutely no wish to believe in, which bores me profoundly and which I find quite atrocious.
Mme Doubelt has just left — it is one o'clock. With all these jokes I have rescued myself from a useless sadness that would have lasted hours, and it is well muted for this evening and for the days to come. Besides, look here, I shall bravely make my peace with it, although it is very, very hard... but there is nothing to be done... submit to events... Do you know that is hardly pleasant! Enough of pretty words. There — I make my peace with it... and what if it were not true? If it were not true I would be delighted! But alas, sad things are always true...
And yet I asked him properly the other day — it is true he promised me nothing; how can one expect God to make promises.
If I were an intelligent, subtle, scheming, useful woman, I would be employed — but I am only amusing!!
Come now — these fine rages will pass.