Tuesday, 25 June 1878

He must have received them this morning — but will that old beast say anything of it to his son?
I called at Laferrière’s; she believes it is tomorrow at the town hall and Thursday at the church. So it is not even Saturday. I had hoped to have time to breathe. And so it will all be over? What consoles me... though in truth I do not know whether it consoles or distresses me — is that had I considered the possibility of marrying Cassagnac, I could have done so. I took him quite seriously, and besides, I believed he cost more. And above all I always saw him surrounded by five or six women plus the Swede as a fixture, and I thought that to marry he would need to be in love — and I dared not desire that; it is such a delicate matter.
I thought him expensive from the moment I ceased to believe he was not for sale. No — I never thought him for sale, never thought it because I thought something else entirely of him. And then when he questioned me about my allowance, and then about my dowry:
— Have you thirty thousand francs a year? he asked.
— I have nothing.
— Well, he will not want you then... he being Gambetta. It was an exceptional opportunity to say a million things.
I was so innocent — and besides, how was one to suppose that this me in trousers was quite so much like all the rest!
written across the page
Only thirty thousand a year. My heart contracts when I think he asks so little and I was so stupid —
How, after all that, do I regret him? Knowing all this, could I have wanted him? But why? For knowing and understanding it all, it is impossible that I love him. No doubt — and yet I do regret him, I know not why, and also for ambition’s sake: what if the Badinguets were to come back? Each of his successes will be a fresh heartbreak.
They say the Acard girl is the Cardinal’s daughter — whether she is or not, the connection exists, and Blanc had pronounced her a blot.
What an immense disillusionment! I who had thought Paul de Cassagnac different from the rest! I had already discovered that he lied in small matters, and that he gave, with the utmost solemnity, words of honour that would have made Athos himself die of envy — and then broke them. The old father must be furious if the bride has only twenty thousand a year; I offer him seventy thousand, and then twice as much.
I was afraid of crying — a groundless fear...
But I am indignant and vexed because I can do nothing, and because it is irrevocable — irrevocable things always enrage me.
It is oppressively hot! When one is working, it is dreadful.
Only... perhaps it is all for the best. But how stupid of me not to have thought of it sooner. By involving an older woman and conducting oneself as a girl who offers her partnership, I could have done it as easily as ordering a dress from Laferrière. As for the rest, I have no very acute anxieties; marriage changes little in that regard, and I only laugh to think I am not the only one... Oh! but whatever I do, for or against — it is written. Perhaps I shall stop caring... I think not, though; after all, he is a man worth staking one’s pride on. I shall begin by acquiring a certain celebrity, then perhaps a fine position — only lately a fortune-teller foretold it once more, like all the others. Edmond predicted I would have a swaggerer for an enemy. It will be he who is furious at the way I treat his fair one. By the way — you know I wrote to the Figaro about a masked ball at the Trocadéro; the thing was printed.
Poor Cassagnac — had he taken a superior woman, she might perhaps have dominated him; whereas Mademoiselle Acard will lead him by the nose, that is certain.
There is nothing more to be done. One ought to have wanted it before... Before, it had never even entered my head.
All the same — I am a Bonapartist, because it may lead me to a certain position, always interesting when one is in opposition, and if the Empire returns and things take their natural course, thanks to an idea I am starting on. It is simply this: every day the Empress Eugénie receives her bouquet of violets, anonymously. Once she is back — and perhaps before — she will take an interest, will wish to know who has been so attentive and faithful, and then one arranges things to the best advantage.
I might perhaps even do Cassagnac harm by intriguing against him — all this if the Empire returns, and if... a whole host of things... and if I feel inclined to vex him. You know that the Prince Imperial is to marry the third daughter of the King of Denmark. What a fortunate king! His second son is king of Greece; his three daughters will be empresses of Russia, England, and perhaps of the French. There is no denying it: this alliance is a good thing.
Well — once poor Popaul is married, I shall again have my mind on my drawing. You see, good people: everything conspires to bring me back to what must make my glory.
Well — so far it has gone well; I hope I shall continue to behave myself.
Amen.
I shall paint his portrait all the same.
The Heidenstams left their cards.

Notes

Athos, the musketeer of Dumas’s Les Trois Mousquetaires, the model of a gentleman’s honour. ↩
Violets were the emblem of the Bonapartists. ↩