Tuesday, 17 September 1878

I need not describe the rage that descended on the household. What is delightful is that Maman invoked propriety — (I forgot to say that my principal argument had been my mother's health, which this man is destroying) — so these ladies invoke propriety and seem unable to grasp that going secretly to a Police Prefect on an honourable errand cannot be compared, even in the most disordered mind, to the daily shame, to the obscenities spoken before young women, to this half-naked, drunk, filthy man, to the scandals made in our antechamber, in our very salon, over lodging-house bills and cabaret accounts! No, you see, it is useless — they do not understand, and I would laugh, for they are excessively comical with their words of propriety, proper upbringing, and maidenly innocence, were it not so appalling. Innocence! They say that in our innocence we ought to be unaware of all this!
Delightful. And seeing that I was no longer wasting time preaching but was acting, they flew into a rage and dug up some lawsuit the charming Georges brought against his wife five years ago when he wished to marry a prostitute. All this with the aim of frightening Dina — declaring that once her father was locked up she would have nothing, since the marriage not having been performed quite regularly it could be contested.
Such were the horrors they said to Dina. And in the end my mother cried out that whatever I might do, she would go and plead for his release if anything were done to him.
Then I swore — and I swear it here — to leave the house this instant and write dreadful letters to all our acquaintances, the moment she takes a single step on her brother's behalf. It exceeds all bounds! I said it with such force that they were frightened.
Besides, if the letter is not written, I shall write it myself — and I shall not be committing forgery by signing Marie Bashkirtseff. Then let her dare say it is not from her.
All this is horrible, and this life is impossible.