Friday, 4 October 1878 (Evening)

What a dreadful existence. What an impossible existence! If I were intelligent I should know how to extricate myself. But I am only intelligent on trust — and at that, only my own word for it. Where have I proved or shown my intelligence? In bantering with Cassagnac?! That was the sole occasion I had to reveal my high talents... A poor occasion at that: Cassagnac is not a man to — he had too much the reputation of a ladies' man for it to be taken seriously. I see no one. Come now! Come now, all you like — miracles do not exist; I see absolutely no one, save the rare imbecile to whom I say banalities within his reach, or things that knock him over. That is life for me! And a circle of people who are stupid, tedious, nagging! Were it not for a kind of pride I should say I have had enough and renounce all the struggles!
You will form an idea of our household if I tell you that my greatest happiness is to be alone — alone I am never bored, but I revolt because it is a forced solitude.
If we were entirely unknown it would be entirely easy — but the Nice background... Suppose Mme Gavini speaks of us to her friends: all Europe has passed through Nice. Either people will not know us, or they will say we went nowhere. Let ten people repeat it and it will seem extraordinary, then suspicious. In short, what is to be done? Temporise like some Fabius?
They are stupid, impractical, bourgeois, crushing, nagging! What a martyrdom! I swear that at moments one would give the devil everything — pride and all — and wish to die like a dog to escape these family pastimes. These evenings! Impossible to hide: my salon is next to theirs; an absurdity on their part provokes a reply or observation from me, and then a quarrel of words that has neither head nor tail, in which I appear as a sort of monster. For they cry at me: you would do better not to do this or that — they will say you do such a thing, they will say you will do another. At bottom it looks like they are protecting me — and that is precisely what is atrocious. One would have to be an idiot or horribly cunning to act and speak in such a way.
"She will scream all day" — or else:
"Nadine, do not answer — otherwise she will break everything."
Divine justice! What I would gladly break is my head!
Or else they say:
"What have you done with your young existence? It is you who destroys yourself; it is you who is the cause of everything you reproach us with."
Either this changes, or I die.

Notes

Quintus Fabius Maximus Verrucosus ("Cunctator" — the Delayer), Roman dictator who defeated Hannibal through strategic avoidance of battle. The strategy was controversial but ultimately successful.