Tuesday, 5 November 1878

At eight o’clock I was in town looking for the accessories, and at ten I was dressed as an elegant old lady when tickets arrived from my saviour Turquan. That is the second time he has done me a service, and if ever I find myself in a position to oblige him I shall do it without his asking, and with real pleasure.
But before these tickets arrived I had sent Mlle Oelsnitz to Gambetta’s with a letter from Princess Eristoff (I always make use of her), who is a friend of Princess Troubetzkoy and who asks for tickets. The great man is annoyed that no one spoke to him of it yesterday; this morning it is too late, but for the next session the princess shall have tickets. Oelsnitz replied that the princess would stay two more days expressly for that... If ever I am caught out in one of these pretty forgeries.
We had officers’ tickets; I caught hold of Bescherelle — the fierce Bescherelle — and wrested from him permission to exchange the tickets. We were put in a public gallery, which is not very smart — oh well! All the more so as Mlle Stephano-Julia etc. was in a fine box one floor below, next to the good galleries. Mlle Julia was with her respectable mother and her respectable mother’s husband. From a distance she seemed to me not badly dressed, though very ordinary. She has a happy little air that gives her face something young and adorable.
My first thought on seeing the Deceased enter was this: he has not grown fat — on the contrary. I may wait without concern.
Here is his speech, sprinkled with witticisms but not perhaps as eloquent as I might wish. It must also be said that he stayed four hours at the rostrum defending himself, or rather attacking all the French Republicans, while keeping a good-natured, submissive air. This constant submissiveness allowed him not to look crushed when he was, on two or three occasions. Besides, read it yourself.
My opera glass travelled from him to the two women, who were exchanging remarks about their acquisition. Old Cassagnac, Robert Mitchell and Cunéo d’Ornano came to see the Comtesse Stéphano Cassagnac and her young mother.
Those vile women had a strange effect on me, sitting there as Cassagnac’s wife and mother-in-law. It seemed stupid to me, and he looked as though he were working for their money.
I will not hide that in the course of the session I had the most violent and the most varied impressions, which nevertheless melted together in the end and faded back into grey.
I thought that the slightest pinprick and the merest atom of prussic acid would put an end to that happy little air of hers, so happy that it was childlike despite a faded face. Oh, good Lord, do not cry out! Do you really think that if I were steadily convinced that it would give me pleasure — do you think that all your miserable considerations would stop me?
I found her adorable, that woman, because I told myself that he loved her, and she was dear and pleasant to me as something of his. There, vile multitude, are grand feelings for you! Which would not turn me from my prussic acid — on the contrary; it seems to me that I would approach smiling, examine the subject and carry it out as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
What a procession of deputies there would be through the box, if I were in that girl’s place! For there is no denying it: I am somebody — and in detestable circumstances at that!
God, how stupid that Cassagnac was! He saw me, but I turned my head away; already at the station I had been afraid of meeting him. By way of acquaintances among the deputies there was only Gavini, who came to see us in our hole. A mad crowd.
After the assassination, there came a feeling of shame when I thought of my letters — and then rage and grief at seeing this stupidity accomplished, at seeing that girl in the place which, by reason, by justice, by my ambitions, I ought to have occupied. It is like a fine role spoilt by the inadequacy of the actress. My enemies themselves will understand that it is not by extravagances, drolleries, childish pranks that I claim to deserve anything whatever. The extravagances, if there were any, are over, since I have been in this Paris, which is in the process of forming me.
Potechine and Mme Tarnowsky dine with us and I tell them about Cassagnac. My aunt will have it that he has fallen off; I do not think so.
Mme Acard looked so happy that I found her a charming, a nice little woman. Hers must be a divine pleasure. [Two lines crossed out] In this admiration of a wife for her husband, held in check by social modesty, there is something truly beautiful, authentic. This self-effacement of the woman before the superiority of the man she loves must be the greatest gratification of pride that a superior woman (can) feel.