Wednesday, 5 February 1879

So. We went to Versailles. Gambetta’s first day as President of the Chamber. His speech, which he read aloud, was received with enthusiasm — and had it been even worse it would have been the same. Gambetta read badly and with a detestable voice. He has no restraint as president, and having seen Grévy one wonders what this man is doing there. To preside over a chamber, talent alone is not enough — one needs a special temperament. Grévy presided with mechanical regularity and precision. The first word of his sentence was the same as the last. Gambetta has his crescendos, his slowings, his expansions and contractions; movements of the head, ups and downs... when he remembers that he must contain himself... In short, either he was simply incoherent, or he is very, very cunning.
We travelled with Rouher, most amiable; only, as there was no room, we rode in second class. With Rouher something is always happening.
Only here is the thing — I have come back and I really do not know what for...
written across the page
Gavini was with us and on the way I listened to anecdotes from the Assembly of 1849–51.
Will no one rescue me from this desert then! Does God not hear! Is it possible that I should rot in this solitude, in this abandonment!
And my family stays calm. I can bear it no longer. You do not know what it is to feel the humiliating fear of watching oneself grow old in a desert! It is something hideous.
Oh! It is not for my own sake — I swear it, on Grévy’s head if you like. But it is the others who ask themselves: well, what has become of Mademoiselle So-and-so? I was too much seen at the theatre, in the street, and at the races from thirteen to seventeen at Nice and then in Italy. Since I have been in retirement, people must take me for old.
I am twenty, after all. For a girl that is enough. People wonder why I do not go into society. I wonder too. My family is no doubt waiting for me to grow up. I am growing plain, I can see it, and in spite of my apparent gaiety, the hatred the anxiety, the despair, the boredom, the fear... give my face something unpleasant. And then I am silly to cry as I write this, but since I detest myself I have the idea that everyone will find me disagreeable, and I am afraid everywhere and of everything.
And to be in the desert! To see no one! To go to the Chamber, afraid the whole time of being taken for God knows whom, and then to go to the Chamber just like that with one’s aunt, to get to know a few deputies in the railway carriage — and these same deputies, who never see you in society, wonder why. We are in mourning, but we have not always been, and we shall not always be. It is insane. And nobody knows that I die a little every day, and nobody hears me!
God — ah! yes, that is a fine consolation, but not when one has come to the pass I have! I am bored, after all! People are moved by the fate of prisoners who languish for years in a cell. Am I not in the most dreadful of prisons! Do I not tear my nails every day against walls that are invisible, but no less inexorable, mute and hopeless for that!
My God, save me, save me, save me!