Friday, 14 March 1879

Paul has just left in spite of me; I lost my temper and declared that he would not leave; he gave me his word of honour to the contrary; I was holding the door, and then, taking advantage of a moment’s inattention, he slipped away. You see, it is to prove that he does not change his mind: he had sworn to leave today — in short, the firmness of a weak man who, feeling he has none in serious matters, makes up for it over trifles. It spared me from growing soft. I immediately took 20 francs from my aunt to send a slanderous telegram to the father, in Poltava — but at that moment Rosalie came in to tell me not to count on Champion (a little dressmaker who sometimes makes my dresses), who has typhoid fever; her seamstresses have left, she is all alone. Then I had an idea. I tore up the telegram and sent the 20 francs to that woman.
There is no more agreeable sensation than doing good that brings you nothing in return. I would gladly go and see her — I am not afraid of typhus — but I would look as though I were seeking thanks; whereas if I did not send her this pittance at once, I might spend it, and besides, let us admit it, it would no longer give me so keen a pleasure. Now I feel full of inexhaustible charity. To go and relieve the miseries of others when no one in the world relieves mine — that would be rather chic, what do you think?
Yes — and the family. This holy family, which no more understands charity (the word and the thing), sublime as it is, than it understands social obligations. They are not thieves, they are not murderers — but that is all. And you think I am happy in the midst of it! They would torment me without meaning to; they would go about saying: “Just imagine, Marie has a mania for the poor; she is so spoilt she no longer knows what she wants.” And then over 5 francs or a bottle of wine they would stir up stories about bills, debts, etc. etc. Besides the fact that such meddling rows revolt me, I would be wounded at every moment in my delicacy and in my protégés. In short, I shall not do good, out of... modesty. I can find no other word.
And out of laziness!