Friday, 11 April 1879

At three o'clock to church — it is Good Friday — and I overcome my fear of society to go; I must be seen at church, otherwise they will say I am a painter and a freethinker and a nihilist, etc.
I have such a horror of mingling with all those Russians, of being known by sight and knowing no one, that I never go to church on Sunday.
If you knew how stupid my family is! Or perhaps I am the one who is mad — one offends me at every minute. They speak at table of chamber pots; they conduct inquiries to discover which of the dogs has made a mess. Since this morning there is a new chambermaid. There are two of them, plus the cook. Maman has already invented thirty-six complaints against the new woman, saying she does nothing and that there are too many servants. And then insipid things at every turn.
I do not believe it is the same everywhere — it is not possible. Having all the maddening qualities of the bourgeois, one has none of their virtues. In short, they have performed their devotions, but I have not performed mine. It would bore me — and besides, I did them last year; I shall do them next year.
And their moralizing in the third person! Instructive and respectable allusions on the subject of a serial novel. And then this idea of saying one cannot go to the Comédie-Française to see Ruy Blas because a queen falls in love with a servant — "besides," says Maman, "I know it well — I have seen the opera of Ruy Blas several times and it is the same thing."
I am reading Renan's Vie de Jésus, and everyone is greatly alarmed that I may become a skeptic; they dish out such nonsense to me as could easily make me what Monsieur Renan never could.