Thursday, 20 May 1880

The newspaper clippings!
Here is one that makes me angry — to tears!
I am very unhappy. So it will always be thus!
Others will live, and I shall write these useless and atrocious revolts at my desk!!
Now it is over; I have come to terms with it. It is stupid to weep endlessly over the same humiliating vexation. Besides, I had only to think that this is an old story in order to calm myself. I worked.
I find at home Anitchkoff and Soutzo. I begin by saying that all men together are not worth Coco's tail. Then at dinner there are endless graces — politics, the arts, philosophy, I know not what; I was astonished myself at the brilliance of my discourses. Then I play the harp — fresh astonishment — I play it agreeably. In taking my lessons (once a week, and even then!), it was not going too well... all this depends on the day...
Soutzo plays cards in the drawing room with Anitchkoff — the game begun before dinner — while I play my Corinne in my room next door. When you tell me that this cretin is in love with me, I shall not believe you. But this evening I do not care — that is to say, provided he does not love another; but otherwise... he is almost a fool.
This evening I console myself for everything by telling myself I am a superior woman. Oh la la.
Soutzo does not have as much as I said the other day. What can he have?
So there it is. I am very jealous. He has just admitted that Marie Audiffret pleases him. We were chatting there — my aunt, he, and I. I was speaking of little Juvisy, of little Audiffret. I was insisting on Mademoiselle de Juvisy, and he said she does not please him and that Marie Audiffret does, but that he will never marry her because the mother is a kept woman, or nearly so.
They wanted to marry him to the little one, and he did not set foot in the house, but now that the question of marriage has been set aside, he goes there. Oh, how it vexes me... In short, it is senseless, but I am jealous.
I have put him so firmly in his place and mocked him so much that he no longer speaks — neither of love nor of marriage. I wish he would speak of it; I would then tell him no longer to go to those people's house.
What is foolish is that I am jealous without love, and it vexes me as if... I have the vexation and not the pleasure. No, but really — a young girl who speaks to you of Musschenbroek's pyrometer!
And who, hearing of the luxe of young girls, makes the infamous pun of fiat lux. If only I were truly learned — but I am merely a show-off!