Monday, 24 May 1880

It is nine o’clock in the evening, and I am nervous because Casimir has not come. Perhaps he was offended on Saturday. At dinner, in front of Anitchkoff, I told him quite seriously that I found this habit of turning up at dinner time peculiar, that this house was not a restaurant and that he was at my aunt’s and not at mine — that I would no longer receive him. But it was only at the circus that he became angry. On the way back in the carriage, I asked him for details about an amusing duel to send to the newspaper En Avant, which, through Gavini, is asking me to contribute.
“This evening is impossible,” he said. “I am going to the Franckensteins’.”
So I said goodnight to him curtly at the door, without offering my hand. Well! What can one do? One must resign oneself. That is easier to write than to do.
The Juvisys are receiving this evening; I shall no doubt find him there, as well as Mme de Bailleul and the Audiffrets. I do not know if I should go — one must not chase after one’s bad luck, one must not pursue...
Ah! How vexing...
If he is offended, all is well; but if, without being angry, he does without me so readily... It is very vexing. And so my nerves are strung as tight as violin strings.
Last night it was only with reinforcements of literature that I managed to fall asleep, from sheer exhaustion. At midnight I relit the lamp. And this evening I wonder if I should go out. Come now, imaginary readers, what is to be done?? Go to bed early and work tomorrow from eight o’clock on. That would be wise!! But I told my aunt we would go this evening to the Baroness Reille’s. I do not want to see people... like this... I should like to leave; I have had enough of all these troubles.
I went. Naturally Mme Reille is no longer receiving this year, so we go over there. Only, while going I wanted to turn back and go to bed, for I was going because of Soutzo — but if I turned back... halfway it would have been for the same reason; so both were bad. I enter with my aunt. They are playing baccarat: old Mme Bailleul, Mme Audiffret with her daughter Marie, two other old women; Messrs. d’Astaford, Verdier (the fat singer), Albéric Second, and Soutzo, naturally. Justice must be done to the latter: he shared himself out fairly between the two young girls — Marie Audiffret and Marie the fool, myself.
The little one has my dressmaker, and I recognise my style of dress — but badly worn and not looking the same as on me.
I begin by asking Soutzo whether this salon is respectable; he pulls a face.
He had warned us long ago not to frequent the Juvisys, but I reply that, considering him a liar, I wanted to make sure for myself.
Naturally I look shocked. They caterwaul, and little Audiffret, very pretty, plays a Chopin waltz very badly. I applaud everyone. “Really! You do look as though you are making fun of everyone!” Soutzo whispers to me. “Ah, but no one notices; they swallow everything.”
I have lowered myself by coming here. God knows for whom or why.
I take care not to criticise the girl; on the contrary, I call her a good little thing and say she is pretty — but adding... a mere nothing that puts her in her place. In short, that mediocre creature Soutzo can think what he likes; I showed her to him in a kindly light... but in just the right one.
“Shall I accompany you?”
“Yes.”
But a tangle of three carriages means we have to wait until he has put the ladies into theirs. I waited — that is a fact.
“If I had known you had a carriage, I would have said no. I accepted only because I thought you were going back on foot.”
On the way back I mock the evening outright, and Soutzo plays at being indignant — he warned us. But I have a stupid system, that of going “to see,” which will lead me too far, etc.
Yet I made a great blunder by asking how Mme Audiffret has fallen so low — the Audiffrets in Nice saw the best society. Then (already at our house) Soutzo tells me the woman is very clever and has some very good connections in Paris, that he has seen Mme de Bonneval at her house, etc. — not to mention official circles, ambassadors, etc. etc.
My rage could not be greater.
We were speaking of Rouzat, whom Mme de Bailleul tried to marry to — Oh! But Rouzat, I said, will only marry a dowry.
“Obviously,” said Soutzo.
“Why, yes,” said my aunt.
He tried here, but I replied to the person that if Rouzat were seriously offered to me, I would be capable of slapping the impertinent fellow. (This is authentic.) Oh! Rouzat — to offer me Rouzat! I would rather have God knows whom, anyone — look here... You! rather than Rouzat. That says it all, does it not!
That perhaps makes up for the great blunder, but all the same — I am becoming too stupid... But no, it was always the same thing.
Only, if one of these days I am found dead in my bed, know that it will be from rage at being so stupidly, so pettily humiliated.
I — I! — suffering because I cannot go and see respectable people. Do you think men do not do half of what they do out of self-regard?
Is it not pitiful, is it not dreadful, is it not cruel?
To Maman: “Do not let yourself be swindled by Bashkirtseff, and if you enrage me over my affairs, I shall arrange them as I can by dashing my brains out and saying it was you. For a long time I have been promising you this treat, and you no longer believe in it, but listen to this — I swear to you on all you have made me suffer that I am telling the truth... I have sworn to myself to wait until I come of age and, if nothing has changed, to kill myself. (It’s a joke.)
Make what profit you can of it, and may the plague choke me this instant if the existence you make for me is not more atrocious than the galleys or eternal prison.”