Tuesday, 25 May 1880

One still grows numb somehow or other, but what an awakening when one sees people a hundred times less worthy and three times more poorly endowed who enjoy life!
Mme Audiffret separated from her husband amid great scandal — her husband, a former draper who was despised in Nice until young Emile’s admission to the clubs. Then she came to Paris (her husband lives in Paris too), and you know what Soutzo says of her. Well, with all that... They even said her last child was by Emile, and with all that...
Mme Gaupillat came for her portrait; then I did a composition. A subject that grips me: Mary Magdalene and the other Mary at Christ’s tomb. Only without convention or sanctity — to paint it as one believes it really was, and to feel what one is doing.
Anitchkoff arrived and watched me work. At six I go to dress for dinner. Soutzo arrives and begins by asking to buy the sketch; naturally I refuse. At table my aunt delivers an outburst in the worst taste against the Audiffrets. Undisguised attacks are as useful as praise. Persecution is the most useful propaganda.
To mitigate the unfortunate effect of these foolish words, I joked about her ferocity, saying she had it in for the whole world... I do not believe there are many women as violent in speech as my aunt. She talks about everyone, and when it is spite she lashes out indiscriminately — whether against society people or against the servants, I cannot bear it.
My poor aunt is jealous of the Audiffrets — she thought Soutzo was mad about me. Soutzo, after saying what he said, now goes back on his account of those people.
In short, my family never brings anything but foolishness, troubles, vexations, blunders, etc. etc.
Here is what I wrote to Maman last night, but the letter will only go tomorrow:
“I think you must pretend before Dina to believe it was in some fit of anger that I wrote you my last letter. So, to rid you of this idea, I am writing again to confirm the previous letter. I assure you — though you know it very well — that I am never more angry one moment than another. It is even thanks to this state, as agreeable as it is permanent, that I am already almost wrinkled, and when I look in the mirror I see a kind of web over my whole face — a web invisible until now but which will make me old at twenty-five. And it is quite simple: one is not unexpectedly tortured as I am and humiliated every moment — pettily, meanly, and even grandly. So then, dear Madam, you are warned: if you return from Russia as you went, I shall carry out my little affair, since I only promised myself to wait until I come of age — though I have long been foolish enough to threaten you.
Do not show my letters to your husband to soften him; it would do no good.
Set your mind at rest — nothing extraordinary has happened. I still see Mmes Gavini, de Mouzay, and de Bailleul. I move in the highest society and disdain official circles and the embassies because the Faubourg Saint-Germain does not go there. Besides, I ought to be pleased: since I grew up I have been to two costume balls (at the Mouzays’), two official Republican balls, and two subscription balls. One would really have to be as spoiled as I am not to be delighted. And then it is evident that we occupy a respectable place in society, and that as a young girl I have the most enviable position in the world, and that men can only have a very high idea of my pretensions on seeing me so well placed. You understand that I would rather drown myself in a basin of dirty water than marry a Courtès, a Soutzo, or a Tarente for my money. This is to tell you that if you pray to God that He marry me off, it is useless.
It is useless, too, to think that it amuses me to write this to you.
I would much rather write you the things that daughters usually write to their mothers, but you understand, I have no desire to make you mother of an only son. I am perhaps even too attached to keeping you a daughter — to each her fancy!
I would rather wear mourning for you than make you wear mourning for me.
You will not enjoy in peace the calm that would result, since I would say it was you.
You may well show these letters to exonerate yourself — the uproar will have been raised all the same. My three friends have introduced me to the very best, and for gentlemen we have the top of the scale: the Turquan brothers represent the army, M. Vaujoie the magistracy, Soutzo foreign royalty, M. and Mme Bonsenne the French aristocracy, young Engelhardt and Mlle Cernitsky the Russian colony, and M. Anitchkoff diplomacy — with Pelikan for medicine and deafness. So I wallow in joy and beg you to change nothing in this existence which, with your prayers helping, would surely lead me to marry the heir to a throne.
So, while awaiting the end, which depends on you, receive all my blessings as well as the expression of my profound respect and my eternal gratitude for your virtues, your tact, your wit, and above all, above all, for your good maternal heart and for the vigilance you have never ceased to display in improving the lot of your children, preserving them from vile contacts (M. Georges), and making their life sweet, good, and honourable.”
These are not insults; it is a method I am trying for the three-thousandth time.
Soutzo was playing piquet with Anitchkoff. Anitchkoff has left; he plays with my aunt in the drawing room, and I stay in my room and play the harp. I do not care to see that Romanian face — the essential thing is that it be here.
I am going to bed, leaving them to play.