Wednesday, 2 February 1881

I come home all aglow from having spoken openly about Cassagnac — about my feelings, that is. I was going to a women’s meeting, and the idea struck me to carry off Julian; I told him that as de Daillens could not come, only he could rescue me from my predicament — I sent my coachman to fetch him, whisked him away, and off went the two citizens.
The hall was stifling — it was a different committee from ours, we arrived at the end. Back on the rue Vivienne, Julian, instead of getting down, went on with the story of a man who was a true tamer of women... extraordinary tales.
All of them succumbed to him — and he an admirable brute of beauty and seduction... written across the page We came to speak of it apropos of the new Dumas play, of the virtue of women. This — or not even this — brought me to the subject of Cassagnac; I was itching to speak of it. But let me first say that it appears Julian is taking great pains over my Salon submission, articles are ready to go out... It is not on account of my worth but a need of his nature to be kind — there is not even occasion for gratitude; we speak of it very amicably. I picked him up at half past nine, the lecture lasted twenty minutes, and it is half past eleven when he proposes to see me home. “With pleasure — I want to talk of Cassagnac,” I tell him. Except for the letters so humiliating to me, Julian knows everything, and he is the only creature in the world with whom I speak of it. The cab-driver must have thought we were on a romantic adventure, sitting there two hours at the corner of the rue Vivienne.
Having listened to these tales of the abominable man who took every woman, I listened to myself speaking of Cassagnac and of feelings in general. The darkness of the carriage and my black wig encouraged me to speak sincerely and without joking.
Think of it — Julian had believed I had given myself entirely to Cassagnac.
I am not sorry to say aloud what I have thought or written — it gives a more precise measure of things... Julian truly believes I loved Cassagnac, and that the day chance brings us together, if he makes a sign, I shall obey...
It is possible... At moments I feel myself melting into an immense tenderness — this man whose politics are absurd, this man who has lost all glamour, this man whom I saw as great and ideal and found simply ordinary, this man... and yet there is still something... what then is this feeling, if it is not love?
Perhaps I set that famous love too high — and perhaps in seeking it so high I overshoot it... so that would be it... It is inconceivable.
In any case I am glad to speak of it — I enjoy telling the story... and truly, said aloud, it is childish.
I am dreadfully childish and sentimental and innocent, it seems. It cannot be possible that a woman like me should have intimate feelings of such delicate workmanship... and believe what I believe...

Notes

Julian had believed that Marie had been Cassagnac’s mistress. Paul de Cassagnac (1842–1904), Bonapartist journalist and politician, had married in June 1878. ↩