Wednesday, 5 July 1882

My anger has subsided, and Maman came out of her room yesterday in Saint-Amand's presence. She was in Cologne for twenty-four hours. My dreadful note to my father has arrived; he replies by telegram that he had not asked me to explain anything. In short, all this is detestable. Yesterday I very calmly told Maman what I thought of her. Everything is finished between us; I also warned her that she might not be well received in Russia... If she went there everything would come to light, that is obvious — but I say this out of spite; besides, she does not know what I invented.
And you must admit my letter is monstrous... Besides, for four days I have been saying such infamous things about her — and to her yesterday...
And feeling her very unhappy, I become very calm and find that I go too far... I reason this way because it is past — but four days ago... Ah, what an abomination... And truly we deserve nothing... For since there have been no real misfortunes we manufacture them ourselves... Now Maman and I will see each other as before but... Besides, everything has long been finished between us — it has perhaps been a year since I kissed her, and when we did kiss it seemed strange, so accustomed had we become to saying only disagreeable things to each other...
When I came to speak of something it would degenerate at once into a quarrel — and it was not always my fault. So when I complained of something, instead of looking together for a way to improve our lot... the reply was that I was seeking only pretexts for quarrelling, that I feel the need to rage and that I do not know what I want. With those three propositions they did indeed make me rage, for they came up about everything like a refrain.
In this way one thought to avoid tiresome conversations, and made things worse. And the bitterness and... Well, what do you want me to say. It is all very tedious and very sad. I have come to answering sharply even when asked the simplest things; in short, we no longer exchange a word like normal people, and if we happen to talk it is always on neutral subjects — visits, people we have seen... And that is still a miracle. Or else we quarrel for no cause, no reason, like idiots. One sees grievances or traps for one's health in everything... In short, it is a hell — but fortunately I have occupations.
Last Sunday Émile dined with us, and in the evening, the Engelhardts having come, we go to the Neuilly fair — six of us in the landau.

Notes

The annual Foire de Neuilly, the popular fair held in the Neuilly suburb of Paris.