Chapter 2

To-day is the first time we have seen the Bois, the Jardin d'Acclimatation, and the Trocadéro, from which we had a view of all Paris. Really, I have never in my life beheld anything so beautiful as the Bois de Boulogne. It is not a wild beauty, but it is elegant, sumptuous.

Since Toulon, I have been the prey of a great sorrow. All places are indifferent to me, except Paris, which I adore, and Nice.

At last! We have reached this spot. Princess G----and W---- met us.

Mamma was not there. We asked for her and were told that she was a little indisposed. The truth is that she fell out of bed and hurt her leg. We arrived. I made her sit in the dining-room. An arrival is always confused. People talk and answer, all speaking at once.

During my absence a little negro boy was engaged, who will go out with the carriage. I cannot look through the window. I can't bear this pale foliage, this red earth, this heavy atmosphere! So Mamma said that we will stay in Paris! Heaven be praised!

We were summoned to dinner, but first I arranged my room. Then I went back to the drawing-room, where Mamma was lying. We talked and laughed, I told what I had seen, in short, we discussed everything. I fear Mamma will be seriously ill. I shall pray to God for her. I am glad to be back in my chamber, it is pretty. To-morrow I mean to have my bed all in white. That will be lovely.

I regard Nice as an exile. I intend to occupy myself specially in arranging the days and hours of tutors.

With winter will come society, with society, gaiety. It will not be Nice, but a little Paris. And the Races! Nice has its good side. All the same, the six or seven months which must be spent there seem like a sea I must cross without turning my eyes from the light-house which guides me. I do not expect to approach, no, I only hope to see this land, and the sole thing which gives me resolution and strength to live until next year. Afterward! Really, I know nothing about it! But I hope, I believe in God, in His divine goodness, that is why I don't lose courage. Whoever lives under His protection will find repose in the mercy of the Omnipotent One. He will cover thee with His wings. Under their shelter thou wilt be in safety. His truth will be thy shield, thou wilt fear neither the arrows that fly by night; nor the pestilence that wastes by day! I cannot express how deeply I am moved and how grateful I am for God's goodness toward me.

September 12th, 1873.

This morning I made a scene with Mamma and my aunt. I could stand it no longer, the bottle had to be opened, there was too much gas in it. I wept. It lasted two hours and a half.

I asked forgiveness. Just at that moment some one said that a house on the Rue de France was burning. I ran to see it. We were all at the windows. The carriages were brought from the stables, women came out carrying children. The building was not yet in flames. There was a courtyard surrounded by four sheds filled with hay. The fire flared high, but the people in Nice are always the same. They do nothing to subdue it, only stand at a distance to enjoy the spectacle.

Oh! if it were in Russia, it would have been extinguished long ago. Our fire engines are terrible when they are heard a league away, every quarter has one. The firemen in golden helmets and lots of little bells. (The noise the Duc de H----'s carriage makes coming from a distance reminds me of the fire engines.)

At last, after half an hour, a cart arrived, dragged by ten men, what a mere nothing! And four soldiers with guns.

No doubt they were going to extinguish the fire with them! But it was out before they came.

So I return to what I was saying: A complete reform in my costume and character, I will become kind, pleasant, gentle. I will try to be the good genius of the house.

I want to make myself loved and esteemed by every one, from the meanest beggar to the duke and king. This is the promise I make to God. Since I desire so great a happiness, I must deserve it. That is the way I hope to obtain it.

Therefore I make a solemn vow to God that I will do what I say. If I fail once in my oath, I shall lose everything. I will address myself to the Holy Virgin and pray her, with Her Son, to guide and protect me.

I rose at five o'clock to-day. I have worked well, I am satisfied with myself. How happy we are when we are content with ourselves! All the rest matters little; we find everything, satisfactory, we are happy. My happiness depends upon myself. I have only to study well.

September 15th, 1873.

I spoke Italian to-day for the first time. Poor M. (my professor) almost fell in a faint, or threw himself out of the window. I can say that I speak English, French, Italian, and am learning German and Latin. I am studying seriously. Day before yesterday I took my first lesson in physics. Oh, how well pleased with myself I am!

I have received the _Derby_. I found a number of horses entered by the Duc de H----. The races at Baden! How I should like to be there. Nothing prevents me, but I will not go. I must study. And with a heavy heart I read of the horse races. I calm myself with great difficulty and comfort myself by saying: "Let us study; our turn will come, if it is God's will."

I have read this journal. My eyes are glittering, my hands are frozen. There is no doubt of it. I adore, I adore--horses. They are my life, my soul, my happiness. By chance I shook my whip. There was the same hissing sound as at the races. I jumped. I no longer know where I am. Come; it mustn't be talked about.

September 20th.

Only at five o'clock I am free, and I am going to the city with the Princess and Dina. In the French lesson I read Sacred History, the Ten Commandments of God. It says we must not make unto ourselves graven images of anything that is in the heavens. The Latins and the Greeks were wrong, they were idolaters who worshipped statues and paintings. I, too, am very far from following this method. I believe in God, our Saviour, the Virgin, and I honour some of the saints, not all, for there are some that are manufactured like plum cakes. May God forgive this reasoning if it is wrong. But in my simple mind this is the way things are and I cannot change them.

Shall I ever believe that God has commanded a tabernacle to be built to have His oracle heard from the ark in it? No, no! God is too great, too sublime for these unbearable Pagan follies. I worship God in everything. People can pray everywhere, and He is everywhere present.

I went to the city for a turn on the Promenade. In the evening we played kings again, but the game isn't sufficiently interesting. We played like amateurs. For all that I had a good time and laughed heartily.

G---- came and--I no longer remember in what connection--said that human beings are degenerate monkeys. He is a little fellow who gets his ideas from Uncle N----.

"Then," I said to him, "you don't believe in God?" He: "I can believe only what I understand."

Oh, the horrid fool! All the boys who are beginning to grow moustaches think like that. They are simpletons who believe that women cannot reason and understand. They regard them as dolls who talk without knowing what they are saying. With a patronising manner they let them go on. He has doubtless read some book he did not understand, whose passages he recites. He proves that God could not create because at the poles bones and frozen plants have been found. Then these lived, and now there are none.

I say nothing against that. But was not our earth convulsed by various revolutions before the creation of man? We do not take literally the statement that God created the world in six days. The elements were formed during ages and ages. But can we deny God when we look at the sky, the trees, and men themselves? Would we not say that there is a hand which directs, punishes, and rewards--the hand of God?

October 5th.

We went with Paul to a secluded part of the garden to shoot. My hands trembled a little when, for the first time in my life, I took a loaded gun, especially because Mamma was so frightened. I chose a pumpkin twenty paces away for a target, and shot capitally. The whole charge was in the pumpkin. The second time I fired at a piece of paper twenty centimetres square, again I hit, and a third time a leaf. Then I grew very proud and smiling. All fear disappeared and it seems as if I had courage enough to go to war.

I carried the pumpkin, the paper, and the leaf in triumph to show to Mamma, who is very proud of me.

Really, what harm is there in shooting? I need not become on that account one of those detestable men-women with spectacles, masculine coats, and canes. To fire a gun will not prevent my being gentle, lovable, graceful, slender, vaporous (if I may use the word), and pretty.

While shooting I am a man; in the water a fish; on horseback a jockey; in a carriage a young girl; at an evening entertainment a charming woman; at a ball a dancer; at a concert a nightingale with notes extra low and high like a violin. I have something in my throat which penetrates the soul, and makes the heart leap.

Seeing me with the gun, no one would imagine I could be indolent and languishing at home. Yet, sometimes, when I undress in the evening, I put on a long black cloak which half covers me and sit down in an armchair. I seem so weak, so graceful (which I am in reality) that again no one would imagine I could shoot.

I am a rarity. I shall be highly educated, _if God wills that I should live and blesses me_. I am perfectly formed, my face is pretty enough, I have a magnificent voice, intellect, and I shall be, withal, a woman. Happy the man who will have me. He will possess the earthly Paradise! Provided that he knows how to appreciate me!

I lack everything here, and yet I adore Nice. We always love what does not love. _Sic factae sumus_. Everywhere else I am visiting, at Nice I am at home, and the proverb says: However well off we may be while visiting, we are better off at home. Nice! Nice! Thou ingrate!

I adore Nice and admire it from my window. I am happy and animated. Why? I don't know. After all--Ah! let me alone! The cards tell the truth, I believe in the cards; they have always said yes to me. I must have an occupation, I am of a warlike disposition. I am ready for everything. I ask only an idea. No doubt I shall be depressed to-morrow, for this evening I am certainly on stilts.

The tower clock is striking nine. Lovely tower; lovely I! Ah! H----.

October 8th, 1875.

We went to N----'s. The good woman vexed and made me laugh at the same time.

"The first thing to be done in Rome," said Mamma, "is to get teachers of singing and painting."

"Yes," I replied, "and I am going to visit the galleries."

"But what will you do there?" asked Madame S----.

"Why, copy, study."

"Oh, but you are so far from that point," she said earnestly.

You understand, this foolish woman judges me in that way; but pshaw. What do I care? Yet put yourself in my place, and you will comprehend my annoyance, my irritation.

The good God is cruel. He gives me nothing. To ask the simplest, the most possible thing, to ask it as a mercy, as a happiness, to believe in God, to pray to Him, and to have nothing! Oh! I can see people scoffing at me because I bring God into everything. The poorest thing, by resistance, gains value! My ugly temper gives importance to everything. No, frankly, I must become sensible and mount on my pedestal, raise myself above my troubles. Has it ever happened that everything goes wrong with you? The hair dresses badly, the hat tilts every minute, the flounce on my skirt tears each step I take, pebbles get into my slippers, cutting through my stockings, and prick my feet.

I returned exasperated, and that horrid dog, F----, leaped joyfully upon me. I went upstairs and it pursued me with its caresses. I kept my patience, but when I reached my room I gave it a kick, and it ran howling under my bed, but after a couple of minutes came back, wagging its tail, and looking at me as if asking my pardon. Oh, the dog! the dog!

No, never shall I be understood!

I should like to have whoever reads my words be myself for an instant in order to understand me, people cannot comprehend what they do not feel, to do so it is necessary to be myself!--and also myself in my lucid moments.

M---- is seventeen to-day, and we lunched at W----'s. I was horribly bored. Imagine running down a long corridor, so long that you cannot see the end, springing forward and finding only a delusion, coming with your outstretched hands against a wall. That is I!

I rate myself above everything, and the idea that I am placed on the same level with any one, that people do not consider me different from the rest of the world, the bare idea makes me angry. I wish them to forget, to trample everything under foot, to scorn and destroy all that has preceded me--I desire that there should be nothing before, nothing after--except the remembrance of me. Then only I should be content.

When an opportunity offers, I will express my meaning fully.

* * * * *

I went out with neither pleasure nor eagerness. N---- and her children were going to walk, and we enlarged their party.

"Ah! if you knew how I have treated the human race this morning," I said to M---- in answer to a remark I no longer remember.

"Ah! if you knew how little it cares! it is a matter of no importance," replied M----, very wittily.

How dreary it is to have nobody to care for!

My head is heavy and my eyes are closing, yet at the same time I want to write more, the pen glides easily over the paper and, though I might have nothing to say, I go on for the pleasure of filling the white pages and hearing the pleasant scratching of the pen.

"My head is heavy and my eyelids close, Yet still my gliding pen I will not stay, Fain would I tell all my heart's joys and woes, But cannot--though so much have I to say."

I am not successful with serious poetry.

Sunday, October 10th, 1875.

I was going to talk with my aunt, but why appeal to human beings? What can men do? God alone can help! God does not hear me! Just God! Holy Virgin! Jesus! I am not worthy to be heard, but I pray you for it on my knees, I pray so earnestly! Is not prayer a merit, however small it may be? Do not the most unworthy obtain what they ask through prayer? Is it nothing to believe and to turn to God? And though I should write until to-morrow I could say nothing but the words:

"My God, have pity on me!"

* * * * *

I who thought I must succeed in everything, see that I am failing everywhere. I shall never console myself for it. How everything in this world repeats itself! I went lately to the Aquaviva terrace and looked to the right. It was in winter, and the mist was gathering on the Promenade. I saw the Duc de H---- go into G----'s, and now it is precisely the same thing, only then I ordered myself to love him, and now I forbid myself to love.

Then I was crazy over the man; now he interests me because he looked at me.

In a word, why and how? What do the reasons matter? I do not love him. Oh, but I am so provoked! "Come," I said, "rouse yourself, I won't cry about that."

To straighten myself, throw back my head, smile scornfully, then indifferently, and that is all; moisten the ropes, as they did in moving the obelisk of Sixtus Quintus, and I shall be on my pedestal--and I have not an instant's strength. I preferred to stay in my armchair and murmur:

"I fail in everything now."

Confess, you who will read these lines, am I a man? Confess that I have reason to be angry over it.

I, the queen, the goddess. I, who should be worshipped kneeling; I, who do not want to move my little finger lest I should bestow too much honour; I with my ideas; I with my ambition; I with my pride! I confess that, after having seen him go into G----'s like a master, I feel a sort of respect for him; he acts the duke.

This evening "_Alice de Nevers_," a comic opera by Hervé, was given for the first time. Our box had been engaged a long while, first proscenium at the right. I was dressed with more care than usual; hair arranged in Marie Antoinette style, without the powder. The whole was drawn up, even the fringe in front. I left only a few little locks at each side. My beautiful white forehead, thus bared, gave me a royal air, and at the back I let two curls hang, waved just at the end.

Gown of dove-grey taffeta and a white fichu. In short, Marie Antoinette in miniature. I felt well satisfied, and gazed at the base multitude from the height of my grandeur. Lighting _a giorno_. I was looked at quite enough.

He could not help staring at me like the rest. Everybody came to our box.

At every intermission I went to the back, so that I would not have to turn my head at each visit. Just as the curtain was rising the Prefect's son and A---- entered our box. I received them with perfect ease; he has a foreign air.

"What, Mademoiselle, are you really going away?"

"Oh, yes, Monsieur."

"No, no," he said, as if he had been pricked by a pin, "Mademoiselle shall not go."

I did not deign to answer. I was courteous, agreeable, but cold. He turned and asked me if I always gave trouble.

"Yes, always."

* * * * *

We are going to the S----'s. I do not see M----. She is shut up at home. This is what has happened--during the two months since the C---- family arrived from Mexico, he has no longer written to her.

I know that people who say what I have just said are not popular. We prefer those who, like Dina, veil what they know by a false sentiment of sham delicacy and misplaced pity.

Listen carefully to these commonplace, but true words. C---- deserts you. Write him a letter full of pride and withdraw with honour.

I am very sorry for M----. C----will leave Europe in three days.

Poor M----. This is what it means to love with the heart. I understood at once when she told me that C---- had not written to her for so long. On account of anonymous letters he received; because he thought that he no longer loved her. I instantly comprehended his object. I am frantic for her, when I think what a satisfied face the booby will take with him to Mexico! And that poor girl has been crying ever since this morning. I am pleased. I foresaw everything, we must hold ourselves proudly, especially when the man wants to draw back. He invents excuses, and the poor woman believes she is deserving of reproach, and this, that, and the other thing, while in reality she has no cause for blaming herself. I always try to protect myself against every affront.

"Yes," said Mamma, "I was told that you received him yesterday from the summit of your grandeur."

"Not only yesterday," my aunt interrupted, "but for a long time past."

"That is true," I replied; "otherwise I should never console myself, for he has wounded me by confounding me with other young ladies."

"How glad I am that we have no C---- in our house," remarked Mamma. "My daughter is pure and free from any love."

"Oh! oh!" said my aunt.

* * * * *

Oh, women, women, you will always be the same.

Learn to behave yourselves, wretched sex! See how man marches straight on, without fear, without reproach, and without being afraid of wounding you; he abuses you, and you endure and bow before it. Oh, you men, if you read this, know that I am grieved to the bottom of my heart to allow you so much importance, but it would be both bad taste and bad tactics to decry your worth; the value of our enemies enhances our own. What credit is it to conquer dunces? Know, you who wear trousers, know that in me you have a foe. I take pleasure in magnifying you men in order to maintain in myself the noble ardour which animates me.

Saturday, October 23d, 1875.

I forgot to tell my yesterday's dream. I saw some mice, against which I threw cats that choked them. Then these mice became serpents and went into their holes, while the cats rushed upon me, especially one that scratched my right leg. It is a bad dream. Ah! yes; malediction! I see that there is nothing good for me in this world. Why do you want to live when everything fails, everything goes wrong? We have courage up to a certain point, we make ourselves bold, we hope, but a moment comes when we have strength no longer.

Well! Jeer at me, you hardened people. What! you will say, you dare to utter such words, when your mother is living, when you have an aunt who worships you, a mother who obeys you, a fortune at your command, when you are neither infirm nor ill. You are tempting God.

That is what you will tell me, and I shall answer that life is made up of little things as the body is formed of molecules. When all the molecules decay and go to the Old Nick, the body can no longer live. It is the same with life when all that composes it, colours it, makes it lovable, is lacking, turns out badly, when everything escapes, when not the slightest wish is realised, when everything vanishes, everything deceives. No, to go on in this way is impossible. So I believe that God will recall me soon. It is not in vain that two mirrors were broken this year. People will say that when we are young, we often feel a desire to die, but that is nonsense. I have no desire to die; but I foresee my own death, for a life so useless, so miserable, cannot last.

I have interrupted myself ten times to weep and to think of this summer; when I compare it with the present I am thoroughly wretched. How many lost illusions! What hopes deceived! And I am rid of them. I was going to say that my heart is torn, but it is not true; my heart is whole, my mind is embittered, and deceptions destroy man. Let us surround our hearts with triple brass. I will trouble myself no more about this man. I will no longer think of him, I will no longer speak of him as before, I forbid myself to do it.

October 24th, 1875.

I boasted of my conduct yesterday; there was no reason for it; if I appeared indifferent it was because I was indifferent. These people don't know how to talk; the Arts, history, one doesn't even hear their names. I feel that I am gradually growing stupid. I am doing nothing. I want to go to Rome--to take up my lessons again. I am bored. I feel myself being gradually enveloped in the spider's web which covers everything here, but I am struggling, I am reading.

At the theatre P---- with R----, her good friend, as they say in Nice, began to yawn when she saw all the people in our box.

Why do women yawn when they are jealous and curious? My mother has noticed it a hundred times, and I, too, in my short life.

Wretched feminine position! Men have all the privileges, women have only that of waiting their good pleasure.

I should be quite proud if I could make myself really loved by this man.

Wild, reckless, ruined, vicious, fickle, brutalised by association with wicked women! His feelings of delicacy, of true love, of virtue, which are the bloom of the human heart, have been early swept away from him. The desire for money holds the first place, money to lead a gay life, to support the riffraff he has in his train.

How much women are to be pitied! It is the man who first takes notice, it is the man who asks to be introduced, it is the man who makes the first advances, it is the man who gives the invitation to dance, it is the man who pays attention, it is the man who offers marriage. The woman is like this paper, this nice paper on which we write whatever we please. God does not hear me, yet I will not doubt God. Often a desire to do it seizes possession of me, but I am very quickly punished.

Pshaw! Life is an ugly thing!

* * * * *

Before dinner we went to walk, it was wonderful moonlight. I said a thousand foolish things to O----, and if Dina and M---- were as crazy as we, a great scandal would have happened, for we wanted to dance a ring around a priest who was passing.