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.