"And these other words which I have never been able to read without trembling: EGO SUM RESURRECTIO ET VITA...."
"August 18th: How many women incapable of putting anything in its place are more worried in changing a servant than in real trouble. If only they knew how to be quiet about it! But the house is given up to their complaints. I would rather make my own bed and sweep my room as a monk does, than endure in luxury, that depression of personality which results in time from useless talk and petty domestic worries. We never entertain people with details of our clothes. So we should be unconscious of the routine of a household, except to note its clean, pleasant appearance, as we do a well-washed face. There should be some mystery to this inner management. At that, it is better to speak of it than to neglect it altogether."
"August 19th: I love the unexpected, but Elizabeth detests it. Philippe Lagier came to Uriage to see us this morning. Naturally I asked him to stay to luncheon. For a long time I had not talked with so much pleasure. When we are together we give our imagination free rein like horses in an open field. He is clever, subtle, terse—has a vein of irony which excels in discovering the inner meaning of words, of theories and of humanity in general. Only he had not told me he was coming and we had no cook. It seems we did not have a good luncheon. I had not noticed it and neither had Philippe. And when he had gone I had to listen to complaints, as though I were guilty of some sin in inviting my friend. Thus, by too much care we lose our naturalness."
"August 30th: How difficult it is to keep one's liberty. For ten days I have been unable to write a line of my 'Peasant.' The advent of the Molay-Norrois at Uriage has upset our quiet life, so essential to the rest required for a long work. I could not ask Elizabeth not to invite her own people. The life we generally lead here is quiet enough for one of her age. Now we are constantly invited to parties and fêtes. Her brothers, both on leave, are untiring, and give us no peace. I, who am considered self-willed, am so weak that I scatter my forces and lose myself without vexation. In order to concentrate on my work, I need the life of the fields, of the little walks in the mountains or in the woods—and some music and conversation. In the evening it is the odious casino, and in the daytime our hermitage has become the objective point of all the idle people in the valley. A lawyer, a doctor, an attorney may plead professional duties. In my case they make me put off my work until the next day. My home is open to intruders, even to the unintelligent.
"My mother takes care of our children at Saint Martin when we go out. Last evening I was alone with her, having succeeded in escaping a banquet of snobs. We talked until the return of Elizabeth, who was escorted by her brother Oliver; we had one of those good old reminiscent talks when one goes from recollections to questions about the unknown, and of things which have not been discussed since my marriage. Elizabeth was surprised to see us so animated at that late hour. After six years she does not yet know my mother. She will never know her. Were I to have the misfortune of losing her, I should weep alone for her. Elizabeth's judgment does not go beyond outward appearances, and how could she imagine a superior woman under such a simple exterior. Her own parents inflict upon me their acquaintances and their tastes. I should continually show them my amazement and gratitude for having been accepted by them. But why, on the other hand, am I still sensitive to their favors and their compliments? They may exploit my reputation, if they so desire, and cease showing me off as if I were under their patronage.
"Heavens, how lonely one is in this married life, and what irony to pretend to be an influence upon one's time, when after six years one has exerted none on his own home!"
"September 22nd: After several rainy days my parents-in-law returned to Grenoble, and with them went all their set. I hoped to take up my work in peace again. But Elizabeth is already bored. I cannot accuse her either of coquetry or of silly admiration for fashion, or extreme desire for pleasure. Only she must constantly be amused by trifles, and this restlessness is unbearable to me. I try in vain to interest her in reading, in music, in the variation of light that is accentuated by the approach of Autumn—even in my work. She listens graciously, and is thinking of something else. She is not lacking in intelligence, but she does not care to use it. She needs boundaries that can be touched. And when I wish to destroy them, she immediately builds others."
"October 12th: My mother wished to leave, despite my request that she remain. Without my making mention of it, she has guessed that I am unhappy. I am responsible for this unusual departure. In the evening I was talking more responsively with her than with Elizabeth. After the day's work this semi-activity of mind in conversation rests and refreshes me. Age has not diminished her passionate interest in vital questions. And she considers all subjects from a superior point of view, which is reflected in our discussions. She remained aside, occupying herself with some embroidery. She did not wish to disturb our intimacy. Poor Mamma, she did not yet understand that she was leaving me in my loneliness."
"October 25th: I was walking until evening on the mountain tops of Chamrousse. Passing through the chestnut wood I walked through a bed of dead leaves. I love the sharp crackling under my feet. And before returning, I allowed myself to be enveloped in the shadows rising from the valley. This isolation of darkness added to my own isolation.
"Autumn has changed the country in a few days. On the two opposite sides there is a color scheme which shades from pale green to dark purple, a magnificent bouquet which has all the melancholy of the flowers placed in the cemetery on All Saints Day. I was in the forest when the sun set, and for a long time I watched the flaming twilight between the tree trunks. For the stripped woods reveal a broader horizon, just as we see further, the older we grow.