Thursday, 11 October 1877

I wrote Paul a letter of eight pages to urge him to go and fight, and he replies in thirty-two pages that he prefers the countryside.
What a pity — the Emperor knew him as a child and might have remembered him; and besides... men who are good for nothing sometimes make brave soldiers.
Maman had called on Mme Doubelt only once to return her visit, and this amiable person came this evening to turn our heads with a full hour of society gossip and news and all those things that have cost me so many tears and that I had wished to forget. I would not want to be drawn out of the tranquillity I have won at the cost of so many storms and such torments. I no longer trust myself — in matters of appearance I am timid, and even unsociable. I fear the repetition of the past.
However much one tells oneself it is useless to regret what is past, every moment I say to myself: how well everything would be if I had studied for the past three years — before, I had other studies that did not leave me free enough for drawing — by now I should already be a great artist and I could... and so forth.
Monsieur Julian told the studio maid that Schaeppi and I showed the most promise.
You do not know who Schaeppi is — Schaeppi is the Swiss one. Well? What language. In any case, Monsieur Julian added that I may become a great artist.
I know this through Rosalie.
If Mme Doubelt is so kind out of gratitude to Mme Kondareff her sister, that is perfectly well — but if she intends to borrow, it is abominable... Not in principle, but simply because we have no money.
It is so cold, and I have caught a chill — but I forgive all of it, so long as I may draw.
And draw — for what?
For... everything I have wept over since the beginning of the world! For all that I have lacked and still lack! To succeed — through my talent, through... through whatever you will — but to succeed! If I had all that, perhaps I should do nothing.