in the marginannotation de Marie sur la page de titre du Livre 80

Saturday, 4 May 1878

Annotation: Nude woman, head in shadow, the body in light — for Florence; a boys’ school seen from the sea in the distance, the bridge.
Robert-Fleury gave me a thirty-five-minute lesson. What is astonishing is that Cassagnac does not reply at all — that has never happened before.
After Tuesday evening I thought he really would come, especially since he had wanted to come Thursday, and I had not wished it, and he more or less invited himself — which I rather like. A disappointed expectation, whatever one is waiting for, is one of the things that disturbs me most, above all when it is the visit of a brother for whom one has a friendship as eternal as it is disinterested. The evening we found him in blue, he inspired in me the same feeling I have upon arriving in a great city — a thirst for monopolisation that has nothing exclusive or tender about it.
I was foolish enough to want to drape my dress between five and seven o’clock. It frayed my nerves to the point of rendering me incapable of arranging my hair, which I undid twenty times. This numbing task leaves me good for nothing, and I am pretty well on edge while Mme Yorke dines; then in the evening, de Daillens, M. d’Andigné and Goldsmid.
It is as though I am afraid of something.
I adore everything that is simple — painting, feelings, everything...! I have never had simple feelings and I never shall, for they are impossible where there are doubts and apprehensions grounded in past events. Simple feelings can exist only in happiness, or in the country, in ignorance of all those things which...
I am by nature essentially a fusser — partly from an excess of subtlety, partly from vanity, the desire to analyse, the pursuit of truth, the fear of going wrong, of failing.
Well, when the heart or mind is tormented by all these things, one arrives only at laboured results — which may well be violent, but are also subject to strange reversals, to exaltations, to collapses; in short, an absolute and tormenting unevenness which, all told, is preferable to absolute evenness, which, as they say, wearies one and excludes those extremely delicate nuances that must give supreme pleasures to the sensitive, to the fussers who want refinement in greatness, even in the sublime — without which one never achieves effects as powerful or as vivid.
One might think I know something about it. I only know that I write my fancies and steal nothing from anyone.

Notes

Marie’s coinage: accaparation [sic]. ↩