Sunday, 16 February 1879

Yesterday and today I have had dreams that made a rather curious impression on me.
Yesterday I was walking in a field of white daffodils taller than myself, and coming toward me pell-mell were priests and soldiers, when my aunt pointed to one of the priests and said: do ask him about the little Cassagnac. I asked him, and he showed me a man carrying off a child, saying it was too late. Then Mademoiselle Acard pressed her cheek against mine while her husband watched us: "It doesn't matter," I said, "brunettes and blondes set each other off to advantage."
And last night I was at Monsieur and Madame de Cassagnac's.
They lived in an apartment with very high ceilings, no carpet, and all the draperies in blue rep; the servants wore waistcoats to match the curtains. Having crossed the antechamber and arrived in a sort of waiting room — uncarpeted and very, very tall — I did not dare enter the drawing room. Mademoiselle Acard was singing, and her husband came to lower the door curtain that separated the salon from the room where I stood. Then Cassagnac came and offered me his arm, begging me to be with him as before. His wife seemed to be avoiding us; she was in a pink dress with bare arms; [Words blacked out: it was her] face — but she only came up to my shoulder. Then we found ourselves in a room like one in real life, unfurnished, and I went to the bed, which had no mattress — only planks and a few scraps of paper.
"What is this?" the Deceased asked me.
"It is the adaptation of Les deux pigeons." And I began to sing, but Mademoiselle Acard was singing loudly not far away; we went toward her but she seemed to be hiding, and at last we met — he, I, she, and my aunt — on a staircase resembling that of the Théâtre-Historique. Mademoiselle Acard was buttoning her bodice and was visibly in an... interesting condition. "I am hiding," she said, "because my figure embarrasses me. Otherwise I would be more agreeable." I spent a good half-hour searching for her so as to tell her that when one is beautiful and possesses so charming a voice one is always agreeable — but I could not find her, and was obliged to leave without having said anything. The dream was so vivid that all day I have been expecting it to continue.
I went to the Gavinis', where there was a great gathering — among others the Marquis de Châteaurenard, who yesterday submitted his resignation as Councillor of State and was being congratulated on all sides.
And then a Bonapartist of a certain age already, but whose manners recalled Dumas's musketeers — and the Cassagnac of Mademoiselle Acard's.
Our apartment is large and handsome and empty!
My God, what must one do to stop living this way!! Marry. Well! I know — but I could find a reasonably suitable match if we received society. I am foreign, pretty, original; there would be enough there to assemble a quite distinguished circle...
On Saturday I was scolded:
— I cannot understand how, with the talent you have, you should have such difficulty painting.
Yes, I do not understand it either — but I am paralyzed. There is nothing more to fight for. I must die. My God, my good God.
There is then nothing more to expect from anyone. What is revolting is that I have just filled the fireplace with wood without any necessity, for I am not cold at all... while perhaps at this very moment there are wretched people who are hungry, who are cold, who weep with misery... These are reflections that immediately stop the tears I take pleasure in shedding. It is perhaps only an idea, but I believe I would just as soon have [Words blacked out: complete poverty] — for then one is at the bottom, one has nothing to fear; and one does not die of hunger so long as one has the strength to work.