Monday, 10 March 1879

I arrived five minutes early and worked hard... not too hard; I had to make up for the fortnight spent away. I am sorry you could not have been there. I was amusing — stunning, as Captain Blanc would say — but no, “stunning” is a vulgar word.
Laughing, I said disagreeable things to all those who were capable of understanding innuendo — and then retorts, interruptions, witticisms; in short, I am more furious than ever at being condemned to the obscurity of a woman’s career... At the atelier it still passes, but elsewhere... and besides, where else would you have me play the orator? And at the atelier taste is not of the most refined: they will laugh most heartily when, after one of them has asked me several times to make the model take up her exact pose again, I answer: “Well! do you think I am her mother?” Or they will be delighted when one of them, looking for a cork, asks: “Who has taken my cork?” and I answer gravely that it must be the most corked-up of us — the dullest... You understand, it is humiliating. These are schoolboy larks that must be common among the men students and are lacking with us, because there are a lot of old maids and foreigners.
I must confess to you that, however common it may be, I adore real practical jokes and hoaxes.
I am young; when I am thirty, when I am a settled man... I swear to you I was in good faith up to the second “when”; the rest I thought only for a minute. I paid Julian and we talked about a heap of things.
I saw Schaeppi, who has come back from Switzerland and is in despair at having no money to come and work. I swear to you that if I manage to lay hands on three hundred francs I shall pay six months’ fees for her.
Mademoiselle Collignon came. She is so foolish! She is ill at ease with us; she stands on ceremony. Her brother came to fetch her, and I was very kind on purpose. I know they are in straitened circumstances — that is the very reason the young lady is afraid of coming too often. When one has 50,000 francs a year one will go and dine with friends every day; but if one is poor one will be afraid to. As far as the friends are concerned it is all the same, but it is that devil of a delicate feeling that makes one believe that people think... you understand me. All the same, if one were to do this person a kindness... I do not believe her capable of gratitude; in fact it would be all one to me. If I did it, it would be for my own sake... I prefer ingratitude; it does not move one, and one can laugh at the rascal one has obliged who seems to defy one. I like people who do not feel favours; they do not weigh on them, they do not hate you, and you can look at them without making them uncomfortable.
Now there are no doubt rarities, exceptions which are all the more charming for it; but as there are only three or eight per cent of them, I have not been in contact with enough people to have found any.