Monday, 19 May 1879

I went into Julian's confessional to ask him to change the composition model — Saturday afternoons at four do not suit me; and I would have taken care not to ask in front of everyone, for if he agreed they would cry ... n[é]ipostime — the word is imprecise, I have no time for it. So I went in and stayed nearly two hours, which seems fabulous; to begin with he launched into getting me worked up to do more work, saying that if I had any blood in my veins I would begin next year. And then I spoke of models, saying of one gentleman: he is tall, dark, very handsome.
— Always the same type then! And on this... Julian had (spied on me) and read in my... as in a book during the Bonapartist period — it was not difficult, and besides I have the praiseworthy habit of letting everything be guessed and of making one suspect things that do not exist. In short, I thought it better to tell the story. I told only the truth in saying that I had lived on friendship, that I had thought him a knight of the Middle Ages, and that it was only in the face of his last trick that I had perhaps thought otherwise and had my head turned. That is more plausible. Then I recounted the five women, to give an idea of what terms we were on.
Old Julian imagines that this man is my master forever, that this first love is indelible, and that however worldly-wise I may be, he duped me — along with a heap of other ideas that may be just. I explained above all that he came looking for a dowry, and that I had been thinking of things in a Don Quixote fashion. And as that Jew Julian continued to paint for me the agitation that had so powerfully affected my work, I gave him my word that nothing more had occurred, and that it all ended with a letter conceived as follows: "At first I had thought that you were not for sale; then I decided you merely cost more."
— "It would have been quite a blow," Amélie's cunning ideal told me, "if you had not devalued yourself in his eyes by what you yourself call 'follies' — childish behaviour. No matter — see how, despite what you call your experience, you are a child in the face of men of this sort."
I amused myself talking of all this and displaying my elevated sentiments. It is only now that I see that no one had been ignorant of my distress, and that — "What!" said Julian, when you let slip phrases like — and he cited things I had thought quite simple and which are remarkable enough that people had thought me mad about Cassagnac. The good fellow concludes that I am his slave, his possession, and that if I am mad about someone else it is merely noise I am trying to make in my head that never reaches the heart. So I told him I would paint his portrait.
— And it is not over.
— You think he will court me. He will never dare!

Notes

TR: Marie uses the casual antisemitic epithet "ce juif de Julian" — Julian was not in fact Jewish. The phrase is a period vernacular insult preserved here as part of the historical text.