Monday, 10 November 1879

I went to church yesterday, I go there from time to time so that people do not say I am a nihilist.
It is a punishment for me to see all these Russians and to be so alone. I say quite often as a joke that life is only a passage. I would like to believe it seriously to console myself for all these miseries, all these brutal sorrows, these ignoble slights.
And the whole world is so gossipy, it is in feeling this disgust and this astonishment in the face of daily gossip that I discover myself pure of all these nauseating pettinesses.
It is only today that I saw Amelie's drawing, the eyes are crooked, and it is done from imagination.
That is lovely. And my drawing is all rubbed out, if the professors saw it in that state, I am no longer surprised. Perhaps Amelie or her friend the maid [has she] passed [her] paws over it... that seems impossible and monstrous to you, to me too... But the world is so vile... It is curious to be shocked by all this, am I then honest?
I am beginning to believe it.
This drawing which is not even a complete composition, but it is more reasonable than what she always does so they seized the opportunity. It is disgusting all the same. I who believed in competitions. How the devil did they give me the medal with Amelie turning their heads against me?!
I will take my drawing, I will touch up what is rubbed out and I will send it to the Salon under a false name, if it is accepted it will be a fine slap in the face for the judgments of the atelier. I am always afraid that people will take my reflections for jealousy, no, it is not that, you know, only all injustices revolt me; I say nothing about the medals of Madeleine Delsarte or Wiik, but Amelie's is a bad joke.
Well then.