Tuesday, 20 January 1880

I come back from the atelier and learn that old Mother Gavini called, expecting to find me keeping to my room, and that she is furious that I do not nurse myself the way old people do.
And then the tickets promised for tomorrow have been given to Mme de Rothschild. There you are! It is not that I care about tomorrow’s session, but I am angry because that old fool Gavini thinks I had better not go there on account of Arnaud. Always that wretched Arnaud. Gavini does not tell me so, but I can guess... Besides, such as I am, I must either hold the world beneath my heel or live in an ivory tower, alone.
I would gladly give 10,000 francs for a permanent pass. No longer to have to ask for tickets, to be independent!
O sterile aspirations, sterile and miserable intrigues, sterile discussions with my family, sterile evenings spent speaking of what I would like without taking a single step to make it happen. Sterile and miserable efforts!