Wednesday, 19 May 1880

It is nine o’clock in the morning. I am leaving for the atelier, but I need to say that Soutzo is betraying me. Why, how? I do not know. I imagine it because I am in the habit of regarding him as something that belongs to me. Besides, he sees me too much; he sees me at home; it is natural that in company he should not remain attached to my skirts. And yet no — there is neither betrayal nor anything else; he simply does not love me, that is all. I never seriously thought he did — you remember, I was asking myself: why does he come, what does he want? He does not seem to be in love! So if he does not love me, he must no longer come so often. I am once again humiliated by the same thing as always! Being seen at home or at Mme de Bailleul’s. Even the Audiffrets are better placed, and yet, God knows, they go to Mme Turr’s, etc. But then they also go to the embassies and to... Let us go to work.
I went to Mme de Bailleul’s yesterday as if to a rendezvous, and I was counting on having a good time. From morning on I thought only of the evening — it was stupid, for I was as agitated as if something extraordinary were about to happen. I have just come back from the Mouzays’, where we dined with Dubois, Caillas, Alexandre Weil, and Salomon the deputy from Poitiers with his wife and daughter, etc. No! The most dreadful caricatures in Triboulet fall short... of the reality. Good heavens, what a red deputy! At tea in the evening he wanted me to open my mouth so that he could practise flicking grapes into it with his fingers!!
I amused myself by gossiping with Julian and mocking everyone with imperturbable seriousness. Julian, who was in on it, must have enjoyed himself.
I told the deputy and his honourable family things as silly as geese. The good souls!
But after all, just because I was amusing myself by tossing almonds into my mouth with the back of my hand, and because my neighbours did the same, that is no reason to toss them at one’s neighbour!... This Weil, a remarkable man, it seems — a philosopher — held forth in rather naturalist terms on the necessity of marriage. You can picture it. The evening did me good. I had been in a wretched state all day because that great scoundrel Soutzo had betrayed me. Mme de Bailleul had them dine together, and the little fellow looked quite vague about it. There it is. It is something like a disillusionment for me... it is one. How could this poor devil who seemed so nice... The ugly part is that all this foolishness affects my painting. Yesterday I worked very badly — distractions, fits of impatience; it was as if I were expecting something... I have presentiments about the slightest things.
It is easy to understand that I am not pleased... Someone takes away a being by whom you hoped to be loved... It is no joke. Little Audiffret must have been a rest for him; she is pretty and good-natured, and besides, if he wanted her, she would want him at once. [One line crossed out] After having endured the heavy charm of a superior being, one is happy to reign in one’s turn; one wants the prides and joys that light up life; one breathes; one feels as if set free. The poor prince must have breathed. And then why return under the yoke? One finds oneself very foolish to have let oneself be dominated; one discounts little by little all the qualities, all the graces of the object and sees only a tyrant. A woman adores a superior being, but the man tires of it, feels humiliated, and goes where he is adored — the ordinary man, that is.
In short, what did he do? I applauded the caterwauling while looking at him, and we laughed together; then he applauded too, as a joke. But that was still too much... They say one must not be jealous; one disclaims it as something vile or unworthy... To begin with, like every feeling, it is involuntary. One may refuse to follow its counsels, but not to feel it — never. Scenes of jealousy, or any act in which it shows itself, are not worthy of a proper soul, unless one laughs about it with the object — then it is a kindness.
I am rather pleased with these great events; they give me occasion to reason things out, and that amuses me.
Ah! My Salomon was too comical! And his family! Look at the face Triboulet gives to Marianne. That is it exactly.
I think Caillas likes me.
Despite a melancholy that I shall brutally call “femmelle,” for I cannot explain it otherwise, I worked all day.