Sunday, 1 August 1880

A torrential rain! I take advantage of it to paint a corner of the artistic joiner's shop, on a size 6 canvas. I have myself carried there and back in a sedan chair; that is the custom here.
To go to the bath and the inhalation, there is a special and universal costume: footed trousers of flannel and a cloak of the same with a round hood for the ladies, pointed for the men. Mine is pointed; it is more monastic, and since I often wear this cloak at home, I look like a Dominican, and since this pleases me, I make it my dressing gown morning and evening when it is cold. But all this would not be worth mentioning if the monk's habit did not bring me bad luck. You know, when troubles and sorrows keep coming, one becomes superstitious like a gambler. The day Cassagnac asked me to put on my cowl, I ran to my room, thinking only of looking fresh and rosy under the hood of brown serge, but at the moment of putting it on I hesitated and said to myself without daring to confess anything: What if this destroyed everything? But I immediately added that it was idiotic and dreadfully annoying, these superstitions, and that I must rid myself of them. I put on the cowl, and even if it is not proved that it was the cowl that destroyed everything, the impression was no less odious. I wonder what could happen to me now. I have nothing going on and there is no one. Soutzo --- I mocked him like the imbecile he is, consequently.
You know, O my God, what I think of it. If he turned elsewhere, I would have no right to complain. It would certainly vex me greatly, but after all, it is not one of those misfortunes I dread...
I sent Julian a silhouette drawing of our stroll through Belleville.