Thursday, 2 September 1880

“He read a great deal, moreover; he was giving himself that profound and serious education which one owes only to oneself, and to which all people of talent have devoted themselves between twenty and thirty.” Gleaned from Balzac, this sentence flatters me.
But now, I have rented a garden in Passy, 65 rue de Ranelagh, to do studies in the open air. I begin with Irma, nude, under a tree, half-length, life-size.
It is still fairly warm, and one must hurry. That is how life goes by. And I used to wonder that I made no conquests, but apart from my tradesmen, who sees me? Well, I like it just as well; I do not know why, but I have a sort of foreboding of I know not what; it seems to me that troubles are going to befall me, that... Well, shut away alone, working, I shall think myself safe... but people are so stupid and so wicked that they come and seek you out in your corner to hurt you.
But what can happen? I do not know, something they will invent or distort; they will repeat it to me, and I shall be pained by it...
Or else some piece of meanness will happen... nothing serious, but sad, humiliating, my kind of thing, in short. All this is a far cry from going to Biarritz.
“Do go,” old Mme Gavini kept telling me, “you must go; you will be seen, you will become known. This is no life for a young girl. I shall tell your mother or your aunt that they must have dresses made and take you at least to the Foreign Ministry, so that you can dance a little... Anyway, you will go to Biarritz; it is very elegant, you will see society there.”
Dash it! as they say in high society. Well, provided they leave me in peace, I am willing, being unable to do otherwise, to remain shut up... in my garden at Passy.
All the same, what a horrible youth this is for a woman. A man suffers until thirty; at thirty he makes a place for himself, he breaks through, and he enjoys life. A woman has the spectre of the old maid pursuing her. Suppose I have talent, enough to do without everyone, around twenty-six; a young man famous at twenty-six is a little phenomenon. A woman is only a girl almost past her prime; she has talent, but at that age everything becomes difficult, and then it would be nothing, but... to wait so long! No, that is not it either; I no longer know.
After all — rich, why did she not marry sooner? For they assume I was quite willing to buy a titled husband; so there is something — but what? No one will believe that I despised the fortune hunters, and despised them not only on moral grounds but because it seems pitiful to me with my poor dowry. If I had 300,000 francs a year, I would buy myself a gentleman, but having 300,000 francs a year I would not have needed that; all doors would be open and I could have found... Well, what is there to say...