Wednesday, 29 December 1880

Now I am afraid to go to the meeting! I do not hear well enough. O sorrow.
Nothing is any use to me now! I could form connections with remarkable men at Madame de Brimont’s, and now I cannot! I mishear, I shall remain foolish, my answers are neither quick nor to the point. O atrocious torture. My chief, my only attraction is lost. I look absent or stupid.
Even Saint-Amand, who has just left here — he has not guessed yet, thanks to the disjointed nature of our conversations, and when he declaims I do not need to listen... but I do not amuse him. Do you remember a luncheon during which he was so charmed by me that he took it into his head to bring me some of his distinguished friends? Well, that morning, by chance, I could hear, and... Ah, you see, it is worse than death! My God, is it going to last?
Julian and the architect Dubel came up; it will cost me a hundred and fifty or two hundred francs. Movable panel, etc. So the improvement goes to Julian, and he gets the picture into the bargain.
But now I find I would rather have Amélie’s lot... this life-size subject will be so dry, with modern and simple dresses...
What makes it amusing is the variety of poses and getups, the funny things we sometimes put on — large hats to protect ourselves from the light, sometimes contraptions made of newspapers, scraps of drawings, extraordinary visors, not to mention shawls, the English girls’ aprons, my Capuchin cloak, and what not. She is the one painting that, and my fancy suggests fifty amusing things for the picture.
In short, one always prefers what one does not have. I was proud to be doing it life-size. Amélie wept with rage. Now I should like to change places with her — and, seeing that, she will never agree. Besides, I shall not propose anything... The partition is going to be opened, but I shall back out if need be...
And to think that the other evening, in front of Villevieille, Julian said to me: prove to those who weep that the subject is excellent and do what they declare impossible and difficult. I had only to choose. But bah, it is done. Julian says that several people, among them those who weep, have often said that he exaggerated what I could do, and that he was giving me this painting to prove that he is right and that I can do what I can do.
“Even mediocrely executed,” he says, “this painting will be a great success, but very great! And well executed, which I do not doubt it will be, you will see... But a great success, everyone will go and see it, and then... in short, a success, honourable mention, medal, who knows?”
How could one resist such arguments? But now that all this is under way, he leaves the responsibility for everything to me, even the partition, and the subject... Well, that is his way — one is from the Vaucluse or one is not. Only it unsettles me by making me doubt everything.
The dreadful thing is my ears!