Saturday, 22 April 1882

The Gavinis, Géry, and the Linsingen woman. I was out running errands — to Tony's, who is vexed because his artists' association is no longer working. Tony looks aged and ugly; besides, the weather is hot and heavy and everyone feels dull. He will come on Tuesday, but I am very afraid; I have done nothing good. And then... I am not yet settled back in, I am doing nothing, and that makes me think about what one might call springtime things... An unoccupied heart and no work for two days sends the imagination travelling... On the whole it is quite extraordinary that I am so... statuesque about it. It seems I can no longer remember what I was going to say — only that people who have crossed the great threshold... it is an entirely different existence and they have a mass of preoccupations that we do not suspect; the women and men one meets in carriages make me reflect... In short, life and novels and dramas all turn on this famous love of which we know only the spelling. I speak of it as a curious observer, coolly.
No — you see, what it would take for me to live would be to have great talent. I shall never be happy like everyone else. To be famous and to be loved, as Balzac wrote.
That is happiness — and moreover, to be loved is only an accessory, or rather the natural result of being famous. Breslau is thin, awkward, ravaged, though with an interesting head. No grace and boyish and dry! She will only become a bit of a woman if she has genius; I, if I had her talent, would be like no one else in Paris... But it must come!.. In the wild desire for it to come I seem to see something like a hope that it will.
Apropos of that fantastic Cassagnac — Julian said again the day before yesterday that it would take a crushing superiority to bring him to my feet. All those hopes of the first year, all those promises... Have I worked badly or am I incapable... Perhaps I am on the eve of arriving at some result... I feel myself in a chaos from which I must emerge to see the dreamed-of goal appear — or am I led astray, lost, finished?...
This absence, this interrupted work... No longer having advice, encouragement... one loses oneself. One seems to be returning from China; one is no longer in the current...
Ah!... I believe I love nothing like painting, which in my eyes was to give me all other happiness... False vocation, false aptitude, false hope!...
This morning I went to the Louvre — and listen, I am maligning myself. One ought to be able to render what one sees, when one sees as I do. Before, I had the confidence of ignorance, but for some time my eyes have been opening... This morning it was the turn of Paul Veronese, who appeared to me in all his splendor and all his... brilliance, that unheard-of richness of tone; how to explain that these splendors had appeared to me until now as great, dull, grey, flat canvases?
What I did not see I now see... Famous canvases that I looked at out of mere deference now charm me and hold me. I feel the subtleties of coloring; I appreciate color at last! O Amélie...
A landscape by Ruysdael made me turn back twice... Some months ago I saw nothing there of what I see this morning — real air... space — in short, it is not painting, it is living nature... Well, since all these beauties that I did not see I now see, it means my eyes have been exercised, and the same phenomenon may perhaps occur in the hand... I do not mean that until Spain I was absolutely wooden, but it is certain that the journey lifted a veil from my eyes... Well, now I must work at the studio; I have done enough independent things to limber up my hand for the moment — now I must become a first-rate executant and make a picture... next year perhaps, and if...
Stay in drawing rooms, dance, fall in love with dandies and you will be happy.