Wednesday, 26 January 1881

They have been saying among the Russians that I was ill; it is to show the contrary that we go to church, then to the Gavinis’, to la Bailleul’s, to the princess’s. The two youngsters come to dinner, and la Bailleul too, and the two Mouzays. After all those letters! They are going back to the Sunday habit of past winters
The princess sent some smoked meat or other from Serbia of a prodigious appearance, so that de Daillens asks whether it is not a preserved ancestor, the head of the dynasty? All of a sudden la Bailleul carries off Alexis, and I come and tell him very softly that I regret being unable to give him the customary advice, but: courage, my friend, courage. Without quite believing in the impurity of a departure for two, I am convinced that old Mother Bailleul, who owns to forty-six, who powders her hair as white as hoarfrost, who is as robust as a peasant woman and fond of bawdy talk... surely she cannot be virtuous? All the more so as the Karageorgevitches know certain things through their friend, the fair-haired, adolescent Marcel Koechlin...
And then there she is, taking her liqueur and, turning to Alexis: I know no one whose lips look as sensual as mine when drinking...
So we laughed, and this, added to my calls during the day (I would leave my fur cloak in the carriage and cross streets and courtyards in just my dress), means that I have a cold like an old dog.
An indiscretion on the maid’s part. It appears that Julian is the one who will pay for the partition; I am glad of it for his sake.
So on Tuesday, coming back from the atelier, I am seized with fever and stay until seven o’clock without a light, shivering in an armchair, half asleep and with the picture always before my eyes, as every night for a week now. You know that Amélie has set herself up at the other end of the atelier and is doing my picture in reverse, and since, every time she wants to surpass me, she thinks she will manage it by taking measurements all the time, she has been taking them all the time, and that outstretched arm, that hand with its stub of charcoal, dance before my eyes, with very black lines drawn across my picture, as if for the perspective... Having taken nothing but a little milk, the night was more extraordinary still; I was not asleep, since I made the alarm ring several times, but the picture was always there and I was working on it, only I was doing the very opposite of what was needed, driven by a supernatural will to rub out whatever was good. Oh! it was maddening!
And no way of keeping calm; I tossed about like a devil, tried hard to believe I was dreaming, but no; so it is delirium, then, [I] said to myself.
I believe that is what it was; now I know what it is like, and I should not mind if it were not for the weariness all over and in my legs.
But the best of it is that, weak as I am, I wait for Julian to have his opinion of a figure I changed yesterday; he comes and finds that I was very wrong to do it. I rubbed out what was good, before the dream.
And yesterday evening, by a curious phenomenon, I could hear very well, very well.
I am worn out.