Friday, 8 April 1881

Dramas with Amélie, who is mad. She had the insolence to erase a caricature I had drawn on my own canvas in one corner. Had I refused to remove it after she said it displeased her, that would be one thing! But she seemed perfectly enchanted by it at the time — one often does caricatures at the studio and nobody has ever been offended. It represented Amélie in profile and Julian behind her winking in a satanic fashion. Instead of taking offence I immediately redrew the thing, which turned out even better. Julian arrived, laughed heartily, found it charming, and wanted me to give it to him, complimenting me at the same time on my torso study. All of this was reported back to Amélie by me and by others — and on returning to my place I find Julian's head smeared out.
I have Julian called over and lay the case before him, along with this charming shrew's threat to slash all my canvases. Julian undoubtedly rules against her.
But she has the nerve and insolence of a cook being shown the door! I content myself with telling her that if I had her upbringing I should go and daub her canvas.
"Do it, do it."
She would have been only too pleased.
"I would do it if I were a cook — I prefer to leave you the monopoly on such impudence."
Then I redraw Julian — not successfully this time, which is the vexing part — and beside it Amélie's hat, a very thin arm, and three tears. She erases these accessories too, and when I tell her so, she answers that it was her own arm. Everyone bursts out laughing. But though nobody likes this girl and everyone mocks her, I am none the less stupefied and furious at such brazenness and insolence.
That she should erase a likeness of herself — that one might accept — but someone else's, and dare to touch another student's canvas! Fie, the wretched creature.