Monday, 25 April 1881

A dream that forebodes humiliations. For that matter, every morning I begin by wondering from which quarter the annoyance that is certain to come might arrive — it is, I am now convinced, a definite illness brought on by two or three nasty blows that heaven has dealt me. One ought to be able to cure this — a great psychological physician, for it is not natural; these incessant apprehensions are caused by nervous disorders... Ah! how all this is!... Well.
People speak ill of me because I am an artist. I imagine what is being said... inventions, no doubt, of a kind that would knock me over with surprise. God knows what people may say... but then I am indiscreet in the presence of imbeciles.
The other day, in front of that goose, old mother Tchoumakoff, I went to whisper something to Alexis, and when la Tchoumakoff insisted on knowing, I told her — as if it were something enormous — that it could only be said to gentlemen, and laughing, with that air that means one is deliberately saying something outrageous.
And this turkey-hen leans over and asks whether she has guessed: “You said cuckold to him, didn’t you?”
I was left dumbfounded.
I work at No. 37 — a twelve-year-old girl, naked to the waist, daubing at a canvas in the artist’s absence. Not that I pretend to be making a picture, but one discovers movements; and besides, I like there to be an idea even in a study.

Notes

In French in the original: cocu — a cuckold, a husband whose wife is unfaithful. The word was shocking in polite company, especially coming from a young woman. Marie finds the older woman’s guess revealing about her own mind. ↩
No. 37: Marie writes «le 37» without a street; the text gives no address. That it is a private studio where she worked outside the Atelier Julian is the annotator’s inference, not verified. ↩