Friday, 20 May 1881

In two words: my hesitations begin again! Oh lord. Potain comes, and I was counting on him to give me reason not to go to Russia without vexing my father too greatly. Good — I can stay. But it is Bojidar who brings the fatal word: "the jury made its tour of the Salon today and looked very much at Breslau's painting." Oh lord — the tears that had already fallen pour in torrents.
My father and Maman think it is what Potain said that distresses me, and I cannot confess the truth. But I weep properly — no contortions, no sobs, but fine large silent tears in abundance, falling like a summer rain without ruining the face too much.
In sum Potain said nothing particularly new, and he gave me grounds to stay here — but it is Breslau's painting. That is dreadful. What can I tell you — what a day!! I asked Potain to exaggerate my condition and simply told my family that the right lung is diseased, so that my father would not be vexed that I am staying. And there they all are in consternation, walking on tiptoe... Ah, misery!!
Their glances wound me; their concessions exasperate me... and not a fixed point to hold onto! What can I cling to? Ah — painting is a fine farce! You know, in moments of wretchedness one is never entirely wretched if there is some bright point on one's horizon — and through all my miseries I would draw back into myself saying: "wait a little, painting will save us." Now I doubt everything. I believe in neither Tony nor Julian.
If it is by weeping that I hope to paint well!!!
Mme de Brimont comes down to spend an hour with us in the evening. As ever, blonde and elegant.

Notes

Pierre Potain (1825–1901) — an eminent Paris physician and pioneer of clinical cardiology, professor at the Faculté de Médecine; one of the doctors who attended Marie.