Sunday, 18 September 1881

I have some little dresses of cambric or white wool, without
trimming, but made exquisitely, very fresh and smart. Canvas shoes bought here, but pretty. And ravishing hats — but white hats, [words blacked out: young] hats for a happy woman. All this makes an ensemble that draws considerable notice — and in the state of mind I find myself in, it is simply despairing. I go back inside to cry… Maman and my aunt are neither lively nor cheerful, and then our constant quarrels — in short it is the exact opposite of a pleasure trip on a fashionable beach. There are races today, but I believe no carriage could be had. My aunt and Maman very much want to stay here a long time because the weather is beautiful and my health — you understand… But I do not think that brightness, sunshine, can be effective when the soul is so dark — mere phrases! I cannot bring myself to resign myself to being shut up in Paris! And yet that is still what makes me most happy — the silence and solitude of the studio. I truly believe that since… In short, when I see elegant women I long to be one, and the moment I dress myself and go out it seems to me that people take me for heaven knows what. Six years ago at the Grand Hôtel I was always singing in my room, and someone said I was a performer from the Mikhailovsky Theater in Petersburg — then the little article in Le Figaro about the 1877 races — and since then I believe there has been my psychological illness…! I shall never recover, and I am only a little calm in some black ulster with my hat pulled well down and myself made as plain as possible… And then I cry for those elegant dresses that make me cry. To rally one would need to see acquaintances again, to talk, to go out… and we are alone… In short, what could be more ordinary than a white cambric dress at the seaside in great heat — and yet it seems to me I am committing extravagances.

Notes

Ulster: in English in the original. A heavy overcoat with a cape, fashionable in the 1870s–80s.