Wednesday, 21 December 1881

Today I went out! Oh! In furs, with the windows raised, a bearskin at my feet. Potain said this morning that I could go out if the wind were not too strong and if I took precautions. The weather was splendid — and taking precautions! But that is no longer the question; it is Breslau, wholly fixed upon her prey. My Salon is a failure? Yes. What shall I have to set against her canvas from this summer? A studio piece? How petty, you will say — a young lady's jealousy. No — this girl is a force. She is not the only one, agreed, but we come from the same cage, not to say the same nest, and I divined her and foresaw her and announced her to you in the first days, when I was ignorant — very ignorant. I despise myself, I deny myself; I cannot understand what Julian and Tony mean by what they say. I am nothing — I have nothing in my belly (oh Zola!). [Words blacked out: Beside] Breslau I feel myself like a cardboard box, [blacked out: thin] and fragile, beside a casket of solid richly carved oak. I am in despair about myself, and so convinced of it that if I mentioned it to the masters it would infect them too. But I mean to march forward all the same, [words blacked out: eyes closed] and hands stretched out like someone about to be engulfed.