Saturday, 29 April 1882

I am not an artist. I drew without difficulty as I do everything, and if you like I have aptitude for everything — but I cannot... Yet when I was a child of three, I drew profiles in chalk on the whist tables in the country, and then afterwards, always... one would swear it was a vocation. And you see... But I have nothing to say; only there are painful moments to get through... My arms fall. When all is said and done, what has happened? Nothing... Breslau has been working longer than I — nearly twice as long.
Assuming I am as gifted as she, things would naturally proceed accordingly. But I have been painting three years! But she has been painting five years! That is, faith, true! She received her medal in February 1877 and has been painting since then. And I since October 1878: she has five years and two months; I have three years and six months. Well then — what reason have I to believe I am lost? She was where she was last year, in 1881 — that is, after four years of painting. So I have hope still until 1884, if I go as she went. Yes, but in my enormous pride I expected to go three times as fast as this very gifted girl — she is the woman with the most talent in France at this moment.
Things that fill me with stupefaction. Firstly, Le Voltaire cites me among those present at the hearing of the Chaulnes trial — and in deep mourning at that! That is the fault of that idiot Saint-Amand. He has had me cited among society celebrities several times, and the newspapers have seized on my name — for that imbecile had me cited alone without saying a word about Papa and Maman. I am taken for an emancipated woman... The Gavinis, very angry, came yesterday to reproach me for this extravagance — I was out; Adeline came today and said M. Gavini could not believe it. I should think not. The second story is that during our stay in Nice I was abducted. You read correctly — abducted. And so it is supposed that I am obliged to marry... Marry whom?? Abducted by whom??? This story reached me through Mme Tchernisky and her dressmaker, who heard it said among some Russians.
And yet they say there is no smoke without fire! One cannot deny anything. How to go about it? That stupidity in Le Voltaire will do me immense harm; the trial is very dirty and I attended it, it seems? And the abduction on top of everything. This ill luck, after having left me stupefied all day, begins to interest me as a curiosity. Must one die then, to be left unattacked? Well, I am dumbfounded — and I am beginning to tell myself it may perhaps be true: I went to the criminal court alone and in deep mourning, and I was abducted at Nice or from Nice... No, it is amusing in the sheer extremity of ill luck. I spend three months in the country, with family, I return to Paris, I have been nowhere at all yet — and snap! It is enough to disgust one with everything! But who on earth takes pleasure in dragging my name through the mud?
Who can have any interest in attacking me? What does it mean? I have not said a word or made a gesture that was even noteworthy for I do not know how long!
And besides I am with my parents, I... it is enough to make one lose one's mind.