Thursday, 13 July 1882

We go to Julian’s with the Duchess, then to the Bois, where there are still a great many people. And to dinner we have Saint-Amand, Mme Cerny, Géry, and the two Engelhardts — all of it unplanned.
And the cook being dead drunk there was no dinner at all — we had to send to the dairy shop next door for food. But we had a good laugh. Géry had brought sugared almonds from his little girl’s christening. We show him over the house, and there he is in the studio almost putting his arm round my waist; I thought he was going to ask me some question that Maman’s coming in had cut short, and on the stairs I asked him: what?
Nothing, would you believe — he laughed and said he had wanted to ask me for a kiss... But as Gavini, he, and Saint-Amand are like fathers to me... I take it as such... Yet this joke, coming from that Bonapartist of a fellow, left a nasty impression on me.
I always think people are about to show me disrespect and take me for someone not quite respectable... It is silly, for Géry has seen perfectly good society at our house... And then... All the same, it is tiresome, and now I am fretting... Especially as we have taken this house in this artists’ quarter... And my picture... If you only knew — I shall be obliged to go away to paint it, and I am furious in advance because my family will put this journey down to my health, so that I am almost inclined to stay... It is infuriating.
Tony must see the sketches and give me his advice. I shall bring them to him on Saturday if he has not come by tomorrow.
And then I am in love with Cassagnac — my heart is bored. This journalist of thirty-eight and a half, married to the daughter of an old adventuress, no longer knows whether I exist. No — you see, what I need is independence; I am burning my girlhood at both ends and champing at the bit.
I should be too unhappy married to a man who will naturally want both the dowry and the wife. It is impossible that I should love such a person... And to wait for some millionaire prince in Russia perhaps — and even then... One would lose too much time seeking the opportunity.
What I need is a special husband... One who will give me a name, a position, who will be honourable and leave me in peace. To be married and entirely free; I see no one but Saint-Amand. I am tempted to slip it to him in a confidential chat, by the most adroit roundabout ways possible... That I would rather seek a friend, a brother. That the art to which I devote myself requires... And then, by way of a childish detail, that several fortune-tellers have predicted I shall die at the birth of a child... No — it is too delicate. Saint-Amand is not like everyone else but it is impossible to make him understand that such an arrangement suits me...
He cannot marry... But it is impossible to tell him that is precisely why I want to marry him. And then he will fear that he... or that I shall do something foolish... Ah, if only he would make up his mind. It would be delightful. I should be so tranquil — and then, since there is divorce, I could make a grand marriage.