Saturday, 19 August 1882

The real Bastien has gone to Damvillers, where he will stay five months; the architect comes to make his elder brother's apologies. We talked of Mme Cartwright, and the honest architect, pressed closely, admits that I should not go to her soirées — that the women I might meet there could fail to regard me as is fitting, might confuse me with certain persons, and that... In general, nineteen times out of twenty, I should seem to belong to that salon... Besides, Mme Cartwright herself is a very charming woman, whom he likes greatly and whom I may see — but seldom, and not in company. Yes — that is what I thought. Indeed, everyone has told us the same.
It was Breslau who made me want to meet the beautiful American...
Oh, I suffer so from being nothing.
I work in the garden, which gives me perfectly the setting of the Parc Monceau. I am doing a boy of about twelve, in his smock and apron, sitting on a bench reading an illustrated paper, his empty basket beside him... One sees this constantly in the Park and in the streets here.
When I think of my painting, if it is evening I cannot get to sleep. It is impossible that!... Or else something will prevent me from doing it!... If I were to paint it with all the passion I am already putting into it, it could not be entirely bad... But then... things will happen... I am overwhelmed just thinking of it... It cannot be that I shall paint a fine picture — I dare not dream of it, and the thought turns my brain...
I also have a portrait in mind... I should like to send that painting and the portrait together... I can already see Dina — she will be admirable, with a touch of mystery, of the unknown in her cat's eyes; an extraordinary expression in her Japanese eyebrows and her upturned eyes, something indefinable that does not resemble the look of the Gioconda but which has its mystery too...
Breslau is in Switzerland for three months. She is going to paint little peasant children, Tony told me. Bastien painted a little boy — so she will paint two or three, as I have not already tried to paint three in Nice, always in Bastien's wake. She will want to make up next year for this year's failure... But see how it is when one has the same ideas: I have always had it in mind to paint two or three street boys ever since Bastien's — in Nice I had drawn and prepared, then something, I know not what, and the canvas was torn. Breslau will do it.
She frightens me... Oh! but I am nothing — I have nothing even to fear... since I am nothing.