Wednesday, 8 November 1882

I shall go mad! Only four months remain before the Salon... Have I been preparing for it? I would need six months just to recover!
No one understands the state this puts me in. It is literally enough to drive one mad! And nobody here understands any of this! These people are deplorable — they are not of my kind. They are a hundred thousand leagues from suspecting what the love of art could be — or even simply ambition!!
It is enough to dash one's head against a wall. They think I am living, that I exist! That this can go on. They seem to find it natural that I have not yet killed myself; they think I ought to be enjoying myself, and it is that thought which puts me in inexpressible rages. Oh — I shall never come here again. Never, never — I shall not waste another day. Ah, what a lesson! Where is [words blacked out: the anxiety] that could replace the intellectual pleasures I am depriving myself of — what Pomar is worth...
Oh — never, never, never.
If I cry out it is not because I have failed — truly, one cannot say I have failed; it is almost the contrary... Only my life is over there; here I shall go mad.
And then — O mad creature, imbecile, stupid and ignorant, presumptuous and foolish — I am all of that, for I should well know that one never finds a Pomar by looking for one; those things happen of themselves; whereas if I do not work, I shall have only to die; and one gets there only by working ceaselessly and consistently. I no longer know what I am saying.
We went to return the call of Mme and Mlle Moller, who live at the Governor's — the Governor himself came immediately into the drawing room and is said to be intelligent. Then to M. and Mme Abaza — Abaza is a former millionaire, and his house in Poltava strongly resembles a palace. There is even a piece of Carrara marble and a painting by Aivazovsky.
This evening to the theatre — an amateur performance; the house is full, we have two boxes. Mme Abaza and Mlle Moller come to see us, and then we [words blacked out: go to see] people in the corridors — it is the done thing; I go to make a better impression, because last year I was seen at the theatre in a travelling dress and looking very plain. Everyone is there and no one is.
And then.

Notes

Ivan Aivazovsky (1817–1900): the great Russian-Armenian marine painter, the most celebrated Russian artist of his era. His seascapes were enormously popular and widely collected by the provincial gentry. Owning one was a marker of wealth and cultural aspiration.