Thursday, 30 August 1883

We go by carriage to Jouy; my aunt and Dina leave again and I remain for a few days. I resign myself to it as to a penance — [Crossed out: especially] all the more as… I am searching for a fitting and brief term with which to speak of my misfortune.
I shall never grow accustomed to it — and at my age, a young woman… it is monstrous.
At moments I do not believe it — it is a dream.
I am dead — I no longer exist. Pride, coquetry…
And to think that I have pretensions — good heavens!
Jean-Jacques Rousseau… that proves nothing. It is enough to make one kill oneself — yet I am resilient; another woman in my place would have killed herself already.
But I struggle on. And I think of Bastien-Lepage, who no doubt retained of me only this… defect. I should only appear at large gatherings, where there is noise — then it is not noticed.
In Russia, you know — the last time, with the little princes, I was not at a disadvantage. But in intimate company…
The poor Marshal has had his carriage accident — they say it will be nothing, but at that age.
In the evening the Maréchale sits down at the piano and the boys sing old soldiers' songs. The Maréchale is still very beautiful, a model of all the virtues — [blacked out: she manages to follow] her old warrior, raises her children to perfection with a broad and modern spirit, runs her household in the English fashion; her garden is filled with the rarest flowers, whose names she knows, and which she waters herself each evening.
She must have some stupid side that I have not yet discovered — yet it is possible she is truly admirable.
But to come back to myself — I find myself so unjustly crushed that I am proud of it; I tell myself it cannot be, and that in sum it is magnificent. Yet it has given me white hair — and a blonde woman at that!
For three years!…
I have been doing sculpture for a few months, working only three hours a day and not every day — and my current sculpture is the equal of my painting, if not superior to it.
I would need to watch someone work — I work entirely alone and have never watched anyone model; nothing teaches like seeing it done.
Life is nothing but a fabric of misery. All is dust. Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas. Life is but a passage. What is the use?
I can now aspire only to glory or to intimate happiness — the life of everyone is no longer possible for me. My God, help me and forgive me.

Notes

Vanity of vanities, all is vanity. Ecclesiastes 1:2.