Wednesday, 24 October 1883

Everything in me is imagination — follow the process... I see Bastien-Lepage and I think he pleases me (at the last visit); the next day it passes. A few days later I say to myself: well, and Jules — do I no longer think of him? Not at all. A few more days and again: if I thought of him like this, for nothing, let me think of him. And I think of him, and then it went on and on and on — and here I am, intimate with this man, intimate, very intimate, thinking of him every minute to the point of exhaustion, almost of revulsion. And now this man, this stranger... Well, I am [crossed out: more or less] astonished to find that reality does not follow the dream, and... vexed... If I see him I shall feel awkward, for I shall not know what to say to a being who has not left my side for a single second during weeks on end, and who is in reality [crossed out: barely] a mere acquaintance — who would be very surprised indeed if anyone told him... [In the margin: But these are simply Stendhal's crystallisations, the famous crystallisations.]¹ But if I did not think of him, of whom would I think? For I must tell you, I always need something — no matter what — for the stories I tell myself in a whisper before falling asleep at night. It has no other importance, and it is not like someone who is imposed upon one — true love, finally. Only this: I think the architect ought to have written to me, or if he is in Paris, come to see me... People whom I think of so often, and who do without me with such ease... Well then. Ingrates, all of them. This evening we have the Baron Clayst from Petersburg to dinner; he brought us sweets on behalf of Baroness Derschau, who is none other than Mme Markevitch, of whom I have spoken often in 1873 and '74 at Nice. I used to call her Solominka² — which means a wisp of straw — she was dreadfully thin. Now she is remarried, happy, plumped up; she saw Maman in Petersburg and writes me a tender letter full of memories, affection, and admiration — she makes a great show of admiring me excessively, so I took care to be ravishing before this gentleman. I may not have charmed him, but I was as good as I can be, and witty, and he seemed delighted by everything I said. There was also Saint-Amand and the Karageorgevitches; the Princess comes nearly every day to play cards with my aunt. Ah! You think I am afraid of Jules Bastien-Lepage? That I shall be awkward before him, perhaps? Let him come, and you shall see. You shall see that he will remain a little boy, and that I shall be utterly indifferent to his prestige. Ah! You think I shall always be foolish? Just wait and see. Lord, if only he could come while I am in this frame of mind! No matter — I shall persist in a month, always. I must shake off this torpor. Besides, let him come and you shall see — I shall be at my ease.