Sunday, 15 June 1884

That creature Hayem came this morning. He advises me to ask two thousand five hundred francs for the Meeting.
I told you I believe a firm called Oppé & Co. enquired about the price. They are major dealers. I was foolish enough to say six thousand francs — and naturally I have received no reply. These are people who buy to resell, and six thousand francs for a tradesman is steep. Hayem says that Montenard, a man of recognised talent, has told him he likes my painting enormously, and has been complimenting him on my account.
He is accepting congratulations for having discovered me! Filthy Jew. Meanwhile he keeps circling without deciding anything.
I am beginning to dislike Julian a little. My affections and hatreds are slow to form. Several blows are needed, and then a moment comes when I reckon up and add them together. This soup-merchant has always said stupid things about me under the pretence of recounting the eccentricities of “this extraordinary nature.” He was never a friend — to begin with he thought God knows what, things in the style of the world he frequents, demi-mondaines, Cartwrights and the like. And besides, he is the sort of person before whom someone could say I had gone dancing at a low suburban dance hall — he would not leap up, he would say neither yes nor no. We have made peace now, but the kind of peace I have with my family: disdainful indifference. He is not as foolish as my family, but he has given me many disillusionments. Very coarse underneath.
Whereas Tony is decent, if limited — but Julian is limited too, only he is more modern, he knows what is being said on the boulevard and he adores Balzac. No, I have no friends. There is the architect, but he is more than limited — though he is a very loyal nature, a good fellow.
The Canroberts? If you like — but I do not give myself entirely to them; it takes time. Yes, time. There is certainly sympathy or antipathy at first sight, but after that there is a very long process.
There are also people who at first say nothing to you — take Emile. And Julian: it was after some months that I began to enjoy his conversation; I was foolish enough to be flattered because he supposed me more perverse than I was. And then little by little I came to see that he is not as clever as all that.
In the Bois, I am in grey and pretty. In the days when I went for a walk every day I always had some face I hoped to meet. I go and do not look — no one interests me. Do you remember Italy? All in all I regret nothing — that past time was not happier, only different... And yet... it was gayer; I busied myself with the young men...