Saturday, 9 August 1884

These ladies took a small ice-box to the rue Legendre. He had been wanting one that could be set near the bed.
I only hope he does not think we are showering him with gifts to wheedle a painting out of him.
My own painting is roughed out in colour. But I am not feeling strong. I must rest often by lying down, and when I get up each time my head spins and for a few seconds I cannot see.
In fact it has got so bad that I left a canvas at about five o’clock to go to the Bois through the deserted streets. People talk to me of nothing but Bastien. It is a grim sort of distraction for the summer season.
How hot it is! One is stupefied and all the silliest tunes fill one’s head.
Claire has infected me, like an obsession, with her two lines set to Gounod’s Air du soir...
“Jonas seated in his whale
Said: ‘ah! how I should like to get out.’
It is delightful, but nobody can tell me how it goes on; how annoying! So I am composing it myself, and you shall see whether it is any good.
Jonas seated in his whale
Said: Ah! how I’d like to get out! One may have leisure and to spare, But staying here just makes me low; I’ve been here three days now or so And start to find it hard to bear; I’m parted from my loves, and so I want to leave! Oh, mother dear! Not to mention my anguish is vast, For if I’m ever out at last, It means this misshapen carcass here Has driven me mad... or worse by far.

Notes

Gounod’s song L’Air du soir. ↩