Sunday, 10 February 1878

Paul de Cassagnac was expected to dine; he had sent word that he would come late, but at around eight o'clock we receive a second letter in which he says that his sister having been confined, he is accompanying his mother, who is leaving at once — his father having intended to go but being detained, he will go instead.
I was dressed in an original and charming fashion; my hair was done as well as possible.
A pity. Berthe was already there and, since we had begun laughing before the letter arrived, we continued laughing after — perhaps even too much, to disguise our vexation before Blanc. And straightaway I began crying aloud, in the most extravagant terms, what I had thought to myself in far less violent ones. It is Blanc who receives it all; I warned him moreover that, being three disappointed women, we would be violent — and that at the same time we feared he might be violent with us, as he had been with the Hungarian woman. This song, with infinite variations, is sung until midnight.
If Popaul had been there, I could not have been madder.
After some foolishness I refused to speak, and as this vexed me greatly at dinner I went and fetched my mandoline and played until dessert.
"The father and mother Badinguet, two sous the lot" — and then
Ah! how fine he is, how truly magnificent.
Ah! how fine he is, my superb Nubian.
I was weeping myself.
The tableau was rather pretty besides — Dina, Berthe, and myself, above all myself, were nearly in costume, with fruit, a mandoline, all manner of nonsense.
I write a letter to Coulommiers (Seine-et-Marne):
The families Bashkirtseff, Romanoff, Babanine, Boyd, Blanc, etc. etc. are delighted to learn that Popaul's political leisure allows him to embrace a profession perhaps more useful to France than that of deputy.
Hallelujah.
[Written across the page: Blanc did not send this letter.]
And then, suddenly seized by inspiration, I began to play the piano, to sing accompanied by the harp, then to pluck the guitar and scrape the mandoline.
I am either tedious or mad. This surprising gaiety saved me from the disagreeable aftertaste that a disappointment of this sort leaves behind.
I also detest, so very much, my mothers meddling in my affairs and inviting my friends. I detest it so, so, so much!

Notes

"Badinguet": derogatory nickname for Napoleon III, derived from the workman whose clothes he wore while escaping from Ham prison in 1846. The song was a popular republican taunt.