Friday, 29 March 1878

I go to the Opera with de Daillens, but since I sent none of the prepared letters, there is even less chance of meeting anyone at all. Indeed the house is as tedious as could be.
I have built myself such a balcony that I am taken for Mlle de Reszké (singer at the Opera) when I enter the box where Multedo is to be found. After a few insignificant skirmishes to the right and left, Multedo is amusing enough to make me witty. After several turns in the corridors we return to the box (I had rid myself of de Daillens by pointing out her sculptor to her), and I seat myself in the front with my escort behind me.
Thereupon begins a marivaudage that lasts until half past four in the morning. My gloves are covered with a triple layer of the most passionate kisses in the world. I wonder how a man can spend himself in this fashion for nothing. He has sense enough, however, to admit that it would be absurd to call himself in love with me without knowing my face — though he guesses it (!) — but that no woman has ever stirred him and made him suffer as I have.
He suffered so wholeheartedly, fell to his knees with such enthusiasm, implored me not to abandon him, to see him again, to make myself known to him with such ardour, and kissed my hands with such... all manner of things, that I took genuine pleasure in it.
At every moment I had to free myself and draw back; yet despite this, that mad head rested on my lap, and that arm which has served so often was about my waist. These charming and so very pure scenes took place at the back of the box. I do not feel defiled. I was well padded, and the domino is a shield that lets nothing through.
My supple yet proper conduct and my repartees lead him to guess who I am, but I do not let myself be caught by any ruse, and, quite unmoved, I let him talk about the charming young Russian girl whose acquaintance he made ten days ago.
By four o’clock I was already wanting to leave, but I lingered until nearly five so as not to go to bed at all. But what is perfectly mad is that having found the sculptor’s lady again, who was already on her own — for a long while, perhaps — we go to supper at Voisin’s.
I neither eat nor speak. Multedo tells de Daillens how well I know how to defend myself, and that he has had more pleasure in kissing my gloves than in the kisses of all the women he has met in years.
crossed outHe finds that I am a strange creature and rather different in town from the one under the mask [illegible]
I draw, he says, a circle about myself and erect in conversation a barrier that is impossible to cross — without a mask.
Whereupon de Daillens, in very good humour, remarks that men are made for crossing barriers. O sculptor!
Whereas under the mask, she crosses that boundary herself — in words, needless to say.
It is very amusing.
He has recognised me, but since we admit nothing there are a thousand ways of arranging matters — though I am vexed at the adventure.
We return home at six o’clock, in broad daylight!
Multedo is not a Bonapartist for nothing — he has all those rather Italian and charming ways that the men of the party have with women.
My mothers are horrified at the early hour of my return; I know myself that I have committed a great and pointless imprudence, and that is why, swallowing all my remorse, I take a bath, a cup of coffee, and go to work at the atelier.
Multedo has something... only I cannot picture him at all as a man, but only as a husband. That is rather foolish, but in drawing as in everything else one has one’s own feelings.
I have brought back as a trophy... the cravat of this Multedo, which I whipped off him in an instant at the moment of departure — and he followed us for some forty paces, clinging to the carriage door, without his cravat.
But listen — I have just understood at this very moment: he had paid for the carriage, and once I had gone in, that carriage remained a few minutes at the door. No doubt to see whether I had only gone in to come straight out again. That, my good woman, is what you get up to.