Friday, 3 May 1878

This afternoon I drew Dina’s figure, which is horribly difficult but interesting. Three years ago at Nice I found her bust ill-made because I had seen only my own; and now that I have seen fifty models I have changed my opinion — I find that Dina may be classed among the women well made — and easily.
The Swiss girls find that from the waist up I am absolutely perfect; it is true that I have only seen in antique sculpture a bust so upturned. From the waist down these same Swiss girls find me simply ugly — for my hips are much too large and my feet too small for such a curved pelvis. These imperfections humiliate me a little, but I console myself with the thought that they are defects greatly appreciated by modern taste.
The Russian priest came; I had to leave my drawing and go with him to Papa’s.
That dog Cassagnac was supposed to write to arrange to come to dinner, so that Maman should not know of our visit. It is already Friday — I have sent to ask him about it. What a great Newfoundland of a creature!
Before I did not believe it; now I believe he is as mad as I am. Poor me — I had imagined a thousand excellent things of him; now I suppose a thousand villainies. He has accepted money from women; he is a vulgar insulter, an impudent creature, a... Etc., etc.
I believe him capable of wicked things — myself as well.
There are moments when one would send the intellectual furnace, glory, and painting all to the devil, to go and live in Italy — to live on sunshine, music, and love.
Cursed Paris.
crossed out[Several words crossed out]
The newspapers described our Easter, the embassy supper, and we are mentioned by name. I know it is thanks to little Karageorgevitch, who spends his life among journalists.