Monday, 3 June 1878

A sleepless night, work since eight o'clock, and errands from two to seven in the evening... sometimes at the Salon, sometimes in search of houses. And on top of all that, the Communards (they ar
rive every month). And this devil of good health is of no use! This energy wears itself out being useful to nothing. I work... Oh! Fine achievement — seven to eight miserable hours a day that have no more effect on me than seven to eight minutes.
We visited a fine studio; I trembled with delight as I walked through it — for the mere sight of a great well-lit studio [words blotted: makes one believe] that one is about to create beautiful things.
Yet if everything had turned out differently — what a charming existence! We saw an architect who creates ravishing town houses, little palaces at modest cost.
Thus for 100,000 francs one gets a jewel of a house on the rue Fortuny, near the Parc Monceau. So for 250,000 francs one would have a perfectly suitable town house, with 100,000 francs for furnishing it. It is within our means — by selling the villa we would have another fifty thousand francs or so left over. [Words blotted: Just enough to cover the first] installations and give a few parties.
After that the income would suffice to maintain it all. On one hand my art, which would not be idle; on the other, other occupations. The whole with 70 to 80,000 francs a year. I would be content with such a life... wait! With whom? Do you think this modest scheme would appeal to me if I did not have in mind a partnership that would give it everything millions can give — vague celebrity, stir, an intelligent and elegant centre? There are two wretches in Paris capable of meeting those conditions.
You know them. With one of them there would perhaps be something like a kingship in the future; with the other one would confine oneself to sitting at the very foot of a throne... uncertain, problematic — but even if none of this came to pass, there would always have been an existence in prospect, agitated and amusing, not to mention a small thing that is a great deal... intimate happiness.
With Gambetta one would have more than 80,000 francs a year. He alone has as much, and I suppose that in getting married he would make use of everything he has stolen and put the money down as a dowry.
With Gambetta — oh! A host of things; the other too. I was about to say: but Gambetta is ugly — however, since I am becoming immoral, that argument no longer holds... Whereas with the other there would have been no others, since the other would be him in the Gambetta scenario. Such are the jokes I occupy myself with instead of going to sleep — it is ten o'clock and I need sleep.
Tomorrow I shall tell you seriously my true opinion — my intimate opinion, which is created neither by things nor by
men. I shall say it even tonight. Cassagnac or another can make me a Bonapartist or something else in word — but in my heart, my soul, my mind, I am a Republican.