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 town houses. And on top of all that, the Communards (they arrive every month). And this devilish good health of mine 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 atelier; I trembled with delight as I walked through it — for the mere sight of a great well-lit atelier 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. 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 middling existence 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 a prominent existence, eventful 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 pass that money off as the dowry.
With Gambetta — oh! A host of things; even the other one. 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 himself be in Gambetta’s position. Such is the nonsense I busy 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 anything else on trust — but in my heart, my soul, my mind, I am a Republican.
Preservation of titles; equality before the law; all other equality is impossible. Respect for the old families, honours to foreign princes. Protection of the arts; luxury and elegance.
These dynasties, these ministers who take root and rot in place, infesting the country — these court protections... That is the misfortune, that is the ruin. Whereas a leader constantly renewed, changed, ministries swept away often, officials given fresh air — now that is what makes a country fresh and rosy and healthy and consequently capable of anything, if it has intelligence; and that is one thing the French will not lack.
They reproach the Republic with blood, with mud, and a thousand other fine things. What the devil — look at the beginnings of everything, especially when half the country spoils, obstructs, and fights. Several attempts have failed; there were Napoleonic memories, there was Saint Helena. What is there now?... The barren M. de Chambord; after him the Orléans... the Orléans do not amuse me — one does not love debased, bastardised things. As for Napoleon III, he has forever ruined his line. The Republic of today is the true one — long awaited, definitive, a blessing of heaven arrived at last. What do a few freethinkers matter? They exist under every regime. What do the exaggerations employed to arrive at the right measure matter? One receives anyone at all — but is the country a salon? Let party men choose their guests; but the Republic is not a party, it is the whole country, and the more people come to it, the wider it will open its arms, and when everyone has come there will be neither proscribed nor abandoned nor chosen — there will be no more parties. There will be France, and then those who are at fault will be punished, but not disowned — how could they be?
Does a criminal stain the whole country? Does a wicked man ruin a city? One stands aside from him, one punishes him — but one does not [sentence unfinished]
For the present the Republic has too much to do to concern itself with individuals — it is busy bringing everyone together, and afterwards if someone is a thief his punishment will be inflicted, but without telling him to go to the devil or turn Bonapartist.
What are these party ideas? There should be none.
Republics are reproached, as if it were a crime, for having scoundrels in their ranks — yet what nation has none? The Republic is not a salon, a coterie. If all of France were to become Legitimist or Imperialist — would they all be pure, all without stain?
Good night — I am rambling because I am in the devil of a hurry.