Thursday, 22 August 1878

I am beginning to believe that no one will ever have the patience to read this manuscript. This morning I bought the photograph of Paul de Cassagnac — he is seated, composed, like the statue of the Republic in M. de Marcère's speech. I have placed it on the mantelpiece beside Gambetta, and I must admit that he disturbs me more than Gambetta does.
Moved to reread my Memoirs, I read a few pages concerning the Deceased — I could not continue, disgusted a little... with everything. Do not think me idiotic enough to devour this photograph with my eyes; I have barely glanced at it, and I see it in passing through my salon, no more than I see Gambetta.
But a single instant was enough to see that my fears about his corpulence are exaggerated, and that it was not only his character that charmed me. I had the sensation that he was about to speak, and I blushed. That enormous, beautiful, insolent, composed face had the privilege of commanding my respect — I felt a certain emotion every time he opened his mouth... If it were permitted, I should be mad about him.
I have a silver tea service always in my salon, and a spirit lamp, so that I need call on no one. A Russian embroidered napkin, a silver tray. A small bell... A Japanese vase for brushes. Any quantity of books, pamphlets, prints, photographs of every kind. I buy trifles here and there, but all antique or well-made modern pieces — so you will find not a single ordinary young girl's knick-knack. On the mantelpiece, a terracotta figure and my plaster écorché, which has the air of blessing the room.

Notes

"The Deceased" (le Défunt) is Marie's sardonic code-name for Paul de Cassagnac — dead to her romantic hopes since his marriage.
An écorché (literally, "flayed one") is an anatomical study figure showing the musculature beneath the skin, standard equipment for art students learning figure drawing.