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, just as I see Gambetta.
But a single instant was enough to see that my fears about his corpulence are exaggerated well founded, 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 keeping me in awe — 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 never need to ring for anyone. A Russian embroidered napkin, a silver tray. A small bell... A Japanese vase for brushes. A great 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.
A tiny Japanese cup.
I am prolix and impossible.

Notes

“The Deceased” (le Défunt) is Marie’s name for Paul de Cassagnac after his marriage (27 June 1878). ↩
An écorché (literally, “flayed one”) is an anatomical study figure showing the musculature beneath the skin, standard equipment for art students learning figure drawing. ↩