Saturday, 7 December 1878

Today is the invalidation of the Duc Decazes. We all go, with Paul and Gavini, who joins us on the way out and with whom we travel. I enjoyed being somewhat at home there, changing seats and recognising the great figures.
Politics is as intoxicating as gambling, but a hundred times more thrilling — even for women. Instead of taking a cab from the Chamber to the station, we took the omnibus, in which were M. Levert, a former prefect of Badinguet’s, and the Minister of the Interior, de Marcère. In fifty years it will be amusing to remember. I saw all these celebrities at very close quarters and spoke to the principal former grandees.
One ought to see the Left as well, but that is difficult. Today I observed the face of Gambetta and that of that monkey Clémenceau during the defence of the Duc Decazes (composed by that sly Gavini, who has worked so hard that he will be validated in spite of his opinions. A true Italian: if you asked him for the skin off his belly to make a drum, as d’Ariste said, he would answer that he would see, that he would think it over, and that it might perhaps be done) — so, I was observing those faces, and I swear to you it was curious. This devil of a Clémenceau is not as stupid as the Bonapartists look. In the way of Cassagnacs there is now only poor Robert Mitchell, who fainted yesterday coming down from the tribune. That great devil has heart disease, and on top of that lives at full steam.
I shall try through Gavini to make the acquaintance of the Left, and I shall laughingly propose to him that I do a little spying... why not? It is not loyal — how that phrase smacks of the deputy for Condom! Gavini is so shrewd that he will see no objection, and then, with great frankness, the way Cassagnac and I know how to use it, no one will see a thing. Not that I adore the Bonapartists — I do not care a fig for them; but as it is always more profitable to be in the opposition, I could do them this little service while saying to the others: these imbeciles think I am going to spy here, and they pay court to me. It bears studying. It is cowardly.
Yesterday evening Maman and my aunt went to the theatre with the Gavinis and made the acquaintance of Marshal Canrobert and M. de Bourgoing.
This official candidature gives rise at every moment to discussions of astonishing ineptitude. How is it that a solution has not at last been found, and that no one has laid down where the government’s right to designate its candidate ends and where electoral pressure begins? Such inanities are uttered on the subject, which it would be so simple to avoid! True, it is a subject for quibbling, but one could find more entertaining ones.

Notes

In French in the original: ci-devants, the Revolution’s word for the nobles of the old regime, used here in jest. ↩