Saturday, 17 May 1879

I did not want to show my painting, but the great Tony asked to see it, pointing out that he would be of no use to me unless I showed him my masterpieces.
Well, there is much that is good in the aforesaid painting, and all things considered it goes well. But Breslau, who made a mess of her head, has painted her figure study, which is ten times “not bad.” And then this girl knows artists, and several take an interest in her, whereas I know only my Tony and Julian. This throws my whole day into confusion; and if you add to that the foolishness I committed in saying I pay by the month rather than subscribing — which costs double — people will say I am buying Julian; and then Maman commits an even greater one by telling Madame Gavini that she had ordered a hat from her, and now the canoness has entered the picture. The canoness was waiting for Mother Gavini, and I invited her up.
There was also the Baronne de Wykerslooth (Jeanne), and the Comtesse de Souza. Multedo, de Jobal, and then Madame de Bailleul, who promises to take me to Gambetta’s first reception — but she is a windbag! Berthe, Pavon, and Madame Goldsmid.
Well! My family does not make me particularly happy in the matter of all these things that are so important — the cleanliness of the mind, as the bath is the cleanliness of the body. Blunders, awkwardnesses, stupidities — no end of them!
But here is an article in L’Estafette about Gambetta... what if I were to fall to adoring Gambetta? That is quite possible...
Rosalie encountered Popaul, and I asked her whether he was alone.
Naturally. Just as I have trained my dogs to come running when I ring, I train Rosalie to answer me when I put this question, and he was alone: “Yes, mademoiselle — with his dishonour,” in the manner of The Favourite, or else “for mademoiselle he was with his dishonour.”
And Gambetta... he is an angel... and then he has such a charming secretary... Gavini calls him my “admirer” — if only that were truly so.
I picture him as a hero from Balzac — handsome as an angel, intelligent as an angel, a genius in short. I picture many things in my solitude... This morning I imagined that I loved Popaul and was loved by him, with a matchless love; that he was killed in a duel, and that I died on the spot — and then no, that I consoled myself. In any case it gave me emotions. I shall think of it as I fall asleep, if painting permits.
We called on Collignon and I was greatly struck by her poor, dilapidated home. Her parents keep a sort of furnished lodging house in the Passage Marbeuf; they are very simple people, and her father wore wooden clogs and was sweeping the courtyard. And Collignon, who was a lady’s companion to the daughter of the Viceroy of Egypt, and who is so elegant, so distinguished, so well-bred! Truly her lot is a sad one, and if it were not for that little monster Oelsnitz I would take her into our household and all would be for the best in the best of all possible worlds.

Notes

Donizetti’s opera (1840). ↩
In Italian in the original: patito (an admirer, a devoted suitor). ↩
Voltaire, Candide (1759): Pangloss’s refrain that «all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds». ↩