Thursday, 7 August 1879

in the marginnote de Marie sur la page de titre du Livre 86
Drawing, 3 October 1879 Painting, 30 September 1878 Received medal, 14 January 1879 27 June 1878 Verdi – Prince Imperial Oboe Letters to Jeanne, Daillens, Gavini.
[Two lines crossed out]
I expected to do something altogether different in this world from what I am doing in it, and since it is not what I thought, it matters little to me what it may be.
What a face and what a gaze. What exquisite kindness and what charm.
What then is “beauty and distinction” beside such a face and those two velvet eyes, fiery, caressing, proud... extraordinary.
He turned around to look at us, hesitated a moment, then removed his hat after looking me full in the face as if he had at last recognised me. And as the carriages were moving quickly that was all; but that face lit for an instant by that divine smile plunged me into an indefinable feeling. Is it possible that the soul which so illuminates these features could be common or base? One is seized by the ravishing kindness radiating from those eyes and that almost childlike smile on that great arrogant face produces a striking effect, that one is seized.
A great crowd at the Bois, any number of familiar faces, which is always amusing. M. de l’Ariège is a handsome young man but tries too hard to be stylish and I really fear he is vain and foolish.
This evening at the de Lesseps’. Mme de Lesseps sent me roses and a crystal vase with a most gracious letter. At the end of the evening we stayed, eight or ten of us at most, until half past one in the morning. Maman, Dina, Berthe, her husband; the famous explorer de Brazza, the old fool Maufras, Colonna, and two more men, including one Hecht, a financier, a Jew and an intimate friend of Gambetta. I did not know him and Berthe was seated between us, so I began by saying to that ravishing creature: my dear, come fetch me tomorrow and let us walk to the Champs-Élysées, I want to see Gambetta up close.
At that moment Mme de Lesseps put Hecht at the piano and I went to listen to him. He is a musician to his fingertips. I do not think there are many who can give as much pleasure as he does in playing the piano. And I shall keep a fond memory of him because he played The Huguenots for me, emphasising, explaining, singing at half voice, I have only heard this opera once before and only half of it, with the Gavinis. I praised his talent.
“Do you hear, Monsieur, over there they are talking politics.”
“Yes indeed, I hear them tearing certain personages to shreds.”
“Yes,” I said, laughing.
“But you, Mademoiselle, I heard you tell your friend that you wanted to see someone up close...”
“Who, to whom? how?”
“Just now, over there.”
“I do not remember.”
“Oh, but you do! But tell me, is it from hostile or friendly curiosity?”
“If you are discreet I will tell you that it is from sympathy... but you know among my people they are so odd, they would blame me if I said it aloud.”
“Yes, and your newspapers tell you such nonsense that it is not surprising.”
Hecht is stout and short, rather of père Julian’s type; on the whole an agreeable man, and we chatted, and while speaking of “your people” and “my people” I let him understand that I was on their side, and he confessed to me afterwards that he had rarely met a woman with such broad ideas and so nimble a mind.
“He was a Bonaparte combined with a Spanish Jesuit,” he said of the Little Prince; “that man would have brought misfortune upon my country. His death showed us the measure of the sympathies people had for him, for them: they were very great, we rejoice at his death.”
“I see with joy that you render him justice, yet being on your side I feel for the legend of that child a sentiment which would be difficult for me to explain but which makes him sacred to me. And while being one of yours, I beg you to respect this weakness of mine and not to speak ill of the Prince who is dead... perhaps even because he is dead.”
The Jew understands this very well and attributes it to a sort of feminine mysticism...
Monsieur de Raymond sent me a book and Maufras believes I contribute to La Marseillaise, to L’Événement and to Le Figaro, which makes him gesticulate as extravagantly as usual.
I do hope that Bonapartism will sink. I desire it and the death of the Bonapartists.
Read Le Pays this evening. One reads there the honesty and loyalty of the smile which fascinated me today.

Notes

Henri Hecht, a Paris merchant and art collector and a friend of Gambetta. Marie identifies him here as Jewish; after he turns against the family in January 1880, «le Juif» becomes her usual name for him (see 16 January 1880, where she guesses that he had heard of her mother’s remark that a Russian woman would rather die than marry a Jew). Contempt for Jews was common in the Russian and French society of her day, and in the 1880s it became an organised cause in France, notably with Édouard Drumont’s La France juive (1886). ↩
Meyerbeer’s grand opera Les Huguenots (1836), about the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre; Marie writes les Huguenots. ↩
In Italian in the original: mezzo voce. ↩