Sunday, 17 August 1879

Last night there were yearnings, prayers... so that I almost expected to read in this morning’s papers of the death of Cassagnac’s wife... Why not say things bluntly?
On the beach with the Princes Karageorgevitch. MM. Colonna and de Plancy. In the evening a concert, and as we come out we see M. Lachaud fils with Prince Victor. Naturally we are very gracious with Lachaud the better to see the Prince who is very tall and who has an extraordinary gaze. At seventeen one’s looks cannot yet be fully formed, but I believe he will be very handsome, especially handsome with that grave and gentle majesty which is already his principal trait and which clashes a little with his seventeen years. The nose is a bit short, a little more and it would be too short. I do not know how to explain here, how to launch into a host of philosophical, metaphysical, and even mystical reflections;
but just as the anxious, frail and almost suffering air of the Saint Louis of the Imperial family said: He will not reign! so the calm gravity and the absolutely extraordinary eye of the one I saw this evening say: He will reign! Never has a ruffian or a bourgeois had that gaze, profound and troubling like the sea when one looks at it from the deck of a ship. But when I stare at the water like that I am fascinated and I want to throw myself in. The eyes of the future Emperor finally make me understand what the poets mean when they compare eyes with the waves. Only I believe the comparison is shamefully overused, for until now the Prince’s are the only eyes I have seen that are like that. They say these eyes are black, they seemed to me without definite colour but literally profound and fascinating like the sea.
Cassagnac’s eyes are black and adorable but it is entirely different and even I could not find in them anything predestined or fateful as in the eyes of Napoleon I. Cassagnac has a magnetic gaze under which one feels oneself melting and under which one would want to die... I do not say this from love but simply because I think it would be an agreeable sensation.
Cassagnac is very handsome. There are women who find M. de Janzé handsome. M. de Janzé is of medium height, well-built, blond, with blue eyes, rosy cheeks a little brick-coloured; dressed to perfection. But you can picture the difference. Cassagnac is a knight of the Middle Ages or a lord of the League or, better still, of the Fronde. He is also an Imperialist deputy, defender of the Bonaparte family and of the Imperial regime and his struggles and scandals will perhaps seem interesting to those living three hundred years from now, just as the distant epochs of which I have just spoken charm us, we modern bourgeois. I regret having spoken of him in vulgar terms in this journal but I always took the point of view of his detractors and tried to find merits in him even while thinking as they did. The heroes who charm us reach us summed up in history or in novels and stripped of everything bourgeois that real life holds in every age. Yes, but there is Mother Couvelet and the Acard girl and the little brother-in-law.
I did a quick sketch of Bojidar. Nulla dies sine linea.

Notes

In Latin in the original — “No day without a line,” the artist’s motto attributed to the Greek painter Apelles. ↩