Saturday, 15 November 1879

My painting is going much better. At three o'clock I go to Tony's and while looking for his address at M. Boulanger's (the painter) it happens that I pass in front of 10 bis rue de Boulogne, Boulanger being at 6 bis. Tony is truly very good, he did not tell me much more than the other day, but with amplifications, and then he showed me around his atelier and put himself at my disposal for anything I might want with a truly charming good grace, and strongly approving the renting of the atelier. He even promises to come see about the arrangements, the lighting, etc. When he arrives at the atelier he says neither hello nor goodbye, so I wanted to laugh when he carried down the canvases he is giving me to copy to my carriage while tipping his hat.
I write with my latest painting before my eyes... it is the first that causes me a certain emotion. It is still very weak but there is already something that sings in it...
This evening dinner. M. and Mme Gavini, M. de Morgan, Count Chaudordy, M. Gery, the Princess and her two sons. Bojidar has just passed his baccalaureat. The dinner is very gay, the evening too, during which M. and Mme Berthe arrive. I have the old men pay court to me, I flirt, I speak of Emile de Girardin, of politics, I insinuate myself, I intrigue... Gavini and Gery make me understand many things from "Eugene Rougon" by Zola. A woman who has nothing to lose is a powerful creature and one can do many things with mature men... You see, if I wanted and if these two old men were more important I could wrap them around my finger very easily... But... there it is, it would be useless and besides I would risk too much.
Young Gabriel did not come, alleging his examination for embassy secretary, but his father and Mother Gavini brutally reveal that he has something on his neck that had to be cut. A stupid illness, in short, I know the name, but I cannot say nor write those common and repulsive things that everyone says everywhere.
I admire Zola but there are things that everyone says and that I cannot bring myself to say, nor even to write, yet so that you do not think they are horrors I will tell you that the strongest is the word to purge.
I am sorry to place such a word here, I do not hesitate to say riffraff nor other things of that sort, but as for these little innocent dirty things, they disgust me.
Poor Gabriel, what an unworthy digression on his account.
Last year Multedo had the same thing and he came with a little square of English plaster on his nape to tell Maman that they had cut it that morning and that he saw his blood flow, and as Maman said nothing he added with self-satisfied vanity that it was blood "red, brilliant, rich, powerful." No doubt to persuade her to entrust her daughter's happiness to him.
What abominable horror! I was listening at the door.