Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Thursday, 12 February 1880

I lunch at Mme Gavini's, and we go together to the Chamber. The Amnesty: an exhausted question, but despite that, a great session; a first.
I had a note from Krishaber for M. Margaine the quaestor; we go to the hall of lost steps where we find the said quaestor, Janvier, Hamille, etc. At last, after numerous vicissitudes with Bescherelle, Margaine, etc., we find ourselves seated in the front row in the ministers' gallery, and this thanks to the amours of Janvier, who, unable to place his cocotte in the same box as Mme de Marcilly his friend, and having for the said cocotte only a ticket from the President of the Republic, is obliged to place her elsewhere and return the President's ticket to Bescherelle, who makes two of them for us. On the whole, this Margaine is an amiable man; in my haste I had opened the note from Krishaber where he said things so flattering to me that it was impossible to give it with an open envelope; I had to imitate the doctor's handwriting. Now you no doubt want my opinion of the orators. Well, the flowers of L. Blanc do not please me; he harps on the same thing at length. As for A. Proust, he began very well, but his concision and eloquence having won him great success, despite the hostility of the majority toward the amnesty he was demanding, he ended with bleating at every end of a phrase, which somewhat spoiled the whole. Casimir-Perier, a poor Clemenceau, although opposed to the Amnesty. Freycinet seemed at death's door. But the Right is not brilliant, alas! Haussmann, who greets me with head and hand, has aged greatly; Rouher is drowsy; and Madame Gavini sends them all to Sainte-Perrine.
Arnaud tried several times to ogle me, but I immediately took up my lorgnette and looked elsewhere to cover my face.
The Jew was in Gambetta's box, which he never stopped ogling, hoping for a greeting that I did not see granted. We saw each other without greeting.
What is droll is Courtes coming to beg me to defend Tarente and to show him a friendly face. Not to defend even a guilty man, when one can, is a cowardice, but to compromise and lose oneself uselessly is a stupidity.
"If people speak ill of him before you, Mademoiselle, defend him."
"All I can promise you, Monsieur, is not to speak of it. I scarcely know him; I can neither defend him nor attack him."
And how to defend him? Do you see me taking the defense of this gentleman whom I have seen a dozen times, whom I do not know, who is blacklisted, not for uncertain things, but unfortunately for being posted at the club, swindles, etc., etc.? What would people say, and what would they have the right to say? An old man, it would be possible, but a good-for-nothing of twenty-five who makes a profession of hunting for a dowry?! And then, what could I do about it?
"Nothing. It is that, you see, I explain all this to you because we are much attacked and I believe myself obliged to defend everyone."
The Pure and ineffable Gabriel has decided to send me a box of toys. A lacquer ball containing two heads that stick out their tongues and roll their eyes when one pulls a string.
A Chinese monster on a fishhook, titled in his charming handwriting: "freshwater vibrio (Arnaud)"; three bronze crabs of various sizes... A shoe containing a canopy, a snail, a frog, a serpent that hangs on a needle and turns, minuscule. A vase full of tea. A music box that plays the Marseillaise, a book of Homer in Greek with a Latin preface, and his photograph with these words: "Most respectful and devoted souvenir from the prompter to the baroness."
He has rounded his beard and parted his hair on the side instead of the former style, which was a la Joseph Arnaud, the hair almost cropped. He is too pretty in this portrait; in reality he is better than that. I would have liked to receive the objects not on the day I saw Arnaud; they attenuated each other.