Friday, 19 March 1880

Berthe came; Louis Enault arrived immediately after and praised my work. “Vigorous,” “virile.” And at a quarter to noon, Tony! Why did I not begin sooner? It is very pretty, it is ravishing, what a pity, etc., etc. In short, he reassures me, but I must ask for an extension.
It can be sent as it is, but it is not worth it -- “that is my sincere, private opinion.” Ask for an extension and you will do something fine. Then he rolls up his sleeves, takes the palette, and sweeps broad strokes here and there to show me that my picture lacks light. As for the muslin sleeve, he arranged it with such skill that I shall not touch it. But the rest I shall rework... if I get the extension. He stayed more than two hours. He is a charming fellow; I enjoy myself greatly and am in such good humour that I care little what happens to the painting. All in all, his sweeping strokes are an excellent lesson. At two o’clock I set off on my quest and Maman on hers. I take Dina with me; we go to the Chamber; I ask for M. Andrieux (so he may endorse my request to Turquet, the Under-Secretary for Fine Arts); they make me wait an hour in vain, so we go to the Prefecture of Police -- he is not there. Then I go to deliver a letter to Krishaber in which I explain what I need. When I get home I learn that the Prefect of Police came to our house to place himself at our disposal, and that Julian is at number 37 with Maman. Julian is delighted with the painting. “You are a real boy; nothing about you surprises me.” He had said all these fine things before Mme Simonidès, who had come to see my painting, and before Rosalie, in my absence.
I am all in a whirl and overjoyed even before I know the outcome of Maman’s approaches to Gavini, who wrote to Turquet. In short, I have my extension, a six-day extension. I do not know exactly whom to thank. But this evening I go to the Opera with the Gavinis; I thank Papa Gavini -- I believe it is to him that I owe it. I am radiant, triumphant, happy.
Saint-Amand, Nervo, Kiki, Las Cases, Géry senior, and two or three others. I make an impression in the house; people eye me through their opera glasses. But little by little I sink back into grey tones; it seems to me that Las Cases has drawn away from me. It is not that I care, but it makes one sad to feel one displeases someone. I see him very rarely, and he must not think that... I do not know what exactly; I am with him as with everyone else. But bah, these shadows had to come... the rain at the end of the fireworks. Gabriel is not in Paris; the ladies were mistaken. And his father resembles him; his father is very amiable, but the dark clouds make me sentimental and I should like to see him. What good would it do?
But really -- my painting! Julian is crazy about it; Tony too found it good in tone, harmonious, pretty, vigorous. And Julian adds that it is seductive and that the Swedish colourists at the atelier are fools to think that pretty colour comes down to a technique.
“Here is a brutal painter who has done something pleasing -- but not pleasing in the soft sense of the word -- something seductive.”
So I shall finish it!
What a tremendous day!
But I am sad... for a moment I felt so alone in that box, a sort of chill... yet old Adeline is still the same.