Thursday, 25 March 1880

I give the last touches to the painting, but I can no longer work; there is nothing more to do, or everything to do over. It is finished, for something done in a rush. My painting is one meter seventy centimeters high with the frame.
The young woman is seated before a table covered in old-green plush of a very rich tone, and leaning on her right hand, elbow resting on the table, reads in a book beside which is placed a bouquet of violets. The white of the book, the tone of the plush, and the flowers beside the bare arm make a good effect. The woman is in a morning gown of very pale blue damask, a muslin fichu with old lace. The left hand falls naturally on the knees and seems barely to hold a paper knife.
The chair is in dark blue plush and the background is otter-skin drapery. The background and the table are very good. The head is three-quarters view. Dina's adorable golden-blond hair is undone; the skull is outlined and the hair falls down her back, half braided.
At half past three M. and Mme Gavini arrive. We thought it was impossible to let Marie's painting depart without seeing it. It is the departure of a first child. They are good people. He, Gavini, accompanies me to the Palace of Industry in a carriage, while two men carry the canvas. All this makes me hot, cold, and frightened, as at a funeral.
And then, those great halls, the ground-floor hall for sculpture, paved with sand, the staircases. It makes the heart beat. While they go to fetch my receipt and my number, they bring in the portrait of M. Grevy by Bonnat, but they place it near a wall and the daylight prevents seeing it. In the whole room there is only the Bonnat, the me, and a frightful yellow background. The Bonnat seems good to me, and I am quite astonished to see the me there.
It is my first debut, an independent, public act. One feels alone on an eminence surrounded by water, like the country where I shall reign. My water tower, I call it... well, it is done; my number is 9091. "Mademoiselle Marie Constantin Russ." I hope it will be accepted. I send the number to Tony. I also communicate to him what the fortune-teller said yesterday about him, for he had given me some of his hair cut with a penknife. He is very anxious about his ceiling. The good woman says there will be delay but success, and she added that his mother is going to die -- which I do not tell him -- and that he works for the Government, and she described him physically. One does not know what to think. Granting that she had been told about me, how could she have guessed whose hair it was, since he had just given it to me following the prediction? And there will be a sale; I shall sell something, and a traveler will arrive from very far away. The work I have just done will succeed; I do not have enough confidence in myself. You will be rich, a millionaire. You will remember Mme Jacob; all I want in the world is the position of concierge at your house. And let me tell you that people will enjoy making love with you.