Wednesday, 14 April 1880

For two or three days now Cassagnac has been the father of a son — an important event, since the child will perhaps present himself one day as a candidate for the clerical, Jesuitical, and ultramontane Empire.
I truly believe we Jérômistes are not many in number.
Let us count: the Leader himself, Mme de Cauroy, J. Lachaud, Philis, Adelon, Pascal, Détroyat, and I! Admirable. The good Bonapartists (the pious ones), in their hatred of my Prince, almost treat the great Napoleon as a tyrant, an ogre, a monster.
My admiration for the Prince's letter having moderated somewhat, I have just reread it: it is very fine, but it flatters no obsession — not the bourgeois obsession, nor the clerical, nor the red — and that is precisely why I am alone in admiring it sincerely.
The Bonaparte princes protest — the cardinal, Prince Lucien, and so on.
Why does 'Popaul' not adopt Prince Lucien as candidate? He is the elder brother of the Emperor and consequently has more rights than anyone — even more than Napoleon I himself, since the said First was only the second brother and usurped the Consulate and Empire to the detriment of his elder.
I take such pains and cannot achieve what I want... O painting.
Paul telegraphs, perhaps for the thirtieth time, to Maman — and this time here is what he says:
— If you wish to see me alive, come before Easter; if not, all is lost; the Patchenkos are leaving for Tiflis for five months. Have pity. —
But his dear good mother will probably not have pity — I know them, my dear members of my dear family.
It is better to be wicked than to be like those people.
Soutzo sends strawberries on their stems and four cucumbers, all arranged in a box of green wood — a real garden.
Yesterday we heard Patti in Don Pasquale. That opera almost bores me, and the singer shines less than usual in it.
I have boldly swept all my hair up, which is a thousand times better than the low chignon — one sees the nape, the ears, and the curls at the top of the head are so becoming. With a sleeveless white foulard gown, cut very high on the shoulders, long suede gloves, and a white rose at the bodice — a rose like those in the garlands of the dead — all this gives one an air of the Directory, the Consulate, of Récamier... It amuses me; it is so pretty to dress in the Greco-French style, and one wears so many different things nowadays that it is perfectly possible.
Tomorrow I shall wear my Adam ball costume. I would have preferred simply crêpe de Chine and white roses — these trimmings displease me — but when one has been foolish enough to pay thirteen hundred francs for a Worth creation, one must wear it at least once. No matter: it lacks looseness, truth, art — like everything Worth makes. At the next ball I shall dress as a true Greco-French. A white dress, sash beneath the breast, sandals, and nothing in the hair; tomorrow I shall perhaps be triumphant — but not enough of a goddess — simple, chaste, and bare.
Madame de Fitz-James paid a call on Maman.