Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 17 April 1880

We dine at the Mirandas'. A charming mezzanine in a new building, comfortable service, a well-kept household; elegant guests.
Monsieur and Madame Brocheton (extremely wealthy bankers who move in the best circles; they called on us the other day). M. and Mme So-and-So, then another gentleman I don't know — a young, very wealthy Spanish diplomat who came to the house — then M. Heredia de Lavermor, secretary at the Spanish embassy; M. de Rojas; Maman; and I.
But in the middle of dinner my head begins to swim; I see everything spinning around me and barely have time to rush to the drawing room to see myself in a mirror, pale as a corpse, and then to throw myself into an armchair in the bedroom and half faint.
It is a delicious sensation — but it would have been better to have it at home. Five minutes later I was as gay and strong as possible.
A pleasant evening; we danced among ourselves. M. de Rojas (minister from Venezuela) — a widower with a daughter, like Miranda — waltzed... as did everyone else, except Maman and Mme So-and-So. Then Mme Brocheton, who is beautiful and charming, and I improvised nonsense at the piano on a libretto that M. Heredia was improvising at the same time.
But in the afternoon I spent a good hour at Tony's, where I was introduced to Robert-Fleury père, who was most amiable and told me he spent four years drawing before painting. After the father left, we talked, and I smoked a cigarette.
As for the painting I brought, he found it good and told me to continue. Julian also said that with my Salon piece it is the greatest effort I have made....