Thursday, 29 July 1880

I am better, and here is something about my Prince [In the margin: Prince Jerome Bonaparte]; he is not an ordinary man, I assure you.
Is it not shameful that the petty grudges of the Tuileries on one side and party spirit on the other have always hindered this great intelligence, this eminent good sense, this political loyalty and this clear mind, these tendencies toward the grand, the clear, the decisive, and consequently toward the honest? Ah! I well understand that he does not have many friends. He does not flatter the passions of the moment, and if he ever has, it is because his [Crossed out: principles ideas happen] own ideas happened to agree with those passions, for the moment.
That man could have been very useful to his country, but I do not believe he will succeed in overcoming the stupid hostility that surrounds him and that must halt all his impulses to escape from the extraordinary situation he is in. He lacks that final boldness, that talent for presenting oneself that gives a definitive character to the merits one has. He is curt, brusque, even energetic, but he does not know how to present himself in a continuous, full, advantageous manner.
When he presents himself, it is by jerks, with interruptions, gaps, which means he shocks and displeases all those who do not know what he really is. And they are numerous.
I appreciate and esteem him because I am of his kind... on a small scale, petty, ugly, insignificant. Propriety demands that I humble myself thus. They say my Prince is a swine in his private life, but I see him only as a statesman; the rest concerns only his intimates and his family. Can one also demand virtues from a prince married as princes are married? And besides, are there many model husbands? The more one is in the public eye, the more visible one's failings. He has done no more than others; only he has not hidden it. Now they will object that one hides in order to commit indecencies. All this is wordplay, and nothing revolts me like words, for they distort everything and rarely let good faith triumph.
I would like to know if the Prince speaks of his rights; I am sure he does not believe it, he is too intelligent to believe in rights; I hope he does not even pretend to believe in them. For me, he is an eminent man who bears a glorious name, but that is all. If his sons turn out well, then they will be employed, but no more. Why should a family not preserve the traditions of glory or of intelligence or virtue? It can do so without there being decrees that oblige or authorize it.
I was quite disoriented before nature after the studio. Now I have set to work and I am very relieved.
I find models in abundance; all these Auvergnats are remarkably obliging and the women are extremely flattering.
I am starting a little girl of ten, lying down, asleep in the grass. But tomorrow I shall leave her to do a little fellow with his goat (life-size), which I shall finish, and after which I shall return to my little girl. The fellow with the goat is the son of a wood carver and joiner who has drawn in the ateliers of Paris. The wife is a dressmaker and the three children are pretty.
Besides, their shop gets north light, and on rainy days I shall do a study of the very dark shop where I shall place the little girl, who is not more than seven and who is charming.
I went into the hotel drawing room with Mlle Moreau; there were several young girls there, and I came away quite pleased to have been the youngest and the most striking, though not coiffed and in a hooded ulster.
And to think that I am withering uselessly, for no one. It is senseless.