Sunday, 10 October 1880

The Tchoumakoffs, mother and daughter, and Saint-Amand. The latter stays until four in the afternoon; we make music and he weeps over Paul et Virginie. I understand this irresistible tenderness. I wept profoundly reading this book, and the music of the opera makes me weep at the same passages. It is impossible to find a book more simple and more striking. No drama, no novel, produces as much effect, and the most heartrending scenes in novels do not cause you as much profound sadness and tears. It seems as though it really happened, as though one had witnessed it, as though one had been an actor in it oneself. It is a masterpiece, it is sublime [blacked-out words: and yet it is nothing] as dramatic style.
And it is not simplicity alone that makes its beauty, no.
In short, it is sublime. When I think only of the moment when Paul sees from [four lines cancelled] the top of the rock the black speck upon the sea, [crossed out: which is] the ship that carries away Virginie. Ah! Truly I feel something tear within me, and I dissolve in tears.
If one were to read these lines, one would think I was joking or that I had gone mad, so philosophical and contrary is my appearance.
I spent the morning at the Louvre, and I am dazzled. Until now I had not understood as I did this morning. I looked and I did not see. It is like a revelation. Before, I saw and admired politely like the very vast majority of the universe. Ah! When one sees and feels the arts as I do, one is not an ordinary soul. To feel that something is beautiful and to understand why it is beautiful — that is a great happiness.
When I made the acquaintance of Paul de Cassagnac, I was ordering my stationery from Duchod, who makes it with drawings, mottoes, etc., and I wanted to have a sheet with Paul and Virginie beneath their palm leaf. Duchod made a mistake and drew Virginie drowned. As I was thinking of Cassagnac when asking for this design, you see that it was a prophecy.