Sunday, 30 April 1882

From morning I am at the private view with Villevieille, Alice, and Webb. In black, very charming. I am rather amused to find that I know quite a number of people in this tout Paris.
Carolus-Duran comes to speak with me, very amiable. The man is a charmer. Breslau's painting is hung very high up and makes a deplorable impression. I had been so anxious about the success she was bound to have that it is, I will not hide it, a great relief. Her tearful intimates come to solicit my opinion and I tell them it is not beautiful, but that she ought to have been given a better placement.
We return in the afternoon, but in proper dress and with Maman and Dina. Bojidar, Carrier-Belleuse, the Gaillards — Gaillard has just been elected deputy — Julian, Mlle de Pont-Jest, sculptor and friend of Sarah, de Sanary, and so on.
In any case, a little crowd. Maman thinks Carrier-Belleuse is in love with me. The upshot of this brilliant day is our conversation with Julian, in which he reproaches me for wasting myself, for failing to justify the magnificent promise. He thinks I am drowning; so do I, and we will try to fish me out. I tell him frankly that I am aware of this deplorable state and that it drives me to despair, and that I believe myself finished. He reminds me how strong I once was, and that a sketch he has stops everyone in their tracks at his house... and so on. Ah! My God, pull me out of this, pull me out. God... I was going to say that God was kind to me in permitting me not to be entirely destroyed by Breslau — at least for today...
They are going to move her painting down, and it will still be appreciated — but no matter... I am glad... I do not quite know how to put this without its appearing a base sentiment. Had the picture been what I imagined it would be, it would have been my end — given the pitiful state of my own work. I did not for a single instant wish it to fail; that would have been ignoble. But I trembled so at the prospect of some enormous success, I had such agitation opening the newspapers, that God perhaps had pity on me... If only I were still working as I used to, it would be natural — she would be stronger than I, but that would be fair, since she has been working longer than I have... Ah! Julian is right, I am drowning...
There is a large portrait of Cassagnac by Debat-Ponsan — rather a good likeness, but common, overdone, and thuggish! I would have given him one of his fine parliamentary poses, arms folded and head tilted slightly back. But this Debat-Ponsan makes him such a ruffian... and lengthens his neck to flatter him, which only makes it worse. One hand in his pocket, right arm dangling, he looks as if he is about to say: just you wait, Gugusse, I'll give you a thrashing. This makes me think that 1882 was the year I had set myself to dazzle Cassagnac with my fame.

Notes

Tout Paris: fashionable Parisian society; literally "all Paris."