Sunday, 27 May 1883

Today is the coronation in Moscow. We go to church, where I endure, as usual, a fit of rage and despair that must be suppressed throughout the luncheon attended by Saint-Amand and the Tchernitsky. And then it all dissolves into tears! Mme Massalsky, Mme Mackay's friend, will not have failed to say that no one from the embassy ever sees us. If that is all she has said. At half past four to the Bois with Adeline. All the salon gossip, the elegances, the life... Am I wrong, am I right? If I went into society a great deal and thought only of elegance, bringing to those drawing rooms whatever originality I may have in my mind... I should have successes, even among celebrated men. They prefer brilliant women in whose company they go to rest from their labours. And is not the ambition of every man of talent and even of genius to be received and to shine in elegant salons and among society women? And am I not like these men? No doubt having a halo would be splendid, but without any halo at all a young and charming woman can have at her feet all the celebrated ones, who are quite as much attracted by beautiful countesses as beautiful countesses are by their glory. Draw your own conclusions. I draw none. But in truth, I speak of all this as though I had a choice. Where would I go? Into two or three salons — not even that... To Mme de Kessler's, a foreigner's house where there is no glory in being received. Or to Mme de Cambourg's, who is French but where it amounts to the same thing. Being merely tolerated at the old Duchess of Fitz-James's, whose salon is not amusing. The Maréchale receives no one. And then... I say nothing of the Kanchines, the Foleyeffs, and the rest. And then Maman is away and my father is dying. So there is nothing to be said about it. I should very much like to meet Camille Pelletan, the editor-in-chief of La Justice and a newly elected deputy. I read his most arid articles and his mind enchants me. I am steeped in Balzac and imagine, as is indeed the truth, that in life everything unfolds as it does in his books. Calm myself. Calm myself. Calm myself. What the devil, I have time. I am only twenty-four. That is quite a lot, all the same. Rochegrosse is twenty-four. Bastien-Lepage was not known until he was twenty-five. Well, I am vexed to have offended that poor architect. But then, why did he write that he regrets not being able to come. I should like my family to meet him and for things to be sorted out.

C'est aujourd'hui qu'a lieu le sacre a Moscou. Nous allons a l'eglise ou je subis comme d'habitude un acces de rage et de desespoir qu'il faut contenir pendant tout le dejeuner auquel assistent Saint Amand et la Tchernisky. Et puis ca se fond en larmes! Mme Massalsky l'amie de la Mackay n'aura pas manque de dire que personne de l'ambassade ne nous voit. Si elle n'a dit que ca. A quatre heures et demie au Bois avec Adeline. Tous les potins des salons, les elegances, la vie... Ai-je tort, ai-je raison? Si j'allais beaucoup dans le monde et ne pensais qu'aux elegances, promenant dans les salons ce que je puis avoir d'original dans l'esprit... j'aurais des succes et meme pour ce qui est des hommes celebres. Ils aiment mieux les femmes brillantes aupres desquelles ils vont se delasser de leurs travaux. Et l'ambition de tous les hommes de talent et meme de genie, n'est-elle pas d'etre recu et de briller dans les salons elegants et chez les femmes du monde? Et ne suis-je pas comme ces hommes? Sans doute avoir une aureole serait beau, mais sans aucune aureole une femme jeune et charmante peut avoir a ses pieds tous les illustres qui sont autant attires par les belles comtesses que les belles comtesses par leur gloire. Concluez. Je ne conclus pas. Mais au fait, je parle de tout cela comme si j'avais le choix. Ou irai-je? Dans deux ou trois salons pas meme... Chez Mme de Kessler, une etrangere ou il n'y a pas de gloire a etre recue. Ou chez Mme de Cambourg qui est francaise mais ou c'est la meme chose. Etre toleree chez la vieille duchesse de Fitz-James dont le salon n'est pas amusant. La marechale ne recoit pas. Et puis... Je ne parle pas des Kanchine, Foleyeff et autres. Et puis maman est absente et mon pere a la mort. Donc, il n'y a pas a en parler. Je voudrais bien rencontre Camille Pelletan, le redacteur en chef de la "Justice" et depute de cette annee. Je lis ses articles les plus arides et son esprit m'enchante. Je suis imbue de Balzac et me figure, comme c'est du reste la verite, que dans la vie tout se passe comme dans ses livres. Me calmer. Me calmer. Me calmer. J'ai le temps que diable. Je n'ai que vingt-quatre ans. C'est tout de meme beaucoup. Rochegrosse a vingt-quatre ans. Bastien-Lepage n'a ete connu qu'a vingt-cinq ans. Tiens, je suis fachee d'avoir vexe ce pauvre architecte. Mais aussi, pourquoi a-t-il ecrit qu'il regrette de ne pouvoir venir. Je voudrais que les miens le rencontrent et que ca s'arrange.

Monday, 28 May 1883

We return home just as Saint-Marceaux rings at our door. "You have been caught out — you thought you would find no one." Ah, I am delighted! You can imagine that the mention is the subject of conversation; I draw on everything I have said and written since that fatal event and present it to this great man as a brilliant improvisation. The great man is altogether charming. He is not the sly one from Damvillers. He is a man of the world and a man of wit. He has said nothing but remarkable things; he is neither Bouguereau nor Manet, nor even the false naïf from Damvillers. I call him a false naïf and Saint-Marceaux approves; indeed he has referred to him as a photographer, in the third person. The modern school is on a wrong path, and Bastien too. We are in agreement. Yet Bastien speaks of the arts as I think of them, but sentimentality will be his downfall. The illustrious sculptor prefers L'Amour au village to Jeanne d'Arc; he does not seem particularly drawn to such things... In any case, on seeing my Saintes femmes he asked what they are looking at over there... Hm... [Crossed out: The sculptor, selling sculpture. The photographer-painters.] He makes exceptions — he loves the large canvases of Puvis de Chavannes, and then certain paintings at the Salon whose names he cannot even recall but which please him because they please him. That is how I understand art myself. As for going up and saying that a painting is "very good," that there are "qualities" in it... and so on. What does that signify? It is Tony who says: there are qualities in that. Old eunuch, go on! A first medal — the only one — was given to a large work by some fellow who painted Francesca and Paolo, in hell. And Saint-Marceaux says that every time he goes to the Salon he stands in front of it, telling himself: "Ah, there is the painting that received a first medal — good, that is it, yes, well then, next time I shall examine it carefully." And it is always the same. How true that is as an impression! He stayed a very long time; I was quite agitated, knocked over the cigarettes, said witty and amusing things, and tomorrow at ten in the morning I go to the great man's house.

Nous rentrons au moment ou Saint Marceaux sonne a notre porte. - Vous etes bien attrape, vous pensiez ne trouver personne. Ah! je suis contente! Vous pensez bien que c'est la mention qui fait les frais, je me ressers de tout ce que j'ai dit et ecrit depuis ce fatal evenement et le presente a ce grand homme comme une brillante improvisation. Le grand homme est tout a fait charmant...