Sunday, 18 November 1883

I had the coquetry — or the aberration — to show myself to Gabriel in my outdoor painting clothes; he had come to tell me about a party planned the other day. At five o'clock we go for tea at Safonoff's. This Safonoff is a Gentleman of the Chamber¹ and very wealthy; he is credited with astonishing vices... He has a pretty townhouse artistically furnished with so-called works of art and curiosities, and the fashionable ladies go to him. He is very stupid and obsessed with chic also — I speak accordingly: he shows me a samovar of Peter the Great's, and I counter with a portrait of Catherine presented to my ancestors. And while we were on the subject of Nice... Never openly denigrate anything — it is too naïve; a passing word demolishes far better... He received us on the threshold of his door, which a footman in red breeches hastened to fling open; a bouquet for each of us, exquisite chocolate, M. Ekarque and M. Essaouloff — the fashionable young officer from St. Petersburg. A very fine man who wears a wig and prides himself on knowing every sovereign in Europe... in photographs, at least. He and the two [word blackened: guests] escort us back to our door, and we dine with Saint-Amand and Bagnitsky, whom I wish to initiate into the cult of a young artist of whom you may perhaps have heard — his name is Lefage, or Lepage... no, it is Lepage. Yes, Bastien-Lepage, I believe.