The apple tree is in bloom, all around the pale green leaves are pushing out and the sun plays on this beautiful spring foliage. in the grass,...
But I couldn't care less — he has talent but he is stupid, a foolishness like Emile Bastien's — and he is very sensible, an artist, full of good...
Maman is better; she received visitors.
This is no life! Seeing no one, going nowhere!!! What is the point then!!
And he has written a ravishing piece in *Le Gaulois* — I feel myself softening towards him... It is all very amusing.
I am deeply agitated by it all, and occupy myself in the meantime composing a reply to Maupassant.
And *Le Gaulois*, appearing with a floor plan of the Salon on the same day as *Le Figaro*, carries equal importance, it seems to me, or nearly so.
The Salon... Is it truly getting worse and worse, or am I the one becoming more and more demanding?
Then painters: Munkacsy and his wife, Hébert, and so on.
He has a host of good things to tell me. I have a *real, great success*! Not relative to you or to your fellow students in the atelier, but for...
Alongside the *Christ Crucified* he has just finished, he is exhibiting *Christ before Pilate* from two years ago. It strikes me as far better than...
But to think — to believe — that one is going to die soon? Do I believe it? No. But I fear it.
I am mad to want to write. Am I capable of it? I have not the strength, I know nothing. I know nothing. I know nothing.
It is amusing. But you know, I am not letting it go to my head.
How is it that Wolff has said nothing about my painting? Is he an idiot, then? Or he has not seen it — that is still possible; going through Room 17...
To please such a man one would do anything! And you think yourself capable of love... like everyone else! Ah! Lord.
This morning to the Salon with Claire; lunch in the rue de Marignan.
I forgot to say that we met Hecht on the staircase at the Italiens. He is wildly enthusiastic about my painting.
My painting *Jean et Jacques* has received an honourable mention at Nice. Everyone is wild with joy — except me.
At ten o'clock this morning Emile Bastien arrived with M. Hayem.
A fair number of acquaintances. Bertier, with whom we exchange predictions about the medal. Ducros. The Faleyeffs — they bore me — and so on.
To thank Etincelle I sent her flowers; she wrote me a charming letter, and I answered with one so well turned that she turned up in person today. We...
Mme Gaillard and Bagnitsky are here to dinner. And Emile Bastien, deeply moved by my letter. He greeted me quite differently, and several times I...
Without sleep. I was too overwrought — it is five in the morning.
He also dares say that Bastien has never known how to compose a painting, that he paints portraits and that his pictures are portraits — and also...
And perhaps it will end up infecting me too.
It is charming — and Carolus is on the Jury, but I breathe not a word of it.
There are six hundred million francs' worth of paintings there, and it is only a third of what he has done. I am in dark grey. Mme Gavini is with us,...
Today they voted on the first and second medals. Tomorrow, the third-class medals.
And why? Ah! wretchedness. I have come back from Sèvres. Ah! it is dreadful. The landscape has changed so much one can no longer touch it — it is no...
So that troublesome conscience has awakened, it seems. I do not exaggerate your power, but there are three or four influential men there —...
But it is horribly galling.
Tony writes to me in the same vein, and I reply:
One tries to believe in a Force above all things that one need only invoke... This operation involves neither fatigue, nor friction, nor humiliation,...
So she writes to Coppée, obtains an audience, writes to him from Rome, brings him a painting — a copy of a Madonna. The poet thanks her for the...
— I would a hundred times rather have painted your picture than Maurin's, he says.
Yes I have — I have been reading Sully-Prudhomme since yesterday morning. I have two volumes of him here and find it very good... I pay little...
Poor old fellow, poor dear, poor boy.
And then I paint flowers. A panel for Etincelle.
All the same, they are downright scoundrels for not having given my painting a medal.
He was my devoted and faithful dog — weeping when I went out, waiting for hours sitting at the window. Then in Rome I became infatuated with another...
I have been clamouring for all this for so long...
My gown is of white silk muslin; the bodice, formed of two crossed draperies, is knotted at the shoulders draperies. The sleeve is short and also...
We arrived a little late — Mme Frederiks was not with the ambassadress; Maman exchanged a few words with her. I am very composed and very much at...
It rains — and the painting it delays!!
I went to see the Canroberts this morning. We are still the fondest of friends, and they are truly good people. The Maréchale wishes me to paint the...
The Canroberts come at five o'clock and carry me off to dine with them. I had nothing to wear in this heat — but since there is only Mlle de Vatry,...
Many visitors on Maman's at-home day. I am elegance itself! A gown in the purest Louis XVI style, in grey taffeta with a waistcoat of white silk...
I told you I believe a firm called Oppé & Co. enquired about the price. They are major dealers. I was foolish enough to say six thousand francs — and...
This evening we go to see *Macbeth* (Richepin's translation) with Sarah Bernhardt. The Gavinis are with us. Denis is becoming quite senile — how he...
How this painting bores me!! And there are still the hands to do! This apple tree in blossom and these violets no longer interest me! And this dozing...
The Orthodox priest, Bagnitsky, and Lehmann the painter to dinner.
Jacques poses. It seems to me it will never be finished.
He asks the architect to "send me his regards" and to thank me for the embroidery.
It is no longer the Callipygian Venus — it is Diana. I could be content with Diana, but Diana can turn into a skeleton...
The canvas has been brought and I have sketched the wrestlers.
As a man I should have conquered Europe. As a young girl I frittered myself away in extravagant talk and eccentric nonsense. Wretchedness!
— Then we shall go to see him tomorrow! says Maman.
In 1872 at Nice, we had a monkey called Philibert who died of some slow illness I cannot name. We used to lay him on the villa terrace in the sun, on...
We sent Jules a Russian soup. Our cook is not strong on other things, but he makes soups like no one else. They are marvellous broths — especially...
And three months — three months.
But I come home early — at five. It is more or less finished.