Sunday, 4 May 1884

Mme Antonsky, passing through Paris, comes to call, and we take her to see Munkacsy's painting.
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 it did in his studio — in any case, they are two fine things.
Since Monday I have done nothing; I pass long hours dreaming idly, arms at my sides. Dreaming of nothing, or of love. Goncourt says that women always have an object of love, near or far. How true. Sometimes it is a stranger — which is more tedious... Well...