Thursday, 15 May 1884

At ten o’clock this morning Emile Bastien arrived with M. Hayem.
How strange. It does not seem possible. I am an artist and I have talent. And this is serious.
And here is a well-known man — this M. Hayem — who comes to call, who takes an interest in what I do. Can it be.
Emile Bastien is quite delighted by it; the other day he said to me: “It feels as though it were happening to me.”
This good fellow is very unhappy — I believe Jules will not recover. We are giving him a napkin on which Dina has embroidered his painting Love in the Village. Emile will send it to him in Algiers, but first he has me kiss it to bring him good luck.
Hayem has taken a fancy to Dina’s pastel, but I cannot sell it to him. He is very amiable. And very influential. The medal was spoken of as an almost certain thing.
And all afternoon I wander through my rooms in fairly good spirits, with little shivers at the back of my neck at the thought of the medal.
The medal is for the general public — and on the whole I prefer a success like mine without a medal to certain medals.
Since Emile Bastien was to have lunched with us but could not, we sent him a pâté to astonish him. He writes this evening to say that Hayem was delighted by his visit and will speak to me on Tuesday about buying something.
Louis Canrobert made his first communion today; I sent him a missal from Gruel’s, and he came with the Marshal this afternoon.
The Marshal came in crying that I am as good as I am beautiful! They have visited only family — and us. And poor little Louis kept saying, “Papa, let us hurry, otherwise we shall not have time to go to Mme Bashkirtseff’s.” The Marshal tells me this himself.
The priest to dinner, and in the evening the tall Bikowski from Nice.
Ugh!

Notes

Bastien-Lepage’s painting. ↩