Thursday, 24 July 1884

I am ill from it and cannot work. So we go to the Bois. A white wool dress — the first white dress since mourning. Oh! fine, supple white wool draping the body in adorable folds. Nothing is more seductive, more graceful, more artistic.
And, should it turn cool, a grey ribbed velvet jacket.
So that Lachaud, whom we meet at the Pré Catalan, must have found me very chic.
Dina and Maman insist on going to the rue Legendre. I consent to stopping at the door while Bojidar goes up to ask after him. But as we arrived Emile and his mother were also just returning, and Emile forces me out of the carriage; and as I was still making a fuss at the foot of the stairs, he and Bojidar form a seat of their interlocked hands and carry me up to Jules's bedside where he lies.
Can you picture such an entrance.
I needed that gentle coercion, for Tony had chilled me again yesterday — he came to thank me for my congratulations on his officer's rosette. Yes, Tony is an officer and Bastien is not. So he came, and in speaking of Bastien he said he is a crafty one, a sly operator, a clever boy who knows how to make use of everything. That there is nothing sincere about him. That everything is calculated, and he never deviates by a hair's breadth from the paths he has laid out for himself... In short, everything I myself sometimes think of him when I find him cold. Be that as it may, this interesting creature lies on his large bed wrapped in a cover of pale blue silk — which goes beautifully with the dark red plush covering the dais. For this painter's bed is set upon a dais. But the whole effect is extremely low and very fine, without curtains.
We sit on the dais, which is like a very low step around the bed — I at his head, his mother at his feet... The others on the furniture.
But he is so very interesting like this! The silk scarf shirt, the blue cover, the room so artistically and so simply arranged.
I had to tell him about my painting. He gave me several pieces of advice — things I know already, but which I listen to with respect. And besides, he is not what Tony says — for others perhaps, but here, like this, he is like a close relation who strikes no poses and thinks of none, so that I begin to think he will eventually have a real fondness for us. Yet I want it so much that I would only believe it when it was blindingly obvious, while nonetheless making much of a word said, a friendly voice, or an open look.
But then I go to see Emile's landscape in the studio, and Maman arrives in tears. He had said: "If I cannot be cured, I would at least like not to suffer so much" — and he began to weep...
He wept!
I went back down at once to talk of goodness knows what — all manner of stories about myself, painting... Poor child, he smiles, but that is not what will make him forget where it hurts. His mother listens, very glad of the diversion; she embraced me very warmly as we left. And I blew Jules a kiss from across the room, which he returned in kind.
We take Emile to dine at our house — this admirable brother wished to come and wanted to stay [Crossed out and blacked over: well]
Only Bojidar irritates me this evening. He is a liar — You know it, O Lord.
What stories he told the architect! To begin with, we stayed at table from seven until half past midnight. And this Bojidar in question never stopped. The nerve! He tells me things I know — rearranged to suit himself! Now he has known Gambetta!!!! And thirty-six other whoppers... Oh! I was on edge, for boasting of all this is making a mortal enemy... And besides it is impossible to contradict him at every turn. He does it with such infernal assurance that it is like a challenge — he thinks I will be too ashamed for his sake to contradict him, and he is not entirely wrong.
I drew Emile out into the antechamber to tell him — the poor fellow was swallowing it all. And after all it is dangerous. If Bojidar takes it into his head to tell monstrous things about us, Emile will believe them, intimate as he is. And Jules will believe them!
Oh! but I shall put a stop to that. This schemer will worm his way into Jules's house — an enthusiastic young man, he already got himself introduced to Sarah by telling her that when his parents took him to the Odéon to see Le passant he had fainted. At the age of twelve! What a scoundrel.

Notes

The Pré Catalan: a fashionable garden and restaurant within the Bois de Boulogne.
Sarah Bernhardt made her celebrated debut in François Coppée's one-act play Le passant at the Odéon in 1869. Bojidar would have been very young at the time — hence Marie's contempt for his claim.