The Italians—Veronese—The Cana—The Gigantic three-storey canvases.
Zurberan—Goya and the Grey—Picture of a Gentleman on horseback—Nicolas Maes—Rembrandt’s picture of his brother.
Sam’s—The man from San Francisco with the loud, dark, debauched face.
“We had ham and eggs for lunch across at Ciro’s, Anne”—the two barkeepers in Harry’s, “Chip” and Bob—names of dogs and horses.
Velasquez in the Louvre.
Vetzel’s again 12.30 Apéritif (X365) The arch of the opera I have never seen before, things sit like this.
Remember “Faust” at The Opéra.
The Promenoirs—The vast stage—click-clack of feet in the music.
I awoke this morning in a crucifixion of fear and nervousness—What if they hadn’t written? What? What? What?
My agony as I approached the place—My distrust of Paris in peril—City of light disloyalties. Sun never shines more than two days (for me) here—Went to American Express—Harry’s Bar—The men at Vetzel’s eating—
The French are not bad but children—old men too wise and kind for hatred—but French French French and Suspicious.
How beautiful the Fratellini are! How fine a thing is a French circus! Their enormous interest in children—The lion-taming act—by far the best and finest I have ever seen—and I felt sorry for the lions—Savoir is right in this.
Monday—December 15, 1924: I am getting a new sense of control—millions of books don’t annoy me so much—went along the Seine today after Louvre—most of it worthless old rubbish I must begin to put up my fences now—I can’t take the world or this city with me.
Things in Paris I must see at once—Père Lachaise—Also investigate old quarter again around Place des Vosges—Go there first thing tomorrow—Go to Cluny Musée again—And up and down Rue de la Seine—Also Ile St. Louis.
Books I want: Julien Benda—New one by Soupault (?) Charles Derennes—L’Education Sexuelle. Read one of the Vautel things.
