Monday, 31 August 1874

Today I bathed; the current was very strong but nothing happened. Lunch at the Plage; half an hour's rest at home; then with Maman to the pier. The tide is high, the waves nearly reached us, and the wind was overwhelming. I went there to see the pretty Englishman, but did not see him.

At home they laugh at me because I seek Plobsters and look everywhere for handsome men. I do not hide it. There -- I must confess -- the name of Plobster has been ruined since Moelenar was given it.

Maman now says the Plobster from the Hotel de France is not him.

On the pier we are with Foster I and a Belgian, Fanbrantigen, an Englishman. Having heard I am going to London with my aunt, he offers to accompany us, to spare us all the disagreeable aspects of travel, hotels, etc., etc.

Foster asks that we telegraph him, and he would reserve rooms and prepare everything. In short, we should travel between two guardian angels. Fanbrantigen leaves the day after tomorrow and Foster this evening. I should very much like to profit by their kindness, but unfortunately we do not leave until Thursday because of Koutski's concert, which has been postponed to Wednesday. But simply by telegraphing them, it would do.

They come with us on the seawall; we meet Florence, the two Englishwomen, and Baron Leiss. We join up. Maman sits down and I go with Florence. We speak of my trip to England.

"Yesterday I saw you with Plobster."

"Yes, he wishes to be introduced to you; but he is not quite a Plobster."

"Ah! I know -- he is half cad, half Plobster, is he not?"

I go home at five, write until six, then go to dinner. Basilevitch dines with her husband, sends him away, and comes to ours so we can go together to the Kursaal. Basilewsky is also with us, and all four of us make our way to the Kursaal and sit down as we did the other evening.

At the beginning it was cold, on account of Paul, gambling, etc. But all was settled, and from nine to a quarter past ten we laughed again like blessed souls.

Basilewsky has a great deal of wit; one feels every word he says. Basilevitch tells nonsense; he mocks her.

She kept asking him for a fan the whole time -- it was very comical. We were five ladies and Basilewsky the sole escort. The marriage prospects prowled around and mesmerized him, but in vain.

He goes with us to the Cercle des Bains. I went reluctantly. Two places appear to the left, and whom do I see behind me! Doria Pamphilii with the very pale Englishman.

I am very pink the whole day. Ah! but I forget: this morning I was caught off guard. I was doing my hair; someone knocks, enters -- I see an elderly gentleman; I guess what this is. I rush towards the door; it is locked. So I hide under the sofa.

It is Winnier, the King's physician; they wanted to have me examined by force or by trickery. I emerge at last; he examines me and declares it is anaemia, having found nothing else. He is an imbecile. I know my illness better than he. I have been greatly exhausting myself for four months. I need a month to recover, and that is all.

Only I rage because they dare suppose me ill!

I treat them like dogs, and in cold blood; willingly I would give them blows with a cane.

But let us return to Doria. I was saying I was very pink the whole day, and especially in the evening. Because of this I am gay and lively as of old.

My aunt assures me Doria is handsome and charming. We stay until the end. As I was leaving, Maman said Doria was looking at me a great deal, and Paul that he was pointing out my feet to the two who were with him. Dina said I was radiant. I was not so on account of Pamphilii; I laughed on seeing him, remembering all of Walitsky's nonsense, but that is all. I could not look at him -- I should have had to turn, and that would have been wrong. I caught a glimpse of him two or three times while talking to my aunt; [Crossed out: as] he was a little to one side.

Doria soon passes us. How tall he is! Those with him looked like children. Plobster, who is tall, is small beside him. Plobster walks with Basilevitch ahead of us.

Basilewsky sees us home. Basilevitch goes to her window and we go to our balcony, and Basilewsky remains in the middle of the street.

He strolls as on a stage; by moonlight, Basilevitch says silly things from her window.

"It is like the theatre, only it is a pity there is no guitar," says Basilewsky.

"And the umbrella," says Dina, "you have an umbrella -- with which one can do anything."

Then he began to play on his umbrella, holding it like a guitar. Basilewsky serenading! It is enough to die of laughter. For a long time more we remain like this. The street is deserted; the moon lights a woman at the window and four women on a balcony and a man -- this man is Basilewsky -- in the middle. It is very pretty.

"Wait, I shall bring a candle," says Basilevitch.

"In her whole house there is only one candle," Basilewsky tells us.

No -- word of honour, he is amusing.