From my arrival in Nice I was noticed and spoken of¹, in several different ways. Patton — that good, that womanish sort of man Patton — that busybody, that peddler of news, that chatterbox — concerned himself with me. Poor Patton — by his lack of character he harms himself, but he harms others too. If Patton were not consul, [Crossed out: when we] no one would know anything of the lawsuit; there are so many people who have money disputes in the family. But this good Monsieur de Patton, ton ton, ton taine ton ton. Peddler of news, Ugly or fair, He sings them in every key, This good Monsieur de Patton, Ton ton ton taine ton ton. He made of this entirely private lawsuit a public affair by publicising it in every way. But I bear him no grudge, poor rag of a man. In short, I am flattered to have been a personage since the age of thirteen. Since I begin differently from others, I ought to become something particular — I so desire it. Nothing disgusts me like rotting in mediocrity. There is material in me; I should like to quote here [Crossed out: something] some blank verse that Anna wrote about me — the verses are very exaggerated and very flattering. One must not think I accept them as they are; I have wit enough to understand the truth. But I have a good opinion of myself — and who does not? He who does not esteem himself cannot esteem others. We were at the music; no one yet, except little Audiffret, who was walking as always before the carriages, looking or being looked at. One cannot deny he is a handsome fellow, and I am the first to grant him the title. He is very fresh-faced; however, his back is wretched — he is already stooped, though he masks it tolerably with loose-fitting jackets. But it is rather to imitate Hamilton. This morning he had the audacity to dress in grey with yellow boots, and with a walk imitating the duke; he has his clothes made loose to appear broader, or else he has grown fat. He was crossing the Rue de France, and we had just come out, and I do not know why I blushed — for I find him a handsome fellow, but he does not attract me. This unfortunate imitation made me smile, and as soon as I was home I wrote without hesitation on a sheet that I threw into the white box: D'Audiffret Emile Throws hundreds and thousands At the fair Gioia Whom the duke sent away. Succeeding Hamilton He bought himself yellow boots, A wide grey jacket, And even a cherry cravat. With great courage he imitates The duke's equipage, Who, calling on his darling, Hung a hundred thousand bells there. But to be identical To this magnificent model, Emile lacks one thing: A strong dose of cognac. D'Audiffret Emile Throws hundreds and thousands At the fair Gioia Whom the duke sent away. After that I had the fatal idea of showing this foolishness to Dina, who believes she has one of my secrets. It is because the author of even the most wretched verses cannot keep them to himself and wants to read them to everyone he meets.