Wednesday, 27 January 1875
The third day of the Races. Well, there it is! It is what the poets call a thunderbolt... I am in love! With whom? Ah, there it is! With Sir Frederic Johnstone. Nobody knows who that is! He is the man I had noticed. He is only a half-lord — a baronet — but that is enough when one is handsome. Noble to just the right degree. [Written across: That was not Sir Frederick Johnstone at all, but M. Olliver.] It is on the way home that I utter this exclamation inwardly, when I see Johnstone from a distance with his friend — so like Hamilton, not in his face, but because I so often used to see the Duke toward evening, when the mist descends on Nice, passing rapidly along the Promenade with Merck or another. This gentleman resembles Carlo more than Hamilton — if he resembles anyone. Since Hamilton I have not seen a man who was entirely the thing — but this one comes and transports me, so to speak, to the Hamiltonian era. Everything about him is right, from hat to boots. And seeing him for the first time on the eve of departure for Paris — on foot — I thrust my head out of the half-closed carriage and looked at him with curiosity; he was simply magnificent. We went to the Races, the three of us — my aunt, Dina, and I (white Worth dress, grey hat — well, but a little pale). This time we have only the fifth row, which is the last. Fine weather, fine sunshine. Morgan stays on the box the whole time; Galula and then Woerman come up to the carriage, the latter remaining some time, but I speak little to him — furious as I am at not being in the grandstand. While Woerman pulls faces, Audiffret walks round us, arms folded like Napoleon — at first — then shifts all his poses, speaks loud, and poor boy, shows off with all his might. He is really very sweet, but very common as well. Not far off are the Lewins and the Durands, dazzling in their dress; and ahead of us, some five or six carriages away, is Johnstone in his cab with his friend, who resembles a fair Doria. Three times the tears came to my eyes — tears of rage at being pinned to the carriage. It is true that the handsome Englishman remained in his own, then came by on foot two or three times past us — but I turned my head away. It was Morgan who told me his name; my aunt asked him.You know him? I asked.
— I know him, to say good morning and he answers How do you do, and that is all, replied Morgan.
— You told me you should like to ride at these races; if you know this gentleman, why don't you ride one of his horses?
— He has horses but in England, not here.
— Ah!
— Yes, and besides he would have jockeys. Then he has horses — indeed, such a fine gentleman could not be without them — and this is a new quality, an attraction. Time a few weeks I began to doubt whether I really like english language and people, and there were moments I thought not, but with the appearence of Sir Frederic Johnstone, my foolish doubts are gone and again I adore english and England. After the horses' races was announced another kind of race, a man proposed to me three times round the field, with all the jumps and even the water jump, in 18 minutes. It would be capital if it could be done, and I was so stupid, not so stay, to go away, brute that I am. I grant all there epithets to my person because the handsome Johnstone remained, and I did not see him to day. But when I was entering the rue des Beaumettes then I saw him coming in the evening mist.1
The return was fine — and as I do not conceal the impression the Englishman has made on me, save only for saying that I am in love with him, I searched with my eyes and asked my aunt several times (Dina had got down and gone back along the Promenade) what had become of him; whereupon my aunt began to laugh and say that the baronets have conquered me, what a goose I am, that because one is a lord and another a baronet, I go mad and ah... — Here I hesitate enormously to write what my aunt said several times; suffice it that I am smitten. It needed courage, upon my word of honour — to which I replied that it is very agreeable to know one has singled out a gentleman and not a cad. Once at Maman's, my aunt naturally said that the baronets have conquered me, whereupon Maman said: — But perhaps he is not a baronet — the devil knows what he is.
— No, said my aunt, no — for, in everything, in his mug, one can see he is a barine.2 These words gave me immense pleasure. The old nurse from de Mouzay's spends an hour with us. This evening, Il Barbiere di Siviglia3 with Belona, box no. 4 in the second tier (white silk dress, hair very well done — not my usual style, but well). My aunt, Dina, and I. Belona sings better as Rosina than as Armina, but she is quite feeble and lacks high notes. Mme de Galve opposite, la Prodgers, then the whole world — Audiffret making his desperate poses, now thrown back, now leaning forward, now his face buried in his hands. After the third act the theatre empties; we leave. Before, Audiffret was enough to make me pass a tranquil evening at the Italian opera, and tonight I was bored — though there were Arnim and Furstenberg — but there was not the one who is at this moment everything to me. Tomorrow I go to Monte-Carlo to see him — if only I were a man. Sir Frederic Johnstone is my sixth. Here they all are in chronological order: Boreel 1872–73 Duke of Hamilton 1872–73–74–75 [One cancelled line ending with: summer 1874] d'Audiffret autumn 1874, very briefly. Prince de Wittgenstein, somewhat, and always. And finally Sir Frederic Johnstone, for a few days now, and greatly. He was freshly shaved at the Races and had powder on his cheeks.
# Mercredi, 27 janvier 1875 Troisième jours des Courses. Bon ! ça y est ! C'est ce que les poètes appellent un coup de foudre... je suis amoureuse ! De qui ? Ah ! voilà ! Eh bien c'est de sir Frederic Johnstone. On ne sait pas qui est-ce ! C'est l'homme que j'ai remarqué. Il n'est qu'un demi-lord mais c'est assez quand on est beau. Noble à point. [En travers: Ça n'était point sir Frederick Johnstone mais M. Olliver.] C'est au moment de rentrer que je pousse intérieurement cette exclamation, quand je vois de loin Johnstone avec son ami, si semblable à Hamilton, pas comme figure, mais parce que je voyais souvent le duc vers le soir quand le brouillard descend sur Nice, passer rapidement par la Promenade avec Merck ou un autre. Ce monsieur ressemble plutôt à Carlo et non à Hamilton, s'il ressemble à quelqu'un. Depuis Hamilton je n'ai pas vu d'homme tout à fait bien, mais celui-ci vient et me transporte, pour ainsi dire à l'époque hamiltonienne. Tout chez lui est bien, depuis le chapeau jusqu'aux bottes. Et le voyant pour la première fois la veille du départ pour Paris à pied, je sortis ma tête de la voiture à moitié fermée et le regardai avec curiosité, c'est qu'il était superbe. Nous allâmes aux Courses en trois, ma tante, Dina et moi (robe blanche Worth, chapeau gris bien, mais un peu pâle). Cette fois [nous] n'avons place qu'au cinquième rang qui est le dernier. Beau temps, beau soleil. Morgan reste tout le temps sur le siège et Galula ensuite Woerman viennent auprès de la voiture, ce dernier reste assez longtemps, mais je lui parle peu, furieuse que je suis de n'être pas à la tribune. Pendant que Woerman grimace, Audiffret marche autour de nous, les bras croisés comme Napoléon, d'abord, puis change toutes les poses, parle haut et pauvre garçon pose de toutes ses forces. Il est bien gentil, mais bien commun aussi. Non loin sont les Lewin, Durand, éblouissantes de toilette, et devant nous à cinq ou six voitures de distance est Johnstone en son fiacre avec son ami qui ressemble à Doria blanc. Trois fois les larmes me vinrent jusqu'aux yeux, des larmes de colère, d'être clouée à la voiture. Il est vrai que le bel Anglais est resté dans la sienne puis est venu deux ou trois fois à pied passer devant nous, mais je détournais la tête. C'est Morgan qui m'a dit son nom, ma tante le lui a demandé. You know him ? lui demandai-je. -I know him, to say good morning and he answers How do you do, and that is all, répondit Morgan. — You told me you should like to ride at these races, if you know this gentleman, why don't you ride one of his horses ? — He has horses but in England, not here. — Ah ! — Yes, and besides he would have jockeys. Then he has horses indeed such a fine gentleman could not be without them, and this is a new quality, attraction. Time a few weeks I began to doubt whether I really like english language and people, and there were moments I thought not, but with the appearence of Sir Frederic Johnstone, my foolish doubts are gone and again I adore english and England. After the horses' races was announced another kind of race, a man proposed to me three times round the field, with all the jumps and even the water jump, in 18 minutes. It would be capital if it could be done, and I was so stupid, not so stay, to go away, brute that I am. I grant all there epithets to my person because the handsome Johnstone remained, and I did not see him to day. But when I was entering the rue des Beaumettes then I saw him coming in the evening mist. Le retour était beau et comme je ne cache pas I impression qu'a produite sur moi l'Anglais, sauf à dire que j en suis amoureuse, je cherchais des yeux et dis plusieurs fois à ma tante (Dina était descendue et rentrée par la Promenade) ce qu'il était devenu, alors ma tante se mit à rire et à dire que *les baronnets m'ont conquise, quelle sotte je suis, que parce que l'un est lord et l'autre baronnet, je deviens folle et ah... *-Ah ici par exemple j'hésite énormément à écrire ce que ma tante a dit plusieurs fois, passons *que je suis pincée*. Il fallait du courage, ma parole d'honneur, c'est à quoi je répondis qu'il est très agréable de savoir qu'on a distingué un gentleman et non un faquin. Une fois chez maman ma tante dit sans doute que *les baronnets m'ont conquise* alors maman dit: - *Mais peut-être ce n'est pas un baronnet, mais le diable sait quoi. — Non, dit ma tante, non, car, à tout, à sa gueule on voit que c'est un barine.* Ces paroles me firent un plaisir immense. La vieille bonne de Mouzay passe une heure chez nous. Ce soir, "Il Barbiere di Seviglia" avec la Belona, loge n° 4 au deuxième (robe blanche de soie, très bien coiffée, pas ma coiffure, mais bien). Ma tante, Dina et moi. Belona chante mieux dans Rosina que dans Armina mais elle est bien faible et manque de hautes notes. Mme de Galve en face, la Prodgers, puis tout le monde, Audiffer, faisant des poses désespérantes, tantôt renversé en arrière tantôt penché devant, tantôt le visage couvert de ses mains. Après la troisième le théâtre se vide, nous partons. Avant Audiffret suffisait pour me faire tranquillement passer ma soirée aux Italiens et ce soir je me suis ennuyée et il y avait Arnim et Furstenberg, mais il n'y avait pas celui qui seul est tout en ce moment pour moi. Demain, je vais à Monte-Carlo pour le voir, que ne suis-je pas un homme, sir Frederic Johnstone est mon sixième. Les voilà tous par ordre chronologique: Boreel 1872-73 Duc de Hamilton 1872-73-74-75 [Une ligne cancellée se terminant par: été 1874] d'Audiffret automne 1874 très peu Prince de Wittgenstein un peu et toujours et enfin sir Frederic Johnstone depuis peu de jours et beaucoup. Il était fraîchement rasé aux Courses et avais de la poudre sur les joues.