Sunday, 2 May 1875

I want to learn Spanish, the balcony, the mantilla, and a serenade.
A window and a suitor as in Seville. And quickly?
I do not go to church; Maman is back at home. We go out for a drive — Dina, Marie, Olga, and I — and stop at Bassé’s to buy cheese. When we saw it, it seemed so fresh, so good, so succulent that in an instant, right at the shop door while Bassé went to fetch us something else, sitting in the landau as we were, we devoured a whole pound of cheese. Ambroise, the coachman, seeing us at work, drew his knife and offered it to us — for we were eating with our fingers before the astonished eyes of Nice ladies in their Sunday best. I no longer understand how I could have let such a thing happen, or how we managed to eat an entire pound of cheese without bread.
Truly, one could die of boredom — one is so bored. The only diversion we had, that wretched little Peasant, has been taken from us.
All the Sapogenikoffs dine with us, and after dinner we invent a new amusement: we four girls go into the garden and from the terraces call out to passers-by asking for a name — a Russian form of fortune-telling. In Russia, no one would have been surprised; on the contrary, they would have given a name straightaway. But these good Nice people fled in terror. Only one stopped, passed again, but in the end went away without saying anything, like all the rest. I was quite frightened, for everyone knows the villa and there might be gossip:
“Listen, my dears, come with me — from where I shall lead you we can say everything without compromising ourselves.”
“Let us go to Krohn’s!”
“But how?”
“Nothing easier — we shall climb over his wall.”
“What nonsense, Marie!” cries the pious Dina. “There is a gardener, there are dogs, a terrible bulldog that takes the calves off your legs.”
“Do not listen to her, I beg you; she is starting her frights and her shrieks. Come along.”
And without further ado I climb over the balustrade of the terrace, sit astride the wall in my angel dress, stretch out my leg, and find myself on Krohn’s balustrade, from which I jump down onto the terrace.
“Come along,” I tell them, smothering my voice and trying at the same time to make it forceful, “come along, I am over — do come!”
In an instant Marie and Olga, performing the same manoeuvre, are beside me, and like thieves, at night, in the dark — for there is neither moon nor stars, two or three at most — we roam over the terrace. I confess I was a little afraid of the terrible dog, for I would not have my calves mauled for a hundred thousand francs.
But what a risk we were running! Five minutes later, as we were on the Promenade with Collignon, six or seven people we saw five or six people go into Krohn’s.
Five minutes more and we should have been shamefully caught.
We were so bored that Marie, spotting a man sitting on a bench, began to whisper to me that it was the same one who had stopped. I was quite willing to believe it, and as we passed we turned our faces away so he should not see who had been up to this nonsense. On our return he rose, and walking in the shadow came to meet us — which was unexpected, though we felt no alarm as Collignon was there.
“Oh, Marie,” I said, “what an ugly one — for shame! For shame! Marie, why did you call out to him!”
“Well, could I see in the dark!” He was indeed a hideous wretch.

Notes

In Spanish in the original: novio (suitor, fiancé). Marie, newly enchanted by Spain, uses the Spanish term. ↩