Monday, 24 May 1875

Muse! Tell how we paraded before Girofla's windows — he without his waistcoat, watching us from one of those windows unsuspecting.
O muse o alto ingegno or m'ajutate. O mente! ch'io scrivessi ciò ch'io vidi.
Qui si passa la tua nobiltà.
From the morning I run about the city, and by two o'clock everything is ready. Ovid's Metamorphoses are nothing compared to those I accomplish.
One knows how I ordinarily hold myself — straight-backed, broad-shouldered, high-breasted, with rounded prominent hips and posterieur [sic], and small feet. Within five minutes I become a shapeless monster: flat, thin, chest sunken in, one shoulder higher than the other; what should protrude, sunk; what should be smooth, pushed out. Flat, long feet; sunken eyes; black teeth; black hair turning grey. Dressed in a black gown of silk and grenadine, a brown bonnet tied under the chin, a veil of the same colour, and blue spectacles. The devil himself could not recognise me. Marie and Olga, in long canvas boots with no heels, in percale dresses, blonde wigs with hair down the back, in little English bonnets with thick blue veils over their faces, represent two little girls. And they do very well, being as small as they are.
Nina, whom I adore for this indulgence, is dressed in black, her face covered by a triple black veil — like the plaintive elegy in long mourning robes...
So arranged, we slip along the staircase, cross the courtyard and get into a hackney cab. But — oh, surprise! — the coachman is Ange, the very Ange who served us for several months.
At first, however, he does not recognise us. Collignon tells him to drive these English ladies to the Tour-Audiffret.
One can imagine our state of mind, for after all those monkey-tricks on the Promenade, at the theater, and everywhere else, to be recognised would be an appalling scandal that all of Nice would talk about, especially now.
Despite my British accent and my altered voice, the wretched Ange suspects us and smiles. It is easy enough for him to guess — he served us, I used to ride out every day, and today he sees us come out of our own house. It is above all Nina he recognised, and from that deduced the others.
Arrived at the gate, I go in to ask for the concierge, who comes and, seeing some poorly dressed old women and two even more poorly dressed little girls, looks at us askance and says there are no orders to allow the château to be visited.
A five-franc piece mollifies him and we enter. I put to him several naive foreign-sounding questions while limping and examining the windows. I asked whether the master was the Baron d'Audiffret, and the man said yes — just as I caught sight of the young baron in his shirtsleeves opening the window and looking out with half-asleep eyes to see who these fools were.
But what is droll is that the concierge told us the master was in Italy, that there was no one in the château but the servants. I make nothing of it.
I had indeed hoped to penetrate the house, but I had not reckoned with our appearance as petitioners. One had to content oneself with a walk beneath the windows — and that too was daring enough, I assure you.
We were dripping with perspiration — the wigs, the ribbons and the veils were suffocating, and it was only four o'clock.
We drive through the streets greeting every respectable-looking person. This produced such hilarity in our carriage that I nearly suffocated.
Audiffret goes to the baths; we follow. The bathers do the honours for us as newcomers; Saëtone puts in his monocle and examines us, then turns away as from objects of ill omen. I sit on a bench with Nina at a distance, while the children sit on the ground playing with pebbles.
At this moment Collignon arrives with Dina. Dina in my white dress, my hat, my parasol and a thick white veil, my false ringlets. She is meant to represent me! And I have succeeded. Yourkoff took her for me, and I myself was startled at every moment when I looked at her.
[Crossed out: Immediately Girofla draws quietly closer]
Everyone took her for me, for we are much the same height — she a little shorter — and besides, my clothing is unique here as everywhere. Immediately Girofla draws gently towards her and looks at her. I was very frightened, and not being able to speak to Dina, I said to M. Sapogenikoff in Russian, loudly enough for Dina to hear: Lower your parasol, he will recognise you — she understood and did as I said.
Del Borgo, d'Auzac, all the regulars at the baths saw us — taking Dina for me and me for some Madame Samuels.
I held myself together with all my might not to laugh.
Remaining any longer was becoming dangerous. I leave, still limping, taking care to lift my skirt so that my charming feet — a cubit long — can be admired. Once in the cab we dash home, Dina too; I resume my original form, she hers — fortunately for me, as for her... Well, she runs off to the baths with the Sapogenikoffs, while I, veiled as she had been, also rush to the baths. In a word, we are playing the operetta Girofle-Girofla. Collignon stays home, and I go alone on foot. I find them seated beside Girofla and company — everyone turns towards me.
— Ah! at last, there you are — where on earth were you, Marie?
— Why, I was looking for you — I was here with Mlle Collignon half an hour ago.
And I hasten to rid myself of the veil. I am red as a cherry. Girofla looks at me. We look at no one and laugh. Pâris goes bathing — swept along by the example, we run to the cabin, undress, and one after another like Panurge's sheep we fling ourselves into the sea from the top of the pier! Never was I so gay, never have we done so many foolish things — we return in triumph. Pâris pulls the floating board to which Dina is attached; I hold Dina by her feet, and Marie holds me by mine.
Nina is entertaining as an angel — she recounts things with a comic composure so surprising that one dies laughing.
It seems that when we emerged from the cabin, those gentlemen began settling one another into seats — as one does at a circus when the star equestrian appears.
She says I hurl myself in like the statues falling from rooftops in the paintings of the Last Day of Pompeii. The devil! — I am enchanted to hear it.
Girofla and company leave after us.
At dinner it is quite another matter — Papa, weary of hearing Girofla at every moment, begins to joke with us.
— "You have found yourself a Halula, a Halulu, a Talulu — what the devil! He is a peasant! Why do they come to ogle women at the baths! One must tell him: pig, you are not a horse!"
Papa wished to continue but it was impossible.
— Ha! ha! ha! cries Pâris — pig, you're not a horse!
— Ha! ha! ha! repeats Dina — pig, you're not a horse!
— Ho! ho! ha! ha! everyone repeats.
My God, my God, I thank You for not allowing me to suffocate. I was very close to it.
Great God, I give You thanks for having made me so sturdy! Nothing was broken inside me.
And that is surprising.
Carried away by the absurdities of the whole day — this Turkish Mardi Gras — we laughed at everything, but so much, so much, that I am still choking with it even now.
And Pâris who knows nothing. Nina hides from him — she fears him.
After dinner everyone sings in the garden — even Papa! What a concert!
Poor creature that I am, unable to convey how droll it all was — to repeat all the witticisms, to recount everything, everything. No, upon my word of honour, I swoon at the recollection. Oh, how I have amused myself — and sincerely.
Yes — sing, sing, all perfectly innocently indeed — and Girofla?

Notes

From Dante, Inferno, Canto II: "O Muses, O high genius, aid me now! O memory that wrote down what I saw." Marie quotes Dante for mock-epic effect. In Italian in the original.
From Dante, Inferno: "Here passes your nobility." Applied ironically to the prank. In Italian in the original.