Saturday, 24 July 1875

And the moon shows me Girofla asleep on my aunt’s chaise longue.
Heavens above!
Fortunately one is free not to believe in dreams.
For several days now the cards have been foretelling pain and sorrows for me, and all on account of an old man or a wicked man. It has reached the point where I am quite uneasy.
But look — I have just laid out the cards again, and this time it is complete success the complete fulfilment of all my desires, marriage and happiness, but a great vexation for that same man, that dreadful king of spades who has been pursuing me for two weeks. Stiopa told my fortune and, once again, tears and dreadful sorrows.
In the fortunes I tell myself there is always a king of marriage, as they say in Russian, a king in love, and often a dark king — but the dark one with bad cards and good cards by turns. From all this I can see that I shall have troubles.
May God preserve me from them, and forgive me for believing in cards — but they tell the truth so often!
At the baths a terrible accident very nearly happened. Clara White, one of the belles of Nice two years ago, whose sister has just died here and whose mother has just gone mad — Clara White comes to the baths with her little orphaned nephews and her brother-in-law, and has a baby of barely two taken into the sea. An immense wave comes just as the father was carrying the child into the water, knocks them over, closes over them, and for a moment they were swallowed up. Everyone sprang back with cries, but fortunately a bathing attendant seizes the child and the man holds on to the rope.
For several seconds on end one cannot recover from that dreadful fright, and we leave.
We have a Russian cook; I dine with pleasure and eat a whole watermelon.
I love these feats of strength.
In the evening Pepino and Fiouloulou keep me up until one o’clock. A sorry waste, for such cads.
I saw the mason who is to do up my rooms, I had my things packed before my eyes, I ordered my Grace costume from the Russian dressmaker. I am getting ready to leave on Thursday.
These cads bore me. I liked Girofla’s company because, among other reasons, he has a marvellous knowledge of every detail of dress — and Désiré’s because he is naïve.
I shall never forget the other evening at the second country ball, when Olga was taking off my shoes and Girofla told Godard to shut his eyes while he himself looked on — how the little fellow covered his eyes with his hands and his hat, obeying to the letter.
I am bored in Nice; I must leave.

Notes

In Niçois in the original: Cap de Biou ! — a southern oath, apparently a form of the Occitan cap de Diou (“head of God!”). ↩