Tuesday, 21 September 1875

Yesterday I had barely been in bed ten minutes when a quantity of rhymes presented themselves and gave me no peace until I got up, lit the candle, and set to writing:
Let us come now
To the fiery lord of the castle
Young man, abracadabrant,
Sometimes rich, sometimes a pauper
His sweet name is Émile
He is so fresh, so rosy
This superb imbecile
Who thinks of nothing but his pose.
Every day of the week
Dressed as a proper Niçois [Draft: niçard]
He drags himself about
Through the streets at random
But when Sunday comes
In formal coat and tall hat,
Like Godard pulling his cuff
He cuts a very fine figure.
Without [Draft: wit] success and without conquest
He [Draft: thinks himself] poses as Don Juan
This handsome boy so stupid
[Draft: This pretentious and stupid creature]
And sometimes one is mistaken.
They say that with every young lady
He straightway pays court
That he is crafty and faithless,
The lord of the Tower!
They even say that many ladies
From high society and the demi-monde
[Draft: have answered his flame]
Are ready to damn their souls
With this agreeable young man
For two hundred leagues around
He is said to be the most gallant...
But can one believe the world
The world is so malicious!
This is intended to replace what is in the Revue de Nice, composed at Schlangenbad.
I have barely written this when my pen demands to write more — what? Let us see.
Lament

Up there, up there upon the hill, Look well upon that handsome château — It is not some old ruin still But a château both new and fine. I had superb terraces With immense chestnut trees, I had a great mirrored wardrobe, A kitchen, and cooks galore, I had horses and carriages, A coachman in livery, I had fine adventures, I had titled mistresses, I had a father, a stepmother, Three sisters, and a dog — But one day Papa in his anger Fired! And nothing remains. I had a grey frock coat, I had polished shoes, I had the whitest of shirts, My fingers bore engraved rings, I had a white cravat, Another green one, a top hat — I was so handsome every Sunday! I am more wretched than Hecuba. I had a numerous retinue, I had Andriot, Galula, I had a terracotta pot — Pity poor Girofla. I had a cane in the latest fashion That I wielded like a rifle, I had in my room a chest of drawers — Ah, my God, how fine I was! I charmed all the belles, I gave dinners at my own expense — My arrows were cruel, yes — I was the great d’Audiffret! In the theatres, at restaurants, In the cafés I was the master, I had piercing glances — One can no longer recognise me.
I was astonishing, magnificent — I was everywhere the most dashing. Near the garden, on concert days, Everyone found me most seductive.
The grand Café de la Victoire, Since my château has fled from me, Has lost its star, its glory — I was its main support.
The London House closed its door,
And the Maison Dorée trembled,
And the wind carries off my song,
And the clock of the Tower moans.
Up there, up there on the mountain,
You can see that fine castle there —
Now I have only castles in Spain — I am on the third floor of the hotel.
This lament is sung to the tune of Madame l’Archi-duchesse.
“Where I am going, one knows nothing of it, ma’am!”
I shall never finish this lament — I have found more rhymes. I am going to copy it out in the next book. It amuses me, and above all it composes itself so easily that it is a pleasure.
Editors’ note
[At the end of carnet 43 there appear six pages of draft for the preceding verses with small variants. These pages are crossed out.
Editors’ note
The following verses from the draft were not retained by Marie in her definitive version:]
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43I had a millionaire relative
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43Who had, I believe, been a second-hand dealer
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43Who bequeathed me all his money.
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43But his fortune is forgotten.
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43I had a good-natured aunt
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43Who wanted to give me the crippled one.
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43I had an uncle in the old town
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43Who also gave me his coat [?]
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43But I am nothing but an imbecile
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43And of all that nothing remains
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43I ate through all these fortunes,
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43I gambled and squandered them,
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43And not one of them remains to me,
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43I am completely stripped bare. After a meal so copious, my capricious nature
crossed outbrouillon rayé, fin du cahier 43Made a mouthful of the château as of a good fat
Tuesday

Notes

Revue de Nice — literally “The Nice Revue”, Marie’s own verse revue, kept under its French title. ↩
Madame l’Archi-duchesse — literally “Madam the Archduchess”; the title of the song whose tune Marie borrows, kept in French. ↩