Sunday, 12 December 1875

I forgot to say that two days ago Fiouloulou came to see us, and M. Barbier also. Barbier is a good old gentleman from the Cercle Masséna whom we have known for a long time — he was the friend of the Comte de Barrème, who died last winter.
I went all alone to church, and from there to Nina’s.
After lunching at her house, I take Giro and we walk home on foot. It was already half past one and people stared at us a great deal — but I care nothing for that. The weather is superb, and when we go out the whole world is abroad. The concert had just played its last note, and so many carriages were there that ours was stopped by this flood of people — right in front of the public gardens.
De Gonzalès père, on foot in the crowd, makes me a charming bow and approaches — while the Surprising One, who was with him, bows to me and stays behind. Cad!
But the traffic clears, and we set off at a walk between two rows of the young men of Nice.
They all took off their hats, and it seemed to me that I was “a king’s daughter whom they salute as she passes.”
We run into the Surprising One a hundred times — he has got down from his gig and honours me with a second lift of the hat. Brute!
I enjoy myself; I laugh like a madwoman.
It appears I have not changed — the Counts Lesser and Dounin-Barkovsky, whom I knew at Ostend, recognise me, and meeting me at a livery stable where I have gone to order a basket carriage for tomorrow, they ask permission to come and pay their respects — permission I grant.
Varpahovsky dines with us, and immediately after dinner I go up to my room and Giro and I shut ourselves in — to laugh for no reason whatsoever, and to gossip about the Surprising One. Olga says at every moment and in every possible way that she is madly in love with him, and when I ask:
“Come then — admit it: you love him?”
“No — I swear I do not!” she answers.
Why did we laugh so much? Delightful time! With what pleasure I shall remember it later.
Everything is arranged for the planting of “You will rot!” on the gate. It will be the eve of my departure.
At nine o’clock, when the girl is getting ready to leave, I am given a card: Albert Paul Gautier.
I wrap myself in my furs, go down, and find the immense young man in the anteroom.
The salons are not lit — it is quite a business. But I am not in the least put out and continue my wild gaiety in front of the Niçois, who takes tea with us until eleven o’clock.
Then — like conspirators — softly and with a thousand precautions, Giro and I get into the carriage while my aunt is still in the salon, and go driving about the town laughing and smoking.
We cut out a king of clubs, pinned a large red heart pierced with an arrow to his chest, placed it in an envelope on which Giro writes this address:
To Émile d’Audiffret,
Tour Audiffret, we drop it in a letter-box.
And it seems to us that we have accomplished a most important deed.
My aunt, because Audiffret was with de Gonzalès, tells me he is courting his daughter. And I am very jealous.
And why? Since I no longer bother about him, since I do not love him! No matter — I am very jealous all the same. I do not want him taken from me!
And my handsome unknown — the truly handsome one. I know who he is! It is Lord Loftus! The other was not Lord Loftus — the other looked like a sack; but this one is Loftus! Now I remember! I remember him at Baden-Baden — he was often with Lady Folkner; he was seven years old then, just a child. I remember him perfectly — oh yes, I am certain: it is he...
I want him — I want to worship him.
I have never seen anything more beautiful than he is. I am exalted and feverish! I want to see him! I want, I want, I want, I want, I want!!
And he does not show himself, when there is a woman ready to adore him! Do you hear, wretched Englishman? I am ready to adore you, for you are the handsomest of men — and even of dogs!
How absurd it is to be a woman!
He knows the Leeches. I saw him go into No. 57, to those canary-faced Americans!
By Jove, by Jove! How vulgar I am.
No, I am very poetic when circumstances permit, and I am very fond of the moon!

Notes

In French in the original: panier, a light two-wheeled carriage with a basket-work body. ↩
In Latin in the original: Delectabile tempus — delightful time; mock-formal nostalgia for the present moment. ↩
Bade: Baden-Baden, the fashionable German spa town frequented by European aristocracy. ↩
In French in the original: Bigre de bigre ! ↩