Tuesday, 11 January 1876

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It is not his fault, poor innocent body! You are innocent — and you are about to have proof of it.
Your soul has decamped! Listen to this painful account.
On the day after it was brought to us, the Superior wished to give it its customary food — which consists (the learned brother Ardigo furnished us this information) of the playbills of Nice's three theatres and a little rice powder. When to that end the Superior opened his wood-box, he found his soul there no more — it had fled the holy precincts!!!
The Superior had just breakfasted — he stood dumbfounded. The playbills, obtained with such difficulty from the theatre ushers through the agency of Brother Ardigo, and the rice powder that had been requested with all-brotherly care from Maurice Gros, fell from his hands, and a thick cloud came to darken his eyes!
Notwithstanding, the holy man did not let himself be vanquished by the situation — he immediately dispatched eight of the most experienced brethren in pursuit of the rebellious substance.
For two days now our eight brethren have traversed the new and old town — they even penetrate to his uncle's shop, inquiring of him about the fugitive — but his uncle contents himself with crossing himself from head to foot and spitting at the ceiling while shuddering with horror.
Every evening the eight missionary brethren make their report to the Superior; tonight's report has filled us with terror. His soul was seen fluttering along the Avenue de la Gare, not far from the Maison Dorée; immediately the eight brethren armed themselves with instruments used for butterfly-catching — but all their efforts were in vain, for the recalcitrant vapour went and mingled with the cigar smoke of M. Milon de Veraillon, who was savouring a cup of coffee at the Maison Dorée.
Seek your soul, O unfortunate body! On our side we do all we can — the eight brethren do not lose a minute.
We pray to God and his Holy patron that they may hold his miserable carcass in their holy and worthy keeping. The monks of Cimiez. P.S. Next Sunday we shall send you two brothers who will let you know the results of our searches.
This letter goes into a fine envelope with this address: Monsieur Émile d'Audiffret, Tour Audiffret.
And the following one into another envelope addressed: To the Reverend Brother Superior of Cimiez, Convent of Cimiez.
My Father, I wish to make a gift to the convent — a gift as considerable as my means allow — but I wish it to remain unknown to all. The left hand must not know what the right hand gives. To that end, I pray you, Reverend Father, to send me next Sunday at half past ten in the morning two of your brothers, to whom I shall deliver my offering. So that I may know them for who they are, they need only say that they come to speak to me of my soul — and they will be immediately admitted. I need not ask you, Reverend Brother, to burn this letter. E. d'Audiffret
Do you understand?
To write this letter I composed a handwriting entirely unrecognizable as mine, and at the same time that of a man. The monk brethren have no reason to disbelieve. I imagine the scene and laugh all day long, while Maman keeps to her bed and Dina nurses her. Maman ill, rainy weather! Were it not for this letter, I should weep.
When the correspondence with the monks is finished, when the soul re-enters the body of the Surprising One, I shall collect all the letters and on this subject compose a poem like Le Lutrin.
We did not go out, but the painter Katorbinsky came — lessons begin tomorrow. Monseigneur de Falloux, being unable to go out himself, sent us the Chevalier Rossi with a quantity of messages and begging Maman to come and see him in two days, when he will be in a fit state to receive; as for going out himself, he does not think of it for another seven or eight days.
I am the one who receives this gentleman, and we talk of Mme de Mouzay and of Monseigneur, who "will place himself at our disposal" as soon as he has recovered. I learn a great deal about the city. I feel quite proud of receiving someone on my own — it seems like a king's first act of will.
The Russian priest called on us as well. In Rome, I feel a whim coming on for the frock-wearers. It is new for me, and I find it pleasing.
I repeated the incantation again and saw the Surprising One — he had let his beard grow, and I reproached him for it; then he took some mud, some wet earth, and put it on my dress, and I, taking the same mud, put it on his face. We were quarrelling. I would like to know whether he dreamed of me and whether the incantation acts on both parties.
Well, I have a painting teacher already — that is something. The Chevalier Rossi also said that for singing there is no one like la Rosali — a lady who teaches very well.
This evening I see everything in rosy colours, and I am already thinking of a letter in which it will be said of Audiffret: et eum dicat Surpem, molitissum, improlum, ihonestum, cupidum, luxuriosum, ebriuni.
Exactly what Septimius Severus said of Albinus.
If only winter would pass more quickly — at Nice I feel better with all my misfortunes; I can despair more at my ease.
Only here is the thing: last spring there was no one — all the best people gathered round us, Prodgers was abandoned, and the others too. Whereas this spring there will again be no one — but Prodgers will have Miss Robenson; they will no doubt stay late, until June, and will make me die of rage, for quite certainly everyone will be with them.
The Surprising One and all the others. It may also be that the new Englishwomen stay late into spring, and that the gentlemen under the guidance of Tournon and the Surprising One form a kind of court around them — as they did three years ago around Princess Galitzine and Mme Chilowsky, both of whom died a month ago.
These are a great many conjectures — it may also be that on my return to Nice there is no one left, and that the Surprising One has gone to Paris or... to the convent.
We shall see what shall be. Sarà quel che sarà. It may also be — this being the most disagreeable prospect — it may also be that the Surprising One is married or on the point of being so.
Well, we shall see. In the meantime, let us study, and try to go into society — for it is a pity to keep all my dresses in the wardrobes, or leave them growing mouldy in trunks.
Let us pray to God, let us hope, and also let us write letters to Audiffret.
I feel like surrounding myself with crosses, relics, rosaries, and holy images.

Notes

"Decamped" — military slang for a sudden departure; Marie applies it with mock solemnity to the soul's flight.
Rice powder was a fashionable 1870s cosmetic used for face powder. Marie mocks Audiffret's vanity by proposing that his soul feeds on theatre playbills and cosmetics.
The Maison Dorée (Golden House) — a famous café-restaurant in Nice, a fashionable gathering place for society.
Matthew 6:3: "But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth." Marie appropriates the scriptural phrase for her prank.
Le Lutrin (1674–1683): Nicolas Boileau's celebrated mock-heroic poem satirizing a dispute among cathedral clergy over the placement of a lectern — a French classic of comic verse.
Chevalier (Italian: cavaliere): a title of knighthood, denoting minor nobility.
Frocards: a mildly contemptuous French slang word for monks and priests, literally "frock-wearers."
A traditional Russian folk incantation performed on the eve of Epiphany and New Year, placing a comb under the pillow while repeating a formula to dream of one's future husband.
A mock-Latin curse modelled on classical invective: roughly, "and let him be called the Surprising One, most soft, improper, dishonest, greedy, dissolute, drunk." LAN notes the Latin is deliberately garbled in the classical manner.
Emperor Septimius Severus (r. 193–211) defeated his rival Clodius Albinus at the Battle of Lugdunum in 197. Marie playfully applies the historical formula of imperial denunciation to Audiffret.
Sarà quel che sarà (Italian): "What will be, will be" — the Italian version of Que sera, sera.