Wednesday, 26 July 1876 — Thursday, 27 July 1876

Audiffret was [words crossed out] informed that we were lunching.
Having seen Mouzay down to the door, I went back in alone, followed at a distance by a young man — but in this wretched hotel I am followed more or less every day, so I paid no attention. And ten minutes later a large bouquet of roses was brought up to me, with a calling card: Eugène Fishhoff — here it is, that singular card. Needless to say I did not reply, I kept the bouquet, and had the man shown out.
It was too late to leave, so I put on my travelling dress and ran with my aunt to Mouzay's to tell her of the adventure. But she knows the young man — Mme de Mertens too. He is a first-rate scoundrel who chases actresses, and worse than that besides.
He had the impudence to follow us to 29 Boulevard Haussmann (where Mouzay lodges), and while we were at Mouzay's he was leaving his card at Mme de Mertens'.
How strange — the night before last I went to bed, and until I fell asleep I kept seeing Antonelli's face detach itself like a shadow from behind the massive bulk of Cassagnac.
At last, yesterday at seven o'clock in the morning we left Paris.
During the journey I amused myself by giving Chocolat a history lesson, and this rogue, thanks to me, now has some idea of the ancient Greeks, of Rome governed first by kings, then as a republic, and finally as an empire — just like France — and of the history of France from the king whose head was cut off. I explained to him the various parties that exist at present, and Chocolat is now up to date on everything; he even knows what a deputy is. I would tell him things and then question him afterwards.
And when I had finished I asked him which party he belonged to — this rogue replied:
"I am a Bonapartist!"
Here is how he summarizes what I taught him: the last king was Louis XVI, who was very good, but the republicans, who are people who seek only money and honors, cut off his head and his wife Marie-Antoinette's too, and made a republic. France was then very wretched, and there was born in Corsica a man named Napoleon Bonaparte who had so much wit and courage that they made him a colonel, then a general; he then conquered the whole world and the French loved him greatly. But, having gone to Russia, he forgot to bring greatcoats for his soldiers, and they were very miserable from the cold. And the Russians burnt Moscow; so Napoleon, who was already Emperor, returned to France — but since he was unhappy, the French, who love only those who have luck, loved him no more, and all the other kings, to take their revenge, ordered him to abdicate. Then he went to the island of Elba, then he came back for a Hundred Days to Paris, and finally they gave chase to him; he then saw an English vessel and begged to be saved, and when he had climbed aboard, they made him a prisoner and took him to the island of Saint Helena, where he died.
I assure you that Chocolat has told a good deal of truth.
At last this morning we entered Berlin. And this city made a singularly agreeable impression on me — the houses are very handsome.
I cannot write a word today. How maddening!
"Two feelings are common to proud or affectionate natures: that of extreme sensitivity to opinion, and of extreme bitterness when that opinion is unjust."
It is eleven o'clock; I have not set foot outside. I have made good use of my day, in any case — I have done nothing but eat. What would you have one do in Prussia?
I telegraphed to Maman, to my father, to Étienne, and to Yssayevitch.
My aunt does not believe in a mere friendship between me and Paul de Cassagnac.
"Come, Madame! You do not think, I hope, that he will fall in love with me."
"No, he will not love you — he is a man of the world — but there will be flirtation."

Notes

Homme universel: a man of wide experience and universal connections, worldly in the fullest sense.
Flirtation: in English in the original — the French borrowed the English word, used here with knowing irony.