Wednesday, 26 July 1876 — Thursday, 27 July 1876

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 summarises 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 honours, 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 chased after him; then he 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 there is a good deal of truth in what Chocolat said.
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 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. ↩