Tuesday, 12 June 1877

I had not gone to bed, so as to start painting at five in the morning, and then at one o’clock that beast of a Walitsky came to tell me he had seen at Monaco a man who bore a perfect resemblance to the portrait of Larderel, and who was gambling heavily.
I tweaked Walitsky’s nose for this fine news and wished him good night, all the while thinking of the eggs and the rat. I let him go upstairs and waited. But after an hour, hearing nothing particular, I went back to speculate with Rosalie. She maintained that the arch of his back had prevented the disaster; as for the rat, that was incomprehensible. My own view is that the rat was not dead; and as for the eggs, given the temperature outside and the exorbitant heat that Walitsky is bound to generate, I believe that tomorrow morning there will be either little chicks or hard-boiled eggs.
Rosalie wanted me to go to bed, and I answered with nonsense while dancing the tarantella. In my nightgown, barefoot, with the mandolin, in the middle of the night — it is enchanting.
The dragon danced too, all the while grumbling about this outlandish way of spending the night. Well, is one not allowed to enjoy oneself? Everyone takes their pleasure where they find it.
Day is beginning to break. One more hour of reading, or an hour and a half.
We shall recover from all these orgies in Germany. I should think so — dancing the tarantella until one is soaked as if in a bath, singing along to the mandolin the whole while, so that by the last turns my tongue was the very image of Bagatelle’s after the rat hunt.
Yet I did sleep from five until eight in the morning.
By way of thanks for the fête I have been summoned by the police. Really, there seems to be nothing that cannot happen to me in Nice. My aunt was as furious as a lioness, and so were Maman and Walitsky; and Triphon, who had engineered the whole affair by saying that I would be the one to pay, swore there was no summons at all. They put the summons under his nose, and then a most extraordinary scene occurred. He went on denying it as if he could not see it, and to everything that was said he answered invariably:
— Mademoiselle, do not believe what they tell you; they will never proceed against you — it is not true.
I understand how one could commit a crime in the face of such impudence. Nothing more revolting, and at the same time nothing more extraordinary.
I did not know whether this man was mad or whether we were all deranged. Even writing it I feel spasms of irritation.
He stared at the paper; he was ordered to read it; he read it, and then repeated again:
— Do not believe what they tell you, they will never proceed against you, Mademoiselle. Ah! Madame, there is no outsider here, so I may as well tell you that you play such tricks on everyone, that you ill-treat your faithful servants.
I was about to scratch everyone; my aunt was foaming at the mouth. To avoid scratching everyone I went off, marvelling like a madwoman!
This servant has debts everywhere, and no longer daring to use other people’s names, he uses mine. Me — before the police! But it is an outrage!! My God, my God. Walitsky will set matters right and prevent any future confusion.
But no, no! My name in this filth. What audacity, what an outrage!!
I am melting in the heat. I was taken out for a drive in the evening, and we saw Maman arriving back from Monaco at nine o’clock — so she must have left at eight. So Walitsky says the gentleman from yesterday was not there. One more piece of stupidity, coming back so early.
And then: money troubles. To be without money is equivalent to the donkey ride at Sorrento.
Give me money, my God, and I shall be happy! Gold is omnipotence.