Sunday, 20 January 1878

Here is his reply.
[Saturday, 19 January 1878]
I accept your invitation with great pleasure, my sweet little friend — but how do you expect me to have returned from Versailles and dressed in time for half past six?
If you do not grant me until seven o’clock, it is impossible for me to come.
All my sentiments of respectful affection,
Paul de Cassagnac
To which I reply by telegram from Laferrière’s, where I was trying on dresses.
I grant you until half past seven, enormous friend.
The Virgin with the Cocoa.
You will never imagine how lazy I am about writing up these accounts.
At seven o’clock Popaul arrived with his customary nonchalance, and a few moments later Berthe and her sister. Except for Maman and my aunt, we are all in white. You can well picture the dinner with six women and a single man — Popaul. I am pretty and dressed in a manner to leave none of my physical advantages in the shade.
It is incredible — I cannot put two words together; the notebook has been open for more than three hours, but I keep evading it, now by reading, now by playing my various instruments.
Cassagnac opened the white box, and I had to fight a battle to stop him reading me — cuffs crumpled, hands kissed. That very thing is what prevents me from writing: if I do not take a little care over my memoirs, it will be impossible to show them to anyone. I am full of boastful, disagreeable, and false expressions.
He was insisting on it, or pretending to, so I put my keys in his pocket — which he found very clever, since his honour, etc. etc. etc. His hobby-horse, in short, which I take to be an affectation, since men like him are to be found only in Alexandre Dumas.
For me, Cassagnac is a woman — you understand what I mean — and then his respectfulness, and all manner of things. We exchange impertinences and kindnesses; I enjoy myself, and I dread the hour that moves too quickly.
The Boyds pretend to be going to the Bal de l’Opéra in secret from Maman; Dina and I play the same comedy — we invite Cassagnac to guide us. This conspiracy is interrupted by the arrival of the little Prince, to whom we pay no attention at all and continue talking among ourselves — the four women and the one man.
I do not know how the subject of the five ladies of society came up again during dinner — Popaul recounted the correspondence, adding that he had replied.
We implore him to let us attend the tea, and he replies that he has given his word of honour to the five unknown ladies not to betray them.
— But you told me you had not replied.
— But someone has written to me again since — you did not know that.
— Really!
And then a thousand ruses to prevent him from suspecting. Berthe and Yorke play their parts well — and Popaul, having taken my word of honour that I had nothing to do with it, tells us how he intends to make the five ladies unmask themselves of their own accord.
His manservant dressed as a police commissioner will make his entrance, long hindered by the maid — Cassagnac will turn pale, the ladies will take fright. In short, a little scene very well staged — which would produce a great effect on me if I were not forewarned.
Now there are people who say he is making sport of us. I do not believe it.
Mme de Fayet arrives, and MM. de Beaurepaire and d’Alt. I am quite annoyed — yet I am civil, and lead the Prince into my little drawing room, from which one can see everything in the large one through a pane of unsilvered glass, to show him a drawing, some albums, and to talk about art.
I could see Cassagnac talking with Dina and Berthe and glancing my way — as I learned afterwards, he was speaking of my beauty as that of a statue, and telling Dina to produce, if she could, a back the equal of mine. She replied that she absolutely refused. I am, I believe, different in reality from what I am in this journal; in the journal it is approximately my natural self, with the slight difference of any reproduction — whereas with Cassagnac I am quite mad; I let myself go, because I know he has wit, and that while saying nothing I do would surprise him, he understands that... I am joking.
La Fayet and the gentlemen melt before him to such a degree that I find it quite funny — I who treat him with laughter. The little Prince admires him completely. M. de Beaurepaire pays him court — M. de Beaurepaire goes everywhere, so I put up with him.
Naturally our marivaudages — I believe that is what they are called — are interrupted by all these intruders. Cassagnac talks for some time with La Fayet — I believe on account of her bodice, which is prodigious... in its openings.
At tea we talk politics — Cassagnac has a migraine; I take his keys hide them in my bodice and return them only after we have made an imprint of them with face powder; I slip them between my skin and my chemise and return them to him only at the moment of departure (at midnight) — all warm — with a certain malice but pretending to take them from my pocket.
— That is clever, he says — and leaves, kissing my hand and saying to me: good night, Maman.
It is midnight; I began writing at seven in the evening.
As for yesterday — after recounting a charitable matter for which “we were soliciting Monsieur de Cassagnac” — I went to bed and fell asleep immediately with the greatest pleasure.
On the subject of charity, M. de Beaurepaire, who took it seriously, delivered us a whole speech and cited a thousand examples.
Today — visits from the Mouzays and from Zurlo.
At five o’clock the Boyds arrive — they have been to the Madeleine post office and found no letter. Berthe writes one to him worded as follows:
Copied letterLettre anonyme des « cinq femmes » à Paul de Cassagnac, 20 janvier 1878
— “Our husbands suspect the Madeleine post office — it is impossible to collect your reply there. Write to poste Luxembourg 1,2,3,4,5 — make haste, young Bonapartist, for we leave for Nice on Thursday. Wednesday at nine in the evening we shall be at your home, unless you send a letter to the contrary.”
He will recognise an English hand — and if he has suspected that the other letters came from us, this one will make him change his mind.
I believe all the same that this wretch has disturbed me — and I am so sincere that I return on purpose from my room to write that this friendship could make me neglect... my art, if I were not bound to become very good, so as to paint the (his) portrait.
Honni soit qui mal y pense.

Notes

In Anglo-Norman French in the original — the motto of the Order of the Garter: “Shame on him who thinks evil of it.” ↩