Thursday, 1 August 1878

I disguised myself as an old German woman with odd ways and little quirks. And as the appearance of every new face excites the residents of the spa house, I cause a sensation. Only I commit the imprudence of not ordering anything from the waiter; suspicions are aroused, I am followed (for... I had left the terrace where I had been sitting for an hour), I am pursued, and it is all over.
But I assure you it is a melancholy thing to make twenty-five people die laughing without amusing oneself. I return pursued by this pack — servants and hotelkeepers following the guests — at the foot of the stairs I remove my spectacles to show it is indeed I; Dourassoff still had his doubts.
Rosalie extends her warmest protection to the princes, and why? At first she will not say anything, declaring that I am not kind to invalids and that if she tells me I shall become even more wicked. In short, the dark prince (Ah! I must not forget to tell you that today at table I happened to meet his eyes, which two days of illness have made even larger and darker; I have never seen such large eyes) — so the dark prince is said to have opened his heart to the head waiter who serves him, and the head waiter was quite furious because, when the prince passed me the menu, I had turned away without paying attention, which is supposed to have made the prince sad, for he had quite made up his mind to speak to me today; and the prince’s sadness put the head waiter out of humour, the head waiter to whom the prince had confided his preference so that he would let him know each time I go down to the table d’hôte. So... here it is,
And when I objected that speaking to me was easy enough when one has been dining beside me for three weeks, Rosalie replies that I have intimidated many others by my vivacity and my habit of mocking everyone.
And as I laughed at these confidences to the head waiter, Rosalie tells me that they are not confidences at all, but that in order to dine downstairs on the days I dine there he needs the services of this man, who can learn my plans through her and let him know.
You cannot imagine how the servants spy on us and comment on the smallest things. So this head waiter, to whom the prince is very kind, is watching us.
Well — this filth from the servants’ hall gave me a kind of pleasure. If it were true after all... if it were true it would move me greatly, and I should not have the courage to laugh at this sick and poetic being. I should wish him no harm, and I should be wildly amused.
This very evening I already saw him with quite different eyes. And at dinner (if they understand English, it is a fine joke) I told Madame Rembelinsky that the two men we had taken for princes were only commercial travellers from Berlin, and Madame Rembelinsky spread it about, playing on the pronunciation of the younger one’s name and saying Ganz (goose) instead of Hans. They had no need to know English to understand that.
I cannot wait for tomorrow to find myself beside the poor invalid again, while admitting that it is absurd to trust such gossip... well... at Soden.
In the evening we go to Madame Antonsky’s; I find them all there, laughing over the doings of the German woman, which they are analysing and going over again this evening.

Notes

In German in the original: Kurhaus. ↩
German: Gans = goose, ganz = whole/quite. The wordplay mocks Hans by calling him a “goose.” ↩