Friday, 9 August 1878

A succession of extraordinary events: Dourassoff is introduced to the princes by Fritz the wine steward. I flatter myself I'm being quite naughty calling them Gans in front of people who don't know what it means. The whole day can be divided into tableaux, each with its own perfectly stylish title.
The Wild Beasts' Feast. From our two windows we watch the Gans consume their learned dinner: eight meats, three compotes, five salads. Mme Coubé had taken the Gans side, I took the Schwarz side, Abaza with me and M. Coubé. My aunt and Dourassoff with Mme Coubé.
The Illumination. I hang Venetian lanterns and arrange little oil lamps along my balcony.
The Fall of the Flag. Mühle brings a tricolour flag which, badly tied, falls and causes Schwarz to spill beside his glass and give a start entirely alien to his usual manner.
The Triumph of the Tricolour!
Rosalie fastens it with white satin ribbons — some twenty metres of them.
[The old Italian prince], whom I go to invite. He looks exactly like a bat — his portrait is done. The Fire: Mühle brings more oil lamps, I ask him whether the Kurhaus is insured, and upon his affirmative I promise to do everything in my power to earn him three hundred thousand marks.
The Evening — everything lights up.
The Alarm. Firecrackers go off on all sides; little Victor weeps, Mme Coubé nearly faints; I shout that one must be quite an idiot not to warn nervous ladies. Ouroussoff insists it's Rosalie, and Wilhelm comes to say "it's M. Mühle doing that."
The Surprise. Bengal lights everywhere, arranged by the princes along with the firecrackers. I had suspected preparations but dared not believe in such happiness.
Jealousy. The Englishwoman appears. The princes make no move to be introduced but talk with Dourassoff and promenade with the lot of us — rather curious. We form a chain and I say in Russian that we must not let the Englishwoman reach the Gans, which we manage perfectly. In any case these idiots were walking in our group, and I told Dourassoff how very kind he was to have thought of this surprise, pretending not even to suspect it was they.
The Crowd. Every soul in Soden who lives near the Kurhaus.
The Gendarme. In the midst of the festivities a fireman appears to keep order. Ouroussoff goes to find Rosalie and insists that a lamp which had gone out... by accident... be relit.
At ten o'clock we settle in for supper while the Gans come and go and circle around us. Besides, for the past two days I have been delighted — they do nothing but look at me.
Half past ten. Last tableau.
Too late! The people from the mountain come running — but it is all over.
Glutted with my triumphs... (Rosalie had told them it was my eighteenth birthday, and they had thought to celebrate it) I go in, savour my successes, and all at once I feel a violent love for Paul de Cassagnac.

Notes

Bengal lights (feux de Bengale) were coloured pyrotechnic flares — blue, green, or red — widely used at nineteenth-century outdoor festivities.
Paul de Cassagnac (1843–1904), born Paul Adolphe Marie Prosper Granier de Cassagnac, was a French Bonapartist journalist and politician. Editor of the conservative newspaper Le Pays, he was famous for his fiery political rhetoric, frequent duels, and passionate defence of the Bonapartist cause. Marie followed his political writings and idealised him as a romantic figure.