Tuesday, 25 February 1879

We celebrated Carnival all day long. We were completely disguised, and I amused myself greatly accosting everyone during the two hours of the carriage parade.

The funniest thing was to call English people who had come here for their health “Arthur” or “Ernest” and tell them: “Your wife is cheating on you.” Or to cry at strangers that I am Ernestine, that they are perfidious, and that I shall have my revenge. All that is well-worn, silly if you like — but once one is in the swing of it one can bring about rather amusing situations and snatches of dialogue. Paul is very sweet; he talks nonsense to everyone in the street.

The day before yesterday we took into our carriage a Russian entirely unknown to us and stunned him for half an hour. In the midst of the festivities Paul leaves us and creates an amusing incident — here it is, as told by the hero himself. Madame Tutcheff, Mademoiselle and Monsieur Eristoff are at the grandstand. Paul goes to find them and takes his place behind them; then as they were preparing to leave he blocks the prince’s path. The prince politely begs him to let the ladies pass — and as the green domino paid no heed to the request, he said to him, laughing:

— Come now, mask, let us pass.

— No, replied the domino, no I shall not let you pass. And he removed his mask.

— My dear Monsieur, I am very glad to meet you. For two years I have been looking for you — but you hide like the coward you are.

— But Monsieur, but Monsieur — what do you want with me, what have you against me? We parted as good friends at Gavronzi — speak Russian, I beg you — he added in Russian.

— I beg you to speak French, Monsieur; I wish everyone to know what a scoundrel you are.

Another man would have leapt at him, but Monsieur Eristoff is not one to be feared; Uncle Alexandre has told me fifty times that he is an imbecile, but this beats everything.

— Monsieur, allow me to see these ladies home and I am at your disposal.

— Oh no, you will hide. Take off your wire mask so that I may slap your face, since nothing else has any effect.

— There is no need to slap anyone’s face; you know my address, I am at your disposal. I shall give you whatever explanation you wish. Besides, what have I done to you?

— A great deal, to my family and to me; it is to me that you shall answer for all these vile acts.

— I swear to you that I have done nothing, I give you my word of honour...

— You have no honour, and besides it is not you — you are too stupid — it is your old mistress who puts you up to it!

— I am at your disposal, Monsieur.

— That is all I ask, only I shall follow you, otherwise you will run away.

— Very well, Monsieur.

They were nearing the carriage when the footman came running to call Monsieur the prince.

— You see, Monsieur, I must accompany my ladies.

And he jumps into the carriage, but Paul, pushing the footman aside, lowered the window and said to Winslaw and to another gentleman who was there by the carriage:

— I told you he was a coward and that he would hide.

Then he came to join us and tell us about the affair. I am pleased. It is a somewhat belated energy, it is true, but better late than never. Paul is nineteen, but no one ever takes him for less than twenty-five. He is a big fellow built like a colossus, and a being like that must make himself respected. From a dreadful scamp he has become calm, good and honest. He never lies. Maman is frightened at once, and if he listened to her people could spit in his face. Ordinary mothers are cowards. Fortunately his sister is there. He feels it, and he comes to me. But what do you think of the prince? No doubt he was afraid of being beaten. It seems he does not consider himself the insulted party. But if here there is the mother, there there is the mistress — and the man’s stupidity, which is truly astonishing. One can frighten people like that! That would be good. Eristoff will never fight. I shall take steps tomorrow. But to finish the day. Dourassoff introduces his friend Obidine. We dine at the London House in half-masks and dominos. Then carriages, flowers, laughter, shouts. There are six of us in the carriage, all masked.

An enormous crowd everywhere; we were like the Tsar passing by, to whom people cry hurrah! — because we were shouting, which made everyone else shout.

The procession went on foot — we did not go, in any case; we admired the fireworks from the grandstand. These good, these excellent Niçois. Having grown up among them, I love them! I detest the people of the North. I spoke to everyone — to common folk — and all answered nicely. Not one impertinence, not one vulgarity. At last, when everything was over and the Poor Carnival burned, we had tea at Rumpelmayer’s, and to continue the running joke of the day each of us asked the serving girl every time she passed whether Monsieur Gautier had arrived. That came to a good twenty-five times in all.