Saturday, 5 July 1879

These days the newspapers tell you my diary and my life. Madame de Bailleul is a charming woman; we read together and grow indignant or admiring in turn.
I have before my eyes the photograph of Prince Napoléon with his two sons. Look at these three splendid creatures, and then tell me that Bonapartism is dead! Yesterday Father and Mother Gavini came to see us, and at dinner we had the Pribilsky woman and Bojidar — who calls me Mother Arnaud because I christen him Father Couvelet.
One’s hair stands on end reading the details of the Prince’s murder. The infamous coward who sold him is to be tried. God, if only they would hang him! But no — that would not be enough. He should be made to endure a long agony, like the Prince’s — who heard them fleeing, who waited for them, who defended himself still hoping they would come to his aid. Cursed island, vile and cynical people.
I believe nonetheless that the grief of interested parties such as Cassagnac is not as genuine as mine. I lose nothing by the death of this unfortunate murdered man — but I assure you it is one of the great and profound emotions of my life.
In the Illustrated London News, which I am keeping for you [Missing], you will see this poor child on his mother’s knee, barely a few months old; then a baby of two mounted on a wooden horse; then a little grenadier of four.
Then the child leaving for the German war, and finally this young man in exile, at Chislehurst, at college, at war with Carey!!!
Dina and Maman leave whenever I want to read them these atrocious details, depositions, and inquiries. They cannot bear to listen calmly to such horrors.
For my part, deep down, it is the Acard girl who amuses me. I was asking for a rehabilitation. He is rehabilitated, and it is the Acard girl who profits by it. They say he married her in a surge of generosity, to make amends for wrongs he believed to be his own. It is as good an explanation as any of this phenomenal marriage. No matter! He is hers for ever; the gods have so decided.
You know I am often one of the crowd. How could I fail to be enthralled by that “penetrating charm” of which the Procureur général spoke in his summing-up, and which won the jury? When I read speeches by the Deceased it is as though I were hearing them — so well do I know every intonation; I divine the effects, the outbursts, the surprises. But... I showed the portrait of Dina to Julian, who paid it the highest praise... Prince Jérôme would be splendid to paint.