Sunday, 14 December 1879

Berthe came to fetch me and, accompanied by Bojidar, we set off on foot to roam the Latin Quarter: the Place Saint-Sulpice, the rue Mouffetard, the rue de Nevers, the Morgue, the rue des Anglais, etc., etc.; we took a tram for a quarter of an hour and then set off walking again.
It lasted from three o’clock until seven. There is nothing so adorable as old Paris; it reminds me of Rome and of Dumas’s novels, and of Notre-Dame de Paris with Quasimodo, and a heap of delightful old things. We bought chestnuts at a street corner, and then we spent twenty minutes at a slipper-seller’s, where we spend nearly nine francs, and at another’s, who all but insulted us because I was bargaining: “Really, ladies! You haggle over seven francs, and you think nothing of putting two hundred francs into a fur cloak!” — I had one on worth two thousand francs. Then we go into Foyot’s, where we admire Carolus-Duran taking a syrup, and then into a toyshop, where we have them set musical boxes playing, and a billiard table...
And then it is a frenzy of gaiety: Berthe goes into a bookbinder’s where there was only a child of about ten, and we give her Joseph’s address to have L’Assommoir and Casanova’s Memoirs bound.
At the turn of a street, as our slippers make no noise, we let Bojidar go on ahead and hide in a doorway, but he soon finds us again, and we go to two removal firms to order two four-horse vans to carry the furniture of M. J. Arnaud de l’Ariège), of the Palais Bourbon, rue de Penthièvre (Mme Arnaud’s flat). Berthe calmly gave the details: two grand pianos, a bath, double mirrored wardrobes, crockery, a billiard table, etc., etc.
After that we wanted to go in everywhere and talk nonsense to everyone, but it was seven o’clock; we had to take a cab, whose horse came down after ten paces. We get out, the beast is picked up, and we set off again after sending Bojidar to tell the cabman that one of these ladies is... indisposed.
Not to mention that in the tram there was a very innocent couple beside us whom we took in by telling one another stories like that of the young girl who, in a railway derailment, received so violent a shock that her knees went into her chest and came out through her back.
We came home quite worn out with laughing, and Bojidar very proud of having escorted two smart ladies.

Notes

Hugo’s novel (1831), also known in English as The Hunchback of Notre-Dame. ↩
Zola’s novel (1877), roughly “The Drinking Den”; it keeps its French title in English too. ↩