Monday, 5 April 1880

Prince Napoleon has spoken, and L’Estafette publishes the letter, which I place in my album.
Before reading tomorrow’s newspapers or seeing anyone, I declare this letter profoundly skilful, timely, wise, and proper. Only it completely condemns the cries of indignation that Popaul utters after the government decrees. But Popaul matters very little to me, and I am even very pleased that he is condemned by his chief. This admirable letter makes me think of the night of December 2nd, when Gavini went so far as to kneel before the Prince to persuade him to go to the Élysée, without success. It was then that old Denis called him a rebel prince and received the epithet of mountebank in return. There was at the bottom of this conduct an outraged honesty and extremely delicate feelings wounded by the act of Napoleon III, who was good, corrupt, amiable, but never honest, intimately honest.
The Prince’s brusqueness, his escapades, his imprudences have made him detractors and enemies; the Tuileries gave him a detestable reputation. He has been slandered, misunderstood; he is blamed for his conduct towards his saintly wife, who is devout and slovenly, and if she were a true saintly woman she would not desert her post. I never have time to express myself properly. I shall tell you everything, however, by telling you that I believe the Prince has the same nature as I.
On Saturday Courtès was dining with us, and while he was talking with Dina, my aunt made a point of saying to Mme de Baillel, seated opposite, that poor Mme Gavini was quite embarrassed. One of her friends writes to her from the provinces begging her to find a titled and honourable husband for a young orphan with 60,000 francs a year.
Courtès did not appear to hear, but the next day at one o’clock he was at Mme Gavini’s to offer himself.
“But my dear Count, it is a fib; those ladies were making fun of you. They are the ones with fine dowries -- court them.”