Sunday, 7 May 1882

Quite a number of visits yesterday — among the new faces, M. Rehmann and Prince Guido Pignatelli of Naples. I used to see him and his father every day on the Chiaia, clean-shaven and accompanied by an abbé. It seems the elder has three hundred thousand francs a year and the younger, Guido, five hundred thousand — he has inherited from the Duke of Monteleone. The incomparable Aurore, sweetbriar, vernal apparition, and so on and so forth! In plain words, Mademoiselle Troubetskoy, whom Étincelle glorifies with such intensive publicity — she did not marry Pomar; she is plain but pleasant, and her mother, the eccentric Lise, is forever chasing matches for this Aurore who must be at least twenty-four. But I have no idea why I am telling you all this... There were Mme Gavini, Odette, Engelhardt; Messrs. Engelhardt de la Tour, Pignatelli, Rehmann, Bojidar, Alexis, young Faure, Filippini... who else? And this evening the Gavinis are taking me to the circus. A new dress of grey cashmere, a fold at the back held by a rhinestone buckle, as is done on trousers. In front, a blouse without seams but fitted by another buckle which draws the folds down to the lowest point of the waist — this buckle is a pin fastened to the corset itself, so that all these folds never shift and the waist is very slender without a belt. These are my own inventions; my dresses get copied, but the others cannot carry it off.
“Mademoiselle will come to see you around five o’clock, and we shall order a dozen of those dresses... Only... For no one has Mademoiselle’s style.”
Only I shall wait — because if I go, all those women who spend fifty or sixty thousand francs a year, and the cocottes, will have the same dress. I do not spend a great deal — perhaps eight thousand francs a year, no more, at Doucet’s.
But I was talking about the circus — yes, I have a grey hat equally ravishing in its distinction. Afterwards we go to Imoda’s for ices; Géry is with us, and then Countess Walewska, wife of the former minister who married young Alessandro. She is sixty and he thirty-two... On the subject of well-matched couples there is also the household of Mme de Marcilly and Janvier... As Adeline was saying she looked like an old ruin, I called Janvier her curator. Besides, one can sometimes laugh with Adeline — it is old Gavini who is insufferable.
Oh! Yesterday at the circus was still nothing, but then we go to see the Courbet exhibition and afterwards to the Bois! At the exhibition I remain two minutes, because this awful Corsican was torturing me with his pretentious and idiotic remarks about the paintings — and then the Bois! No, I am truly to be pitied, a sensitive soul exposed to all these miseries. That man who nudged me with his elbow every five minutes to make some fatuous observation about the passers-by, and Maman’s conversation! First it was that Napoleon III did a great deal for the beautification of Paris, and as carriages went past — many carriages with many children — she found some of the children pretty, and added: you see, these children are pretty — because there are children who are not pretty, but these children, now, are pretty children. And still ringing in my ears was Gavini’s verdict before the Courbets: “Not the least bit clumsy!”

Notes

The Chiaia, a fashionable seafront promenade in Naples. ↩
In Latin in the original: Vulgo — commonly known as, in ordinary parlance. ↩
Étincelle («Spark»): the pen name of Marie Biard de Peyronny, society columnist of Le Figaro (see 19 March 1881). ↩
Cailloux du Rhin: literally “Rhine pebbles” — paste rhinestones, fashionable costume jewellery of the period. ↩
Cocottes: courtesans or kept women of the demi-monde. ↩
A pun: conservateur means both “curator” (of a museum) and “one who preserves” — applied here to Janvier as the keeper of Mme de Marcilly’s crumbling edifice. ↩
Gavini — Denis Gavini, the Corsican, Adeline Gavini’s husband; Marie’s “le père Gavini” (“old Gavini”). ↩
Pas empoté: «not clumsy», Gavini’s verdict on the Courbets. ↩