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Updated: June 26, 2025
This evening Chrysanthème and Jonquille really look like little fairies; at certain moments the most insignificant Japanese have this appearance, by dint of whimsical elegance and ingenious arrangement.
First, there is our very merry neighbor Madame Campanule, who is little Charles N -'s wife; then Madame Jonquille, who is even merrier than Campanule, like a young bird, and the daintiest fairy of them all; she has married X , a fair northerner who adores her; they are a lover- like and inseparable pair, the only one that will probably weep when the hour of parting comes.
With a disdainful little foot, clothed as usual in exquisite socks, with a special hood for the great toe, she pushes away the piles of white dollars and scatters them on the mats. "We have hired a large, covered sampan," she says to change the conversation, "and we are all going together Campanule, Jonquille, Touki, all your mousmes to watch your vessel set sail.
In the vast flood of midday sunshine, to the quivering noise of the cicalas, I mount up to Diou-djen-dji. The paths are solitary, the plants drooping in the heat. Here, however, is Madame Jonquille, taking the air, in the bright sunshine of the grasshoppers, sheltering her dainty figure and her charming face under an immense paper parasol, a huge circle, closely ribbed and fantastically striped.
First, there is our very merry neighbor Madame Campanule, who is little Charles N -'s wife; then Madame Jonquille, who is even merrier than Campanule, like a young bird, and the daintiest fairy of them all; she has married X , a fair northerner who adores her; they are a lover-like and inseparable pair, the only one that will probably weep when the hour of parting comes.
In the vast flood of midday sunshine, to the quivering noise of the cicalas, I mount to Diou- djen-dji. The paths are solitary, the plants are drooping in the heat. Here, however, is Madame Jonquille, taking the air in the bright, grasshoppers' sunshine, sheltering her dainty figure and her charming face under an enormous paper parasol, a huge circle, closely ribbed and fantastically striped.
Chrysantheme, who always likes to play the part of a tired little girl, of a spoiled and pouting child, ascends slowly between Yves and myself, clinging to our arms. Jonquille, on the contrary, skips up like a bird, amusing herself by counting the endless steps. She lays a great stress on the accentuations, as if to make the numbers sound even more droll.
In the vast flood of midday sunshine, to the quivering noise of the cicalas, I mount to Diou-djen-dji. The paths are solitary, the plants are drooping in the heat. Here, however, is Madame Jonquille, taking the air in the bright, grasshoppers' sunshine, sheltering her dainty figure and her charming face under an enormous paper parasol, a huge circle, closely ribbed and fantastically striped.
My mother-in-law seems to be really a very good woman, and were it not for the insurmountable feeling of spleen the sight of her garden produces on me, I should often go to see her. She has nothing in common with the mammas of Jonquille, Campanule, or Touki she is vastly their superior; and then I can see that she has been very good-looking and fashionable.
This evening Chrysantheme and Jonquille really look like little fairies; at certain moments the most insignificant Japanese have this appearance, by dint of whimsical elegance and ingenious arrangement.
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