Saturday, 22 March 1873

In the morning I was reading the Swiss Times, scanning the lists of foreigners — not in Nice but everywhere — looking for the H's, and I found "Hamilton, the duke of" at Naples. This list is from the 10th of March. My God, thank You for letting me know where he is. When I read his name, I thought for a moment that it was impossible, because his name is too dear to me — but there it was, the duke of — it is he. I was thunderstruck!
I tremble. I cannot tear my eyes away. Oh! my God, make him come to Nice. He is in Naples at the Hôtel du Louvre. How I love him — I remember him now. I adore him! My God, do not make me unhappy. My God! Make him love me! My God, I beseech You.
Fine weather. To the promenade (blue dress) — not many people; morning at the Cercle Masséna. I went driving. I saw Gioia several times, in black — she is beautiful; not so much in herself as in her coiffure, her dress, her whole setting, which is perfect; nothing is wanting — everything is elegant, rich, distinguished, magnificent. Truly one would take her for a great lady. It is natural that all this contributes enormously to her beauty — her house, too, with its drawing rooms, its intimate nooks, with a soft light coming through beautiful draperies or green foliage; she herself coiffed, dressed, and groomed to perfection, seated in a magnificent salon like a queen, where everything is arranged and disposed to show her to the best advantage.
It is natural that she should please and that he should love her. If I had her whole setting, I should be even better. I would be happy with my husband, for I would never neglect myself. I would groom myself to please him always, as I groomed myself when I wanted to please him the first time. Besides, I do not understand why, if a man or a woman, so long as they are not married, can love each other always and try ceaselessly to please one another — why, being married, they would not do the same.
[Written across the page: Accurate, and not too badly written, comparatively.]
Why should one not think of making oneself loved by the other, without having in mind that with the word marriage everything passes and nothing remains but cold and reserved friendship? [Inserted line: or rather, vulgar familiarity.] Why profane marriage by picturing it thus — the wife in curling papers and dressing gown, with cold-cream on her nose, trying to get money from her husband for her dresses? Why should a woman neglect herself before the man for whom she ought to take the greatest care? Why is it that when someone pleases us we do not like to show ourselves badly dressed and we try with all our might to look our best? I do not see why one should treat one's husband like a domestic animal, and why, so long as one is not married, one wishes to please this man — yet once husband and wife, one treats him with vulgar familiarity and courts and is courted by others, setting the husband aside.
Why should one not remain always coquettish with one's husband and treat him as a stranger who pleases you — with the difference that to a stranger one must not permit anything too forward?
Is it because one may love openly, because it is not a crime, and because marriage is blessed by God? Is it because everything that is not forbidden is nothing? And because one finds pleasure only in things forbidden and hidden?
My God, it should not be so. I understand all this quite differently! Why does Gioia sustain the Duke of Hamilton's affection? Because she maintains their relations not with vulgar familiarity, but properly. That does not mean playing a comedy — can one not be naturally good? Yes, one can. And with the help of God, I would live happily.
At half past one we went to dine at Madame de Mouzay's — not Maman, for she is in bed (blue silk dress, very smart). At dinner there were a few gentlemen from the third floor. In the evening, company — we played charades, parlor games, etc. But what company! — pretentious old women in rags; men who were a kind of oily tradesmen. I felt ill at ease in this society. I do not like being with people beneath me. I like to be with my equals. The only decent people were the Count and Countess Benvenuti; it was with the latter that I principally spent my time. Not a single fine dress — nothing, nothing, nothing. I detest parties like this — not a single suitable man. And without gentlemen, one does not amuse oneself, because one has no desire to interest anyone; there were men, but what a horror!

Notes

In English in the original.
In English in the original.