Thursday, 6 January 1876

It is Christmas. We go to church, and the air there is so thick with incense that I am obliged to go out for ten minutes to avoid fainting.
Botkine called again and brought addresses of teachers. Then we hire a landau and Maman goes to see the Russian priest, the Archimandrite Alexandre. Being an archimandrite, he is a monk — for among us it is only deacons, priests, and those of somewhat higher rank than priest, who may marry. Maman says he is charming. Our embassy gives no entertainments and does not even have a fixed day for receptions.
Having a proper carriage we go to the Pincio, and this promenade reconciles me a little with Rome. A great crowd of people and carriages, and I saw the King! I adore kings! I adore living in a country where there is a King and princes.
And everyone here loves the King — He is ugly, but he is all good, all gracious, that is what they say of him. The King was in a victoria with two horses and a gentleman. If I were Nina I would say he has fallen in love with me, because he turned round sharply and looked at me intently. But since I am not Nina I shall say nothing, only that I adore the King of Italy as I adore all kings, and particularly our imperial family of Russia. [Bottom of page removed.]
As for the Surprising One — Frederick Victor Emmanuel is prodigiously ugly: an enormous red face, all turned up like a bulldog's, yet I looked at him with tenderness, with respect, with superstition. Ah! kings do not know where to find devoted servants — if they could know my heart they would open their arms to me, for there is no one in the world more royalist than I, no one who would be more faithful, more devoted, more sincere.
I saw again... guess who — I saw, leaning against one of the small columns separating the walking path from the stopping place at the Pincio, dressed in grey, the handsome Sir Frederic Johnstone. There is nothing in the world like a true English lord. When one does not see them for a while one forgets, one looks at others — but who can compare to an English Hamilton? I return therefore once more to my adoration of the English. I also saw, beside a carriage door, Doria — the younger brother, the one I called the white Doria — he saw and recognised me. I know him chiefly from the Nice café, Rumpelmayer's at the Club.
This world makes me love Rome — the Pincio is the Promenade des Anglais of Rome. I scarcely miss Nice, ungrateful and unkind city that it is!
As for the Surprising One, Frederic replaces him and surpasses him very well. (After writing that, I doubt it.)
Sad and undecided yesterday, I am cheerful and confident today. I have written to have Fortune sent to me. Little Said will do very well here. I dined well, and spend the evening reading the history of Charles the Bold.
I believed in my "naive innocence" that there were fashionable people only in Nice — but there are plenty here, and quite respectable ones at that. After the Promenade we passed through the Corso jammed with carriages moving between two hedgerows of pedestrians of every kind; Doria was among them. Now my eyes are opening to see the beauties and antiquities of Rome; I am becoming curious, eager to visit everything; I am no longer dormant. I am in haste to be everywhere — I want to live at a run again.
Oh! if only I could... another wish directed at Nice! Say what I will, all the plans I make lead to a triumph in Nice. That is perfectly natural. The most wretched thing, by resisting, acquires value. Be thoroughly persuaded of this true truth.
Do not think me so brutish as to see nothing beyond Saetone's city — on the contrary I am more ambitious than ever. But along the way, spitting on someone who has spat on you, giving them a kick — that is a pleasure that every well-born soul may allow itself.

Notes

Russian Orthodox Christmas, celebrated on January 6/7 by the Julian calendar.
In Italian in the original: E brutto ma e tutto buono, tutto grazioso — popular saying about King Victor Emmanuel II.