Thursday 9 March 1876

Who said I was in love with Antonelli? What an idea! Let us leave him for the moment.
Where were my wits when I failed to notice the one I call the sympathetic blond! Who was watching me just as much as Pietro was! Do you know who the sympathetic blond is? I shall tell you. It is Duke Clément Torlonia. Rich in his own right, he will inherit from his uncle, the famous millionaire Prince Alexandre Torlonia. And I paid him no attention at all! I have been biting my nails over it since this morning. I go walking with Dina to the Borghese, the Pincio, the Corso to encounter him. Ah! You may be quite certain — not one of his gestures or glances will be lost on me again.
For after all, Antonelli is charming, sweet, everything one could wish — but Antonelli is not the companion I need for entering the tomb, as he calls it. He is the third son, and granting an impossible piece of luck, everything that will ever be given to him — the very maximum — will never amount to more than a hundred thousand écus, five hundred thousand francs = twenty-five thousand francs a year = poverty.
I am very sorry about it — that is what I keep saying to Dina as we walk the almost deserted paths of the Villa Borghese.
Don Alfonso (white Doria) is on horseback — that one does not spit at me; he even seems accessible, unlike his motionless, grave, and imposing brother.
The Dorias, the Odescalchis, Pandola, Torlonia — that is what I need, and not the small beer I have.
I see them all and rage at being unable to know them. They are men more or less serious and incapable of the foolishness of an Antonelli — and even Antonelli we would never have known without Rossi. Ah! You see — it is dreadful to be as I am! They look at me; if I knew them, who knows? There is nothing impossible in it — Bruschetti loves me; why should another not?
Well, you understand my thought well enough, do you not? I am weary of my existence and it is time to go occupy a position worthy of me in the world. There it is!
And besides, the plobsters, as I used to say, must belong to me; I rage; I desire them; I curse our position. Reduced to theatre-staring [sic] or street-gawking! Even those who might wish to know me — how, where, through whom? Ah! Bigre de bigre, dog of dogs, tiger and hyena!
Maman is in bed; it is I, Dina, and Walitsky who receive Plowden — yet another one who wants me. As for him, I detest him not at all, and he is perfectly indifferent to me. He is a cunning fox. Besides, he is excessively agreeable and attentive toward me. He is jealous of Antonelli. Botkine comes around nine o'clock and we have tea.
But there is a knock — I go to answer it myself, to hide my blush. It is Antonelli.
At once Plowden rises, invents an evening engagement, and goes away visibly vexed.
As for the cardinalino — he has no doubt been eating garlic-flavoured meat. And on that account, for this evening at least, he disappears entirely from my horizon.
He is the first man who, while being my favourite, is also the favourite of the whole household. Maman adores him; Walitsky is very fond of him; Dina blushes when she sees him; I love him too. He does not meet the required conditions — otherwise I should love him entirely.

Notes

Plobsters — Marie's invented English word, presumably a variant of "lobsters" used as slang for desirable wealthy catches. In the original.