Wednesday 15 March 1876

What I said on the last page is absurd.
It is a punishment for me to go paying formal calls on anything or anyone — but Bruschetti was to come seeking his reply, so I went to see the paintings at the Palazzo della Farnesina to avoid him. Then we visited the studios of some compatriots, then called on Mme Soukowkine — we owed her three or four return calls — and finally to the Pincio.
I have the carriage stopped at the outdoor concert, and Torlonia comes to the door. He is very young — not yet twenty-four; conceited, insolent, spoilt, somewhat of a gommeux, very Parisian, but a grand seigneur. I believe he drinks a great deal. I feel somewhat ill at ease after this encounter. After Torlonia comes Pietro — pale, tired, and plain; as for that one, he is my brother, or at any rate seems more or less a relation. This evening they give Faust.
Ah! Do you know the news — a very sad piece of news: the wretched Z… Zucchini broke his nose yesterday, almost directly in front of our house!
And to think I laughed over it for ten minutes! Well — what would you have? I am not to blame; one should not ride in a two-wheeled vehicle harnessed to a wretched horse.
The court and club boxes empty out around half past ten, for this evening there is a court reception at the Quirinal. Torlonia is not there, and Pietro arrives very late — almost eleven — waits impatiently for Rossi to leave our box, and comes to us. He prevented me from hearing my opera. Faust is the pendant of Mignon. Rather badly sung, but the divine music is always beautiful — stirring and adorable.
Antonelli loves me. Is that not pleasant? Only, what a pity it can be of no use! I do not love Antonelli — but on leaving, before getting into the carriage, I hold out my hand to him, and under the protection of my large sable pelisse he holds it a moment in his own.
I am stirred by the music of Faust and by Antonelli's love. I do not complain — on the contrary. No — it is all foolish, all this.
Torlonia appears to treat me like riffraff — he is correct in manner and yet seems impertinent to me.
I am going to read White Rose — it is past one o'clock.
Is it not absurd, all the same!

Notes

Gommeux — 1870s French slang for an affected dandy or fop; a young man of fashion who overdoes his elegance.
Pelisse — a long coat or cloak lined or trimmed with fur, fashionable in the 1870s. Zibeline — sable fur, an expensive luxury material.
White Rose — In English in the original. The White Rose (1868) by George John Whyte-Melville, an English fox-hunting novel.