Friday 24 March 1876

I am beginning to grow uneasy. I have just come back from the table d’hôte; I drank half a bottle of wine and had a conversation about politics with a baron and baroness of unknown nationality. They seemed very satisfied and even a little astonished at the discourse of such a young pup as I.
We visited the studio of one Popoff, a sculptor. The Villas Pamphilj and Borghese being closed, we went to the Farnesina — the banks of the Tiber were tolerably well stocked with carriages this afternoon. And from very far off I recognised the horses of Clément Torlonia, who was not long in passing us — raising his hat and smiling as only he can smile. He was with his mother, very beautiful and almost young. Torlonia gains fifty per cent when he smiles. I am mad about his smile.
For the first time in Rome I walked at the Pincio on foot. Everyone was quite surprised to see me walking.
Antonelli was walking with a very plain lady and an old gentleman, also on foot. Then we saw him beside a landau, then ten times on foot, in a hired cab, and every way imaginable. He bestirred himself as never before. I told the whole story to my family, and Maman thinks I was right to do as I did.
That cursed Torlonia bows and smiles at every encounter, and his smile has bewitched me, upon my honour. I am a little tipsy — but I understand perfectly what I am saying.
Tipsy! What a horror! All this in Clément’s honour — and he does not even know it, and couldn’t care less.
Dear, dear! The magnetism of thought… what nonsense it all is.
I encountered all our acquaintances and all those I know without knowing them; the sun was warm; Antonelli was cold… yes — and it is this coldness that gives me food for thought. Will he come this evening? It is not yet nine o’clock; I have long to wait. Can a man who truly loves withdraw for so little? No — but he can sulk for a long time, from caprice, from fear, from love itself.
A piece of news! Fanny Lear is in Rome. I saw her today. She is a pretty woman — but with an unhappy expression; and the figure — as to the figure one cannot judge at present, for I believe she is pregnant.
Torlonia does not come. And to think I got tipsy for him. Sometimes I think I am stupid — no, not stupid, but mad; and mad with premeditation.
Ah! If only Torlonia would come this evening. Is it possible that he does not love me at all!! It is outrageous! Is there no means of making oneself loved! Is it possible that my so great desire should be in vain!!!
Tiger and hyena! Torlonia does not consist of nine letters and does not begin with A — but in the name there are eight letters, as in Hamilton, and Torlonia is a duke, like Hamilton.
Misery of miseries — and dog of dogs!
We spent the evening with Plowden. He is very shrewd and understands his world — but says a great deal while appearing to say nothing.
Naturally — as Loëbecke used to say — he lays his heart at my feet. I don’t greatly care about it, but it is always flattering. How much I should find to write if it were someone other than Plowden.
“The only means of touching you,” he says, “is to irritate, provoke, and thwart you.”
“Plowden — you have wit, by my faith as Marie.”
Antonelli did not come. At first I was uneasy — but seeing that Maman and Dina and everyone, in short, took the matter as they ought, I calmed down, and am very calm.
Antonelli does not believe he has offended me — on the contrary, he believes himself to be the one offended. He might perhaps acknowledge the justice of my conduct if I had not been rough with him for two days without any reason. The last evening at our place, I came very seriously to ask him to account for the vile things he had said about me to Torlonia and to Fosti. He turned quite pale with offence and begged me to give him the name of whoever had slandered him.
“I have never yet fought a duel — this shall be my first!”
The scoundrel would fight. I know that once roused, he is capable of anything.
Now he believes himself offended; I give him twenty-four hours to feel very unhappy; once in that state he will begin to find himself at fault and will end by accusing himself entirely. Once he acknowledges his fault, he will know what he has to do. But I shall tell you — look, it is ridiculous, no doubt, but I shall say it all the same. I am mad about Torlonia. What if I were to love him in earnest? Oh! No — I shall not commit that foolishness. Him, his mother, his horses, his calling card — all of it pleases me; all of it interests me! I shall never stop speaking of it; I shall write about it endlessly. It is absurd — since he does not think of me. His so agreeable face, his ravishing smile, his assured, haughty, and candid air all at once… Do not laugh — though there is cause enough, you will perhaps say. I know it is not proper to use such expressions speaking of a man. But since I adore him!

Notes

In English in the original: “Dear, dear!” ↩
Fanny Lear — stage name of Hattie Blackford (1848–c.1886), an American actress who became the mistress of Grand Duke Nicholas Konstantinovich of Russia, causing a major scandal when she was accused of stealing jewels from an icon in the Grand Duke’s possession. By 1876 she was in exile from Russia. ↩
Marie’s name-superstitions: she had noted that Hamilton = 8 letters, and Torlonia = 8 letters; both are dukes. This coincidence feels portentous to her. ↩