Saturday 25 March 1876

We walked in the Villa Borghese, which caused great astonishment to all the regular visitors in general and to z…z…Zucchini in particular. That gentleman’s nose is just as before. He was with a young court marquis whom we had seen at the Valle a few days after our arrival in Rome — the Marquis Guiccioli.
The air was heavy and warm, so the rain that comes around six o’clock surprises no one.
At the moment of the downpour we were already on the Corso. Torlonia on foot under an umbrella passed unnoticed. I saw him again under the portico of the club with z… Zucchini. It is foolish to laugh on seeing that gentleman — but I can’t help it!
Why did I refuse to be introduced to him? Pietro asked me ten times to let him present Blockhead Zucchini.
This evening Fosti is coming to give me my first lesson.
I wonder whether Pietro is coming?
I am absurd to wait for Torlonia — he will not come; if he were coming he would already have come.
Let us see what the cards say — for I am becoming superstitious again, as in Nice.
The cards said no. Now let us see if Antonelli will come. Again no.
If that were true it would be dreadful. We shall see.
This morning, to test the veracity of Napoleon I’s patience, I asked whether Fosti would come this evening — being certain he would. The cards said: no. I laughed. We shall see.
Scarcely had I written we shall see when they bring me Fosti’s card with his apologies — he has a bad eye.
This incident plunges me into consternation. Then Pietro will not come. And straightaway it seems to me that Fosti does not wish to give me lessons. It is stupid to be like me.
It is nine o’clock; I do not know if I shall have the patience to wait until ten. What to do — read? I cannot. Write? I have nothing to write. Play the piano? I am agitated, miserable.
What a wretched character! Easy to say — but I should like to see someone else in my place. There is no reason to torment myself — but I do torment myself!
By Jove, by Jove! Dog of dogs!
Double brute! Stupid, senseless fool! No — one must not maltreat oneself to such a degree. I do not deserve such vile epithets; I am not stupid — I am only young.
I am not yet experienced — another time I shall know better. I was afraid, poor innocent! I was afraid in vain — quite in vain — for Antonelli arrived a quarter of an hour earlier than usual: pale, interesting, sad, and calm.
Scarcely had Fortuné announced him when I armed myself from head to foot with a cold reserve mingled with drawing-room politeness — calculated to madden people in such cases.
I let him spend ten minutes with Maman. Impatient to go to the salon, I told Léonie to change my boots — to force myself to make him wait.
Poor creature! Jealous of Plowden!
“Now you may go riding — Plowden is well!”
And this with a very piqued air. How ugly it is to be in love. We could not explain ourselves in the salon. We part coldly. I go to my room and he goes to the ante-chamber. I had no candle; I had to go to the ante-chamber. We met. He handed me the candle.
“How mad you are!” I said, taking it. “Do you know that I am seriously angry?”
“Ah! Really — you are angry — you have cause to be angry!”
“I should think so!”
“Ah! This is too much!”
“Yet it is so.”
And I began a fairly long discourse explaining that such things were not done — without saying what things.
“But what have I done!!”
“You don’t know!”
“Because I left?”
“You are too vain, my dear Monsieur — and your departure could cause me neither joy nor anger.”
“Then — I broke the fan?”
“Nonsense!”
Either I am mad and imagined something that never happened — or Antonelli is a rogue like me. But why would it have seemed so to me? Why would he say now you can judge the difference?
If it really happened, one cannot trust him — for he had the air of perfect innocence in shouting it.
“But what have I done?” he kept repeating.
“I cannot say it. If you did nothing — if it was only in my imagination — so much the better. And you will understand that I shall not tell you, so as not even to give you the idea that one can be so impertinent.”
“It is you who said impertinent things to me — it is you who said I was drunk. One may say I go to drink at the club — but that I come drunk into a box!!”
“Let us drop the matter; I was mistaken — so much the better. Good night.”
“I had sworn never to come here again.”
“Why did you come?”
“I thought it would be very rude toward Madame your mother, who is so kind.”
“If that is why, you may leave and not come back. Good-bye.”
“No, no — it is for you.”
“Then that is another matter.”
After the Valle, the wretched fellow stayed in bed thirty-six hours — from rage.
He takes my hand and recounts his despair.
“I was greatly at fault,” he says. “I know it.”
“What fault?”
“That of making you understand — of telling you that… That?”
“That I love you,” he said, pressing his lips together like a man who does not wish to weep.
“Tut, tut — that is no fault.”
“It is a great — an immense fault, for you take advantage of it, and you play with me like a doll, like a ball.”
“What an idea!”
“Oh — I know; I know you are like that. You like to play — well, play on! It is my fault.”
“Let us play!”
“Then tell me — it was not to send me away that you said that to me at the Valle?”
“No.”
“Not to get rid of me?”
“Well, Monsieur — I have no need of ruses; when I wish to rid myself of someone I do it quite simply, as I did with Bruschetti…”
“Ah ha! And you said that was not true — with Bruschetti?!”
“Let us speak of something else.”
He pressed his cheek against my hand.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“No, Monsieur.”
“Not at all?”
“Not in the slightest.”
He does not believe a word of it.
At that moment Dina, Maman, and Walitsky arrived, and after a few minutes Pietro had to leave.
I have had enough. He occupied me so long as I had something to wait for. Now I have all that I need. I string it out from vanity.
Two or three times the name of Torlonia was mentioned — and that name pleases me.

Notes

In English in the original: I can’t help it. ↩
In Italian in the original: Zuccone, an augmentative of zucca (pumpkin/head): blockhead, dunce. Pietro’s nickname for Zucchini. ↩
“Napoleon I’s patience” — a card-based fortune-telling game (réussite) attributed to Napoleon, popular in the 19th century. ↩
In French in the original: Bigre de bigre ! ↩