Monday 27 March 1876 (continued)

Towards five o’clock, duly stupefied, I went out — tempted by a magnificent sun.
in the margin
I should like these repetitions about Torlonia and Antonelli to be cut; they would put readers off the rest.
I saw Antonelli walking on foot with a gentleman and a lady of the Court — and I became a little jealous.
I was glad to see him come to my rescue — for Bruschetti, with a courage unequalled by any, had approached my carriage door. After a few minutes Torlonia, Plowden, and Sorgagli arrived. Maman had said a few words to Pietro about an excursion to Albano; Pietro went to speak of it to Clemente; the latter proposes going tomorrow — Pietro cannot tomorrow, nor can Plowden. But no one listens to anyone; there is laughter, chatter, mockery of the wretched Bruschetti, who departs before everyone else. Then Torlonia teases me with this execration:
— Yes, he says, a very fine count.
— Well then, little countess — no, Comtesse Bruschetti, I mean — tomorrow we go to Albano.
Zucchini has the misfortune to pass by at that moment.
— Here is your lucky charm, says Torlonia.
And I laugh in earnest — z...z...z... Zucchini makes me merry.
Pietro begins and the others imitate the fly in chorus.
Torlonia is drunk today. I should very much like to know whether he is the same with everyone. So insolent, so free! I am always displeased with myself and with the entire world after Torlonia. He pays me a heap of insipid, commonplace compliments. The devil take the drunken scoundrel.
I was pretty — but that matters little; I do not please the vile drunkard. What a pity to be drowned in liquor at the age of twenty-four.
There are two or three ladies dressed in white like me. How stupid it is to imitate!
Maman and Walitsky dined in the trattoria of the Russian artists with ten artists.
I dined with Dina at home, complaining of Torlonia without cease. It is all the more vexing in that the wretched drunkard pleases me!
All the artists from the dinner come to us in the evening. I was quite ashamed of it when Pietro arrived. Again I behaved like an imbecile — I did nothing but keep apart with him; but I care not a whit for what anyone may think: I had things to say to him.
But first let us finish with the unpleasant. The Albano excursion is ruined. Pietro cannot go, nor can Plowden; Torlonia would not, saying that to enjoy the country one needs a large party. I find this very impolite and very mean.
I had, then, to speak with Antonelli — and he too had things to say to me. A heap of things.
We almost quarrelled.
— I want to know why you said that impertinence to me at the Valle.
— There is no I want with me!
— And I want.
— And I do not want!
He ends by going down on his knees and entreating me. So I tell him — and he is more offended still by this supposition than by my abrupt words.
— That is to take me for the lowest of scoundrels — without breeding, without anything! How could you suppose I could so far fail in respect to you! — etc. etc.
He is devilishly right. I was mad, no doubt.
He begs me to give him an answer.
— I know who will succeed with you: a man who will have a great deal of patience and will love you a great deal less.
I can no longer write. I know only that I was very happy scribbling away at a sonata and feeling his arm around my waist and his chin on my shoulder. Can one possibly permit such things! It is impossible — but it gives pleasure.
— Do you not believe that I have a passion for you?
— I believe it — without that I should have sent you away long since.
— You love me.
I had only to turn my head slightly to meet his eyes.
— No, I said.
— You don’t love me?
— No, I said again, and our faces were so close to each other that I marvel there was no spark — for I learned in physics that when two fluids, one negative and the other positive, draw near to one another, a spark is produced.
— You see, then! he cried. What is one to do when only one loves! You are cold as snow, and I love you! Do you love me? he said again, but more gently now, and with eyes so tender that…
crossed out[Crossed-out words]
— No, Monsieur, but it may come.
— When?
— In six months.
— Oh! “At six months’ date I hereby undertake,” etc.
— You will not wait?
— No, I will not wait, I love you; I have a passion for you and you make sport of me. I understand you perfectly — you are quite sure of my love, you don’t love me, and you drag things out to amuse yourself!
— Indeed, you have guessed very well.
He came closer still, so close… too close.
— Even if I loved you, I said, it would be too difficult — I am too young, and then there is the matter of religion.
— By Jove, I know it well enough! I too shall have my difficulties — you think I don’t! But you cannot understand me because you don’t love me. I would have proposed that we elope.
— How dreadful!
— Wait, I am not proposing it — it is dreadful, I know, when one does not love. It would not be dreadful if you loved.
The wretched man is right.
— Monsieur, I beg you not to speak of this to me.
— I am not speaking of it; I would speak of it if you loved me.
— I do not love you.
I do not love him and I am almost in his arms! What an absurdity. No, listen — as Torlonia says — I no longer know what I am saying.
I believe he has spoken to his father and was not received tenderly. I cannot make up my mind — I am entirely ignorant of the terms. And for nothing in the world would I consent to go and live with a family; I have enough of my own — what would it be with strangers! Am I not remarkably sensible for my age?
I will follow you, he said the other evening.
— Come to Nice, I said to him today — will they let you come?
— I don’t know, he said, lowering his head; if I go to Nice, people will think I am going to gamble.
— Say that you will go for my sake.
He made no answer and remained with his head bowed — which proves to me that he has spoken with his father.
I do not understand myself at all. Do I love him or not?
If Antonelli is rich, I love; if he is poor, I don’t love. I believe I am stating this correctly.
I must speak to him openly, ask him what the arrangements are — and that is difficult, for he has wit enough and will understand at once.
I shall have to say I love you, and then begin the interrogation… yes, but if I tell him that he will refuse to hear anything further and will behave like a madman.
What is to be done? I am in no great hurry to marry — except in an exceptional case. I am not head over heels in love.
I have found it! Eureka! At the first opportunity I shall say what I know.
It is too silly, upon my word of honour — I forgive Torlonia everything and I want him with all my might.

Notes

portière — the door or window of a carriage; Bruschetti has ridden up to speak to Marie through her carriage window. ↩
In Italian in the original: contessina, a teasing diminutive. Torlonia mockingly addresses Marie as the future Countess Bruschetti. ↩
Trattoria — Italian: a modest eating-house or restaurant. ↩