Friday, 31 March 1876

With my letters to the monks of Cimiez, and by forever dressing Emile in a friar’s habit, I have found a real monk here. It was a premonition. Brother Peter of Misery and the Rope.
It is a signal proof of love to have confided what he confided to me. I did not laugh — I said it was quite right. He begged me to give him my portrait to take to the convent.
— Never, Monsieur — what a temptation!
— I shall think of you all the same, all the time!
Is it not ludicrous enough — these eight days in a convent! Poor Pietro! What would his friends at the Caccia-Club say if they knew! What would Torlonia say, what would Pandola, Cesaro, Zucchini say! Poor child. I shall never tell anyone. Maman, Dina, and Walitsky don’t count — they will be as silent as I. Poor Pietro — in a convent! It is comical. And if he invented the whole thing? Tiger and hyena! No — why would he invent something so ridiculous? It is that in our century it seems to me so enormous, so incredible, that I cannot bring myself to believe it.
I have finished with the Vatican — I have seen everything, admired everything, approved of everything. I should like to own the Vatican. Such an assemblage of treasures cannot be imagined; the mind is confounded by it.
I missed the appointment. I was to have been at the Pincio between two and three o’clock to see the wretched hermit. He must have been very disappointed! I did it on purpose — if he deceived me, he deserved it. I doubt everything! Now it seems to me that he was mocking me. It is dreadful, a character like mine. I have confidence in no one; all men are scoundrels — one must change them like gloves. I was making this reflection as I came down from the Pincio at six o’clock. I think one must not dismiss a suitor merely for the pleasure of sending him away — one must let things go; yet the moment one begins to see a certain negligence, a certain distancing, one must hasten to show him the door, both to have the last word and to retain him — for it is the only way to retain him.
What do you know of it, child dazzled by a few successes? What do I know of it — by Jove, everything. For such things one needs a little experience and a great deal of aptitude, and one becomes expert. I am learned enough now — in time I shall find myself more learned still, but that will not prove that I was not so at present.
I had settled in for an evening in my dressing-gown, but Plowden came, and it would look bad not to appear. Entering the salon I found we had more than one visitor. The second was… I give you a thousand guesses, as that confounded Sévigné would say — Bruschetti. I spoke only to Plowden.
— He wishes to repeat his proposal, the Englishman told me.
— He will be wrong to do so, I replied — I am astonished he comes at all.
Plowden begged me not to marry until next winter, because: “I love you” And that makes three!
— But who is in love with you, he said — it is Antonelli.
— What a joke.
— No, I assure you — and he courts you; only after his own fashion.
— You know his ways?
— Yes, well — as he courts others; Antonelli is never serious. I know his ways from the manner in which he courts… everyone, in short.
You understand the stone thrown into Antonelli’s garden?
But that is nothing to me! I don’t give a fig for these people. I saw Torlonia on the Corso — he was walking with the Baron de Saint-Joseph, a rather plain Neapolitan. Torlonia does not find me attractive — must one say it without end! Confounded magnetism! Poor Pietro — in a habit, in a cell, locked up! Four sermons a day, a mass, vespers, matins! I cannot accustom myself to believe in so strange a thing. I think I shall be bored without him.
written across the page
If I could believe for certain that Antonelli truly courts a great many people and mocks them all, I should be pleased. It gives him a certain standing and reflects more credit on me.
Is it really possible that Torlonia does not love me! You see — it is very possible. It is very ugly. Ugly!
Fanny Lear has been expelled. Count Mirafiori, who is married to the sister of the Count de Larderel, had compromised himself too greatly with her, and the King, acting as a good father, had Fanny Lear summoned to the minister, who requested her to leave Italy and paid her hotel bill and travel expenses to the frontier. She listened to everything politely and in silence, and when the minister had finished:
— How very stupid you are! she said, and without adding another word, turned her back and walked out.
Poor woman! She is credited with a quick wit and a turbulent character — but to see her one would take her for a good, quiet, simple little woman. By these persecutions she has been made famous, and her continual contact with more or less crowned heads, from whom she obtains compromising letters which she publishes, may yet give her a place in the scandalous history of this century. Happy woman! She published in England letters from Grand Duke Nicholas in which that young madman spoke of the Emperor’s intentions against British India. What a woman. Unable to do anything else, she creates scandal! She does well.
God — if Pietro invented the convent, and if my first suspicions were founded.
This idea may torment me.
Ah! Torlonia.

Notes

Misère et corde (“misery and rope”) is a pun on miséricorde (“mercy”), as in a monastic name. ↩
In French in the original: bigre. ↩
“Ferré” — literally “shod” (like a horse), idiomatically: well-versed, expert. ↩
Je vous le donne en mille (“I give you a thousand guesses”) echoes Madame de Sévigné’s letter of 15 December 1670 announcing the marriage of Lauzun, in which she writes «je vous le donne en cent». ↩
In English in the original: I love you. ↩
In Italian in the original: Brutto ! ↩
Fanny Lear (Harriet Blackford, 1848–1886): see 050.0516. Count Mirafiori is Emanuele Alberto Guerrieri (1851–1894), son of King Victor Emmanuel II by Rosa Vercellana, Countess of Mirafiori, and husband of Bianca de Larderel; hence the King’s acting «en bon père». ↩