Monday, 3 April 1876

I was surprised that he had not yet spoken to his parents. But what would he say to them, since I tell him I do not love him? Had I told him the contrary, had I consented to his proposals, it would be another matter.
I saw the charming Princess Margherita. She is twenty-four and adorable. Is it possible that the monkey Humbert prefers old women like Princess Ginitti and the Duchess of Rigano? He is a monkey, you will say — it is natural enough that he should love female monkeys. No — that is not natural; ugly men love beautiful women.
Five more days and Pietro will emerge from his buen retiro. I am in some ways glad of these five days of absence — I shall go to bed early and shall be fresher and stronger for it. And Plowden? Plowden never stays past half past eleven, and Plowden arrives at nine.
What a pity to have to leave — and leave I must, soon, on the 16th or 17th of this month. I love Rome.
[Seven lines crossed out, followed by a page removed by Marie]
I am suddenly seized with a great tenderness for my poor monk, and I hasten to write it down. It is midnight. What is he doing now? Sleeping, no doubt. Have they at least given him a bed, or do they make him sleep on a "cold stone"? Out of spite I shall love him this evening. I am perhaps silly — but it seems to me a kind of revenge for Torlonia's contempt.
— I have a dreadful spite against that woman, Torlonia said when we last saw him at the Pincio — a dreadful spite!
— And why? Maman asked.
— Ah, Madame, you don't know — it dates from the Capitole.
I remember — at the Capitole, I did nothing but turn my back on him and receive his advances with the greatest contempt. Not that he displeased me — but I was seeking and seeing only Antonelli. I shall never forgive myself for that! Torlonia did everything to make me speak to him; he followed me, he spoke to me — and I paid no attention to him whatsoever. Dina kept whispering to me:
— But look — there is the attractive fair-haired one, speak to him, he is so charming.
And I did not listen to her! And again at the Apollo at the first ball, he came and stood before our box and I barely answered him. He spoke to me from very close and smelled of cognac. Then when I was returning to the box with Mechtchersky I saw him seated in a window embrasure in the corridor, very much occupied with a masked lady in domino.
— My compliments! I said to him in passing.
I was a little vexed to see him so occupied with this woman, for he was, all the same, the attractive fair-haired one. Oh foolish creature, oh brute, oh madwoman! I went looking for Antonelli! When Clément was there and seeking me out!
Wait — and my tenderness for Brother Monk? Away with it!
— No, truly, Torlonia said to me — you treated me quite… truly unspeakably, at the Capitole.
I should think so — I was mad. Wretched woman! Senseless brute! No, I shall never forgive myself.
Ah, damned Clément — you spit on me? Very well! I shall love Antonelli this evening — it means nothing to you and you don't even know it, but I shall love him to enrage you. I feel a certain satisfaction in that. No — it is vexing. The devil of a duke has a great deal of wit. Until now I have had only counts — Merjeewsky, Bruschetti, Antonelli — and one plain mortal: Plowden. That makes four. Not many. Instead of being ashamed of falling in love six times a week, I am proud of it. I am a braggart of inconstancy — it amuses me. Besides it is very well, if only to hold one's own with men, to have the last word so to speak.
Poor Pietro — if he is thinking of me at this moment, I am thinking of him too. He need only thank Torlonia for that. No — I am slandering myself. I don't know why I boast of being in love with the wretched duke. I am not in love with him — yes I am, no I'm not, yes I am… anyway I know nothing of it. I shall come back to Rome next winter and in better circumstances — one must hope so.
The 13th is Torlonia's date with respect to me — it was also Hamilton's date, always with respect to me. He was presented on the 13th of March, a Monday, three weeks ago today. It is not so very long ago, and there is still hope. Fie! No, it is absurd.
Almost every time he has spoken to me, it has been on a Monday.
I painted all day and toward six o'clock they came to fetch me; putting on an Italian straw hat covered with white feathers and pinned up at the back with two yellow roses, I went out. This hat gives me as Watteau an air as possible — besides it is the same shape as last summer. Reboux knows me — I had only to write to him seven or eight days ago.
I was bored — I did not see the little, fat, tipsy Torlonia. Tipsy, fat, and small — but irresistible; on my word as an honest woman. Ask any women — real ones — and they will tell you the same.
When a man has reached the point where Torlonia now stands in my estimation, only one thing is lacking: divinity. And absence bestows it. Torlonia is hamiltonised. It is as silly as can be — admit it — but it is true.
— Antonelli is not altogether handsome, I said some time ago, but there is no one better in Rome.
There is someone a great deal better, as you see.
M. and Mme Sarasin and Plowden spent the evening with us. I was foolish enough to give Plowden my photograph — I regret it now; I even inscribed it with these two words in printed letters: PAX TIBI. I am annoyed at having done all that. Mme Sarasin is a charming little woman — simple, agreeable, and perfectly bred; her husband is a wooden Swiss who has travelled greatly. They leave the day after tomorrow.
I was greatly alarmed to learn that one of the Swedomskys is ill with… [In the margin: smallpox] — you know, that disease which I dare not even name and which fills me with terror, horror, and stupefaction.
Poor Pietro — I miss him. But if he lied to me! No — why doubt everything? It is simply too incredible. In a convent!
The baroness from the table d'hôte and her son are Swiss. They came in after dinner to see my paintings. Both of them are excessively red, excessively fat, and excessively merry. I chattered away and made them laugh like madmen.
Pietro may well take offence because I gave my photograph to Plowden. Dear Pietro has begged me so often to give him one. But no matter — he shall be rewarded; I have no fear of offending him, for he is still my dear, my very dear favourite.
He has four days yet. And if he were not to return at all! No — that would be too grievous. I say his love has rubbed off on me.
No more rings for our little society! Dina has invented something adorable. A silver heart with the initials A.T.E. You will see that nothing better could be imagined. First, a heart is the most natural rallying symbol for a society like ours; everyone wears rings, whereas this silver heart will have a magnificent effect. Then the initials are the first letters of our three names: Aglaé, Thalie, Euphrosine — and these three letters can equally mean a te, which in Italian means to thee; and further, the A can stand for Antonelli, the T for Torlonia, and as for the E — we shall soon find a meaning for it if one is not satisfied with Emile.
Is it not apt, very simple and very original? One need look no further — nothing better could be found… It is adorable!
I am thinking of that dear friend who languishes in a cell like the soul of the very depraved Emile. I have quite forgotten the charming Surprising One. I no longer understand my former rages and no longer care about them. But no doubt on seeing him again I shall take up a fresh caprice for him.
How long it is until Saturday evening! Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Four evenings without Antonelli. Does he miss me? By Jove! You may doubt it — I do not, for if I am bored he must be bored, since he loves me. I cannot understand all his emotions, because I do not love — and he must feel a great many. Poor dear monk. We shall go to see the Colosseum by moonlight, on horseback.

Notes

"Buen retiro" — Spanish: "good retreat," ironic reference to the monastery. The Buen Retiro was also the name of the Spanish royal pleasure palace.
"Froide pierre" — the traditional monastic sleeping surface: a cold stone.
Reboux: a fashionable Parisian milliner.
"Hamiltonisé" — Marie's coinage: made into a Hamilton, elevated to idol status, as she elevated the Duke of Hamilton.
"Pax tibi" — Latin: "Peace be with you." A liturgical greeting.
Aglaé, Thalie, and Euphrosine — the three Graces of classical mythology.
"A te" — in Italian in the original: "to you/thee."
"Via!" — Italian: "Away!" In Italian in the original.