Saturday, 8 April 1876

How disagreeable this hotel is! Plowden came two days ago — the day before yesterday — and no one told us; it was he himself who mentioned it yesterday. He brought me his photograph in costume.
I rode with Paul at the Villa Borghese. I had an excellent horse; we created a superb effect and I am delighted. I saw everyone — Torlonia included, though only once. It goes without saying that I have an incomparable figure — no, listen, I do not say this in jest; seriously, I have a remarkable figure. This black riding habit, all in one piece and close-fitting, merely covers me but conceals nothing.
From Prince Humbert down to the last stable-hand, everyone looked at me with visible approbation.
The weather was fine, the horse was beautifully trained. I am pleased, pleased!
Bruschetti was also on horseback with a lady and two gentlemen — all of them ugly and badly mounted — and his trouser leg had ridden up almost to the knee, exposing white drawers and red stockings. Paul told me about it; we laughed; Bruschetti was furious.
In general, people who ride badly — who do not feel at ease, who are ashamed of themselves, so to speak — look at the public with furious eyes, as if it were the public's fault! Madame Oliver called something amiable to me; the Swiss people did too. I could see only Prince Humbert — I do not know why he amused me so; perhaps because he looked at me, and because I can well imagine what he and his aide-de-camp said about my seat on horseback.
Well, that is that.
I do not know where to put myself. It is Saturday evening! Pietro is to come — if he does not come I shall weep like a wretched creature! And Maman beginning her suppositions again, resuming that offended air of hers!
The interval between nine o'clock and half past ten seems longer to me than all the past eight days together — I am breathless with impatience. God, if he should not come! They have kept him away, they have hidden him — he has deceived me, he has mocked me! Oh! What a face I shall make before the household. God, God, God! He will come, will he not — tell me he will come. I renounce Torlonia, if only he will come. I shall be too miserable if it is true that he has deceived me, that he never seriously loved me, that he was merely amusing himself!... Walitsky, do not say that! I refuse to believe such a villainy of Pietro. I am accustomed to regard him as honesty itself — lionhearted, impetuous to the highest degree! God! I believe my clock has stopped — no, it is going — no, it is crawling. It is only twenty past nine. Another hour to wait. I do not know which I would prefer: to be disappointed at once, or to remain still in this furious suspense. Can one decipher this? I doubt it. I wait, I wait, I wait.
No, listen — tell me, tell me: he will come, will he not? I beg you, say yes. Ah! The cards... I no longer believe in them; let us try all the same — it will kill time. They say no! Must one torment oneself over this? Let us wait still. Dear God, I beg you — let him come.
How foolish I am!
My fingers were quite cold when the clock struck ten — I was alternately cold and hot until half past ten. At eleven o'clock I turned my back to the lamp and listened to the stories of Walitsky and Issaïevitch. At half past eleven Maman gave the signal and everyone went home.
I stole six cigarettes from Walitsky, dragged myself to my room, locked the doors, stuffed the keyholes with pocket handkerchiefs, looked at myself in the mirror, took everything off, put on my dressing gown, and lay down on the floor with my head thrown back on a small low armchair, my eyes wide open and fixed on a hideous garland on the ceiling.
I made the observation that in the very moment of weeping one does not know what one weeps for — one feels only a need to weep.
I moved my head because between my neck and the collar of my dressing gown on each side there was a small lake. The armchair withdrew its charitable support! and I fell onto the carpet.

Notes

«amazone» — a riding habit: the long, close-fitting skirt worn by women riding side-saddle in the 1870s. Not a reference to the Amazonian warriors.