Saturday, 15 April 1876

A dreadful, indescribable, incomprehensible nightmare woke me at six o’clock.
It was quite light, but I was in a fantastic state of fear — I could not get back to sleep. It was terrifying.
There is nothing one can eat in this dreadful country.
Tired but pretty, I went out for a walk. Besides, we are staying on the Chiaia — the Promenade des Anglais of Naples.
There are magnificent horses — the kind of which one sees barely a handful in Rome — and here one sees them in abundance. The carriages are less fine.
I was bored — I am always bored when some Antonelli or other is not giving me a fever.
The Russian vice-consul, Monsieur Nasimoff, having been notified yesterday of our arrival, called on us. Maman had known him in Paris through the deacon.
One sees no one but Altamura. I distrust him — as I do all Neapolitans for that matter — it seems to me they wear no underclothes beneath their well-cut trousers and that they are all in debt, rogues, outright swindlers. Surely it is only a fancy.
I have nothing to say if I do not speak of Pietro, and it seems to me that would be to humiliate myself after his strange behaviour.
Shall I go on making suppositions — shall I write down all the excuses my imagination contrives, and above all my pride?
Leaving Altamura with my family, I withdraw and spend the evening reading a novel as fantastic as it is tedious, as sentimental as it is irritating.
After two hours of reading I stretched, then went and threw myself... onto a sofa — this time it was not onto the floor — I closed my eyes, I opened my arms, which closed again on emptiness... How I longed for him to be there!
It is the effect of the heat, the novel, the sea breeze, the boredom.
Enough! Why repeat the same thing? Why be astonished and grieve? Is it not written somewhere that everything must be wanting in my life?
At last! — there is the word with which all my reflections end. An at last and a sigh. At last!
I hear Maman recounting Paul’s childish exploits from when he was not yet ten; Dina telling goodness knows what; Walitsky making rather flat jokes; and Altamura laughing uproariously.
I go to bed, I walk about, I sigh, I am indignant, I take shelter under the wing of my pride — but it is no use: I am bored just the same.
How long must one stay in Naples? He will not come to seek me here. Well then — if he does not come to seek me here, I need concern myself with him no further.
But once back in Rome, shall I find him there? And what sort of face will he make?
This novel cannot be by Dumas! It is too stupid!
He must come to Naples! I am too bored in this solitude full of uncertainties!
Ah! how tiresome life is when one is thwarted in everything!
God, how hard my young soul finds it to believe in lies, in pettiness, in cowardice! I do not want to believe in them. But I am so tormented, so sad. A clock without a pendulum — that is what I am now.
written across the page
I said it during one of Audiffret’s absences.
My God, tomorrow is Easter. In the name of this great feast, act like the kings who are Your representatives on earth! Grant me an amnesty, put an end to my grief, make him come or let me know the truth. Let me see him, let my torment end — I ask nothing else for the present. I feel that I am going to cry; do not mock me — what would You have one cry about at my age? At any age, for that matter.
It is terrible to see such a curse weighing upon me. Everything I touch turns against me!
I had forgotten myself and the candle went out, and I have just fetched another from the drawing room...
It is late; sitting up at night does me no good at all.
Holy V Well! I have just had a horrible fright. I had taken the candle from the drawing room and forgot to lock the door; I was about to write: Holy Virgin, pray for me, when Maman opened my door asking for a light — in reality to see whether I was going to bed. I do not know what I imagined, but I am still trembling! I lost my temper and spoke loudly. My God, forgive me for it, on the eve of so great a feast! But I was frightened, I swear to You — so frightened that I am crying over it at this moment.
Good Virgin Mary, Holy Madonna, pray to God for me. You who were a woman, you understand me. Pray to God that He forgive me my anger at the very moment of the Resurrection!

Notes

The Chiaia — the elegant seafront promenade of Naples, running along the waterfront. Marie’s comparison to Nice’s Promenade des Anglais was a natural one for a traveller familiar with the Riviera. ↩