[Written across the page: And the proof that this Antonelli meant nothing to me at all is that the moment I speak of him I express myself so stupidly and it all sounds forced and absurd!

The races! The horses of the Comte de Larderel interest me in advance. Without having the least notion of the man, I feel quite capable of taking an interest in him. I have never set eyes on him but he interests me.

We set off at one o’clock in the great heat. Paris¹ cannot boast of being more brilliant than Naples. Thanks to Altamura we are placed in the finest spot, near the weighing enclosure and the grandstand. Such a multitude of equipages drawn by four horses, with long reins, with postilions, outriders in powdered wigs, all in full livery — it beggars the imagination! Seeing this parade, these plumed horses and these footmen in full livery, one feels transported back to the good old days.

There are a dozen of those great carriages where one sits on the roof, drawn by four horses, all of them driven by princes and filled with dukes and counts. They call the Neapolitans poor — well enough, I am willing to be called poor and keep such an establishment: no money, and eight horses, and four carriages, and footmen, and all the devils of hell! I should like to learn to live in that style on little money.

I was already beginning to feel that numbness that always comes over me in the middle of a great crowd in summer, when Altamura arrived, all in a sweat — he is a member of the racing club and presides over the weighing enclosure.

He asks permission to introduce to us Baron de Saint-Joseph — I do not know whether I have ever mentioned this gentleman, who has been in Rome and is a member of the Caccia-Club,² of the club box³ set, and a friend of Torlonia’s and Pietro’s.

We are served a charming luncheon and good cold wines, but Saint-Joseph is not selfish — he asks permission to bring his dear Clément along and brings him... not drunk!

I barely heard what the baron said to me about his intimate friend Antonelli, who is so changed, who is never seen anywhere now — what can be the matter with him? I replied that I really had no idea. I say I barely heard because I was sitting up on the box with my feet resting near Dina’s back, and from my elevation I surveyed the field, the horses, and society. Torlonia, practical man that he is, climbs up on the wheel and plants himself beside me. He must be in the process of forcing himself to fall in love with the Mechtchersky, for he speaks of poetry, melancholy, and flowers. The heat and the beggars were insupportable — in no country in the world are there so many; they file past you like an endless procession.

- Oh! what pests they are! I said at last — it is not very elegant, Monsieur, what I have just said, but when one is thoroughly, thoroughly bored one cannot find another word to express it.

- Quite true; when I bore you very, very much, you will tell me so, — said Torlonia, no doubt hoping I would respond with protests.

- Very well, I said — for the moment you do not bore me, but when you do I shall tell you so.

- No, but listen, he interrupted — I did not bore you in Rome, did I?

- Quite the contrary.

- You understand perfectly in what sense I use the word bore?

- Perfectly!

- What flowers do you prefer? asked the young drunkard after a little while.

- Roses.

- No — lily of the valley; I know someone who has worn them for three weeks in your honour, he added, handing me a bunch of lily of the valley, then immediately offering flowers to Maman and to Dina as well.

- I am dazzled by the sun — and by your beauty, Mademoiselle.

- Will you have some oysters?

- No thank you — I am thirsty.

- Then let us drink!

And we each drank a glass of white wine and a goblet of champagne; then he drank more white wine, and he was offered more champagne to drink my health.

- I am in excellent health, I said.

- Quite true — I might bring you ill luck.

- You are right, Monsieur — do not drink.

And I burst out laughing. Do not imagine that I take Don Clemente’s words seriously — I take them for what they are, rest assured; and besides, I know how to conduct myself with a great deal of dignity without the least affectation.

This Saint-Joseph — a name equally celebrated in the Old and New Testaments — this Saint-Joseph, I say, strikes me as a friend of ten years’ standing, and I welcomed him with a very pretty smile and nod.

I paid little attention to the races so long as they were there — Altamura, Saint-Joseph, and Torlonia. Torlonia describes himself exactly as I had judged him. He will neither wait nor obey. Besides, his beard alone would tell you as much. He has wit; he is a little conceited perhaps — but who is not at four-and-twenty? And then it suits him.

When they had gone and we were again by ourselves as a family, I sat down and looked at nothing in particular — besides, the numbness had vanished, and for the first time in my life perhaps I felt genuinely gay at the races.

But I was looking forward to seeing Larderel, of whom I have been thinking for the past two days. He was to ride in the last race — the gentlemen riders.⁴ For this race Altamura comes to escort us to the grandstand. I go with him, and Dina with Walitsky. Maman stays in the carriage.

The beautiful Princess Muliterno, all in white, is in a very decided flirtation⁵ with Prince Odescalchi, who is said to be her fiancé. What an adorable thing the stand by the weighing enclosure is! On one side the field, on the other the paddock where the horses are led and prepared.

I had been backing Larderel the whole time and waited with impatience for his appearance on the course. He appeared at last, in white satin striped with green, and black breeches. I took Altamura’s opera-glasses and examined him.

My word! but he is charming. Tall, well made, dark chestnut hair, a long and well-marked nose, fine eyes, red lips and a small blond moustache, an interesting pallor. And a pretty name — Alexandre.

Torlonia is near us and complains of being tired. I do not address a word to him, for his conduct in Rome requires a certain reserve of me; I merely answer when he speaks to me.

I bet with Altamura on the jacket striped green and white; the signal is given and they are off! Upon my soul, what a fine race!

There are three of them, and they contend for the prize with as much grace as skill. I follow them with my eyes and exchange a few remarks with Altamura which prove that I have studied the trade and have read “Le Derby” for two years. Remarks so apt that several plobsters⁶ turn their heads.

Larderel was holding his horse back and everyone was for him — I first of all, no doubt.

But here they come like a hurricane; I rise on tiptoe, I stop breathing — and my jockey comes in only second.

We must hurry, said Altamura, there are so many people.

Let us hurry then, Monsieur, come, I have seen what I wanted, come — and taking his arm I go down the stairs, answer Clemente’s farewell with a most amiable smile and make my way through the elegant crowd, pursued by heads turning and eyes fixing on my back. How stupid of them to stare so

Quick, pass under this rope, said Altamura, here comes a horse.

Oh! I said, straightening up on the other side of the rope, there is mine, the one I backed — look, Monsieur, mine!

I say this as I walk away, raising my eyes straight to the face of the handsome Larderel, who smiles at the exclamation.

I have never seen him, but in Rome he saw me and no doubt knows who I am.

He is so handsome and so pale.

The gentlemen on the great coaches sound their trumpets like the angels of the Last Judgement, the coachmen crack their whips, and the whole brilliant, dizzying crowd moves off.

The return is a magnificent sight. All this worldly pomp on a height from which one sees the mountains, and Vesuvius fading into a light haze that rises from the calm, blue, divine sea — it is truly a spectacle worth seeing, even for me.

Torlonia, Saint-Joseph and another Roman are on Prince Muliterno’s coach. Four lines of carriages move at a walk, stop every moment, draw ahead of one another, pass one another.

Ah! said Maman, if we had spent the winter in Naples we should be everywhere; I know Nasimoff, who would only have to present us to this Princess Ouchtomsky, at whose house everyone gathers.

Maman, do not say that; if we had spent the winter in Naples you would be sighing for Rome.

It is quite dark by the time we turn into the Toledo.

Ah! let us not forget to say that the blond beard belongs to the Accademia club and is consequently a plobster. Besides, I pay him very little attention.

Larderel was driving back in a victoria with a lady, a woman, or his wife. He really is very handsome. It is not his wife, for he looked round at me several times. Antonelli once told me that he lived openly with a cocotte, but to be quite sure I asked Altamura who was with the Comte de Larderel.

- I do not know — a friend of his, I believe.

Just as I thought. But what a disgrace to trail such a woman about with one! When one is rich, noble and handsome, that is just what one does!

We barely have time to change our dresses before going to the Hôtel d’Angleterre, where the eternal Altamura gives us a magnificent dinner.

Thanks to the late hour at which the theatre begins, we have time to hear La Traviata. We have a box on the left, so I only half enjoy it. The club box⁷ is above us, a little to one side; one cannot see well, and I saw no one because of a lamp beneath my box — no one, only a host of opera-glasses. I am tired, and these ovations tire me even more. So they take an interest in me as I take an interest in them. Ah, so much the better. I came out of the theatre quite pensive; it is the first time I have heard this opera. I did hear it in my childhood, to be sure, but at five or six one does not understand much.

I thought there was nothing but Mignon and Faust; there is La Traviata too — subject and music, everything in it is alive and natural. People attack Verdi as they attack Dumas — why? because these two men amuse, move and transport their public.

In the club box there was no one we knew, or at least only for a short while, for they went out at the same time as we did by the little side door, and I saw no one I knew.

No, but listen — yes, listen to La Traviata. It almost made me weep; this charming music makes your heart now beat, now dream, now bleed. It is true that it is an immoral piece for men. Every young fool will see a Violette Valery in his cocotte. And Larderel will ruin himself in bracelets and earrings if his beloved female has the good sense to cough and put on a poetic air.

I came home dreamy. What a noisy day! What crowds, what tinsel!

I am beginning to adore Naples; I fear for Rome... Rome and Pietro. Poor friend... well, why pity him? I do not know; I pity him because I pity myself, because this music has made me tender. I should like to hear him say to me: I love you, with his veiled eyes and his cheek resting on my hand...

It is good to be loved; there is nothing so good as that.

- He had promised me he would come to Naples, said Saint-Joseph, but now he will not; he is strange, I do not know what is the matter with him.

He is forbidden to come, of course! For I shall never believe that he lied! He loves me, but he is not his own master; it is devilishly humiliating for me. Those Vatican scoundrels pretend they do not want me, when it is I who do not want them! I am very fond of Pietro, who is as nice as can be, but Pietro is not the match I expect from Divine Goodness.

It is dangerous to hear La Traviata; that confounded music gives you ideas... One dreams of Pietro, one misses him, one closes one’s eyes, one fancies him there, then... then one gets to one’s feet all discontented, all strange...