Tuesday, 25 April 1876

Opening my eyes at noon my first thought was: Is it possible to behave as I did yesterday? Is it possible to forget one’s pride? But it was not my fault. I was speaking with the firm conviction that every word I said was received as a blessing from heaven; seeing an effect other than the one I had hoped to produce, I pressed further and further forward because it seemed to me impossible that... well... you understand me.
So long as it was Petruccio — the mad, honest boy — I could do as I did; but once it is the Conte Antonelli — no further. One must not forget that neither he nor I are children, and between a young man and a young woman there are so many niceties to observe. One needs modesty, restraint. No — one needs indifference; then I shall see well enough whether he loves me.
written across the page
A passage to be remembered!
You cannot imagine how ill at ease I feel! I reproached him to his face with everything I have reproached him with in this journal — and he paid no attention to it and did not think to justify himself, but on the contrary urged me to admit that I was in the wrong.
- That is a fine joke! I cried out — I have never seen such audacity; I cross myself from head to toe. I am in the wrong! I swear what you say is outrageous. If I loved you I would curse you — but as the sort of love that existed has changed to contempt on account of your cowardly conduct, I do not curse you. The devil take you! Although — no; the devil could not endure long in the company of an imbecile!
And there he stood under this hail of words, impassive as a fortress wall under a shower of dried peas.
- I shall come tomorrow, he said, as though to calm me — and we will speak of all this seriously.
It is useless, Monsieur; I see perfectly well what to think of your fine love. You need not come back, I added more faintly; you have grieved me, I bid you goodbye in anger, and I shall not sleep all night. Ah! you may boast of having put me in a rage, believe me!
And I who was dreaming of him, who was indulging in sentiment, who was preparing myself to see him come back so happy that he would lose his breath and not know what to say, so much in love that... Ah! a thousand Saint-Josephs of a Larderel!
The Colosseum by moonlight! Ah! it is pretty indeed! Ah! I do advise you to melt, young ladies! Stay hard as stones, cunning as priests and coquettish as she-devils. Only then will you be obeyed and happy. But do as I did: let your arms hang, lean towards the man with your head bowed, quite ready to find yourself in his arms, and this man, who went down on his knees when you repulsed him, will draw back and lean against the wall, saying to you:
But how strange you are! I shall speak to you tomorrow, when you are calmer.
It is he who complains, he who says that I always refused him, that I always laughed, or said that I did not love him!
So, you understand, and I cannot go about carrying my unhappy love everywhere; there is nothing more stupid than a man with an unhappy love.
By Jove! I should not have spoken otherwise in his place, but all the same I find him very haughty and very calculating for a man who truly loves.
Now I have had my money’s worth, so I shall not say another word about it. If he wants to, let him be the first to begin.
And what if he did not want to, what if he no longer loved me and asked nothing better than to break it off there?
...livens me up, that makes my blood boil while sending a chill down my back!
I like that much better, oh yes. Oh, furious, furious!
I am waiting with enormous impatience for the hour to go out, when suddenly it begins to rain. I go only to collect my hearts — they have come out very well; here is the faithful likeness, and the exact size. That one is mine, the President’s; those of the members are the same minus the key, which exists only for mine. This heart is to be worn on a cord of raw silk. And when a member renders us some signal service, she may wear it with a wide yellow ribbon, in a long loop. On the back of the heart there is a glass for my portrait, like this: but the heart being hollow, one can put a great many things inside, with the portrait serving as a lid. In mine I have already placed my own portrait.
Deux cœurs dessinés à la plume : un grand cœur marqué «A T E» traversé d'une clef, et un petit cœur avec un médaillon ovale au centre
Les cœurs de la société A.T.E. : le cœur de Marie, avec la clef, et celui des membres Mon Journal, t. 7, p. 304
Indeed, that is the rule: one may wear only one’s own face, though one is of course free to put whatever one wishes inside.
I have no cord yet and my heart is suspended by a blue ribbon. It gives me the look of a nun, and that look sends a chill through me.
It is still raining and the Baron Visconti is announced. That charming man, so witty despite his age.
Little by little Antonelli’s name came up while speaking of Odescalchi’s marriage.
- Why, Madame, said Visconti — little Antonelli, as you say, is not a match to be scorned but one to seize with both hands. For that poor cardinal is failing from day to day — he no longer walks and life is leaving him — so that one of these days each of his nephews will become a millionaire. And Pietro Antonelli will consequently be a millionaire.
- But the cardinal has a daughter.
- Yes... but the daughter is already splendidly established — she has nothing to do with it, therefore. It is the nephews who will inherit.
- You know, Baron, I was told that the young man had entered a convent, said Maman.
- Which young man? asked Visconti, almost annoyed.
- Why, the young man, you know...
- Pietro Antonelli, I said.
- Ah! no — he is thinking of quite other things, I assure you.
Then they spoke of Rome, and I said how much I loved it and how much it cost me to leave it.
- Well then, stay.
- I should like nothing better.
- I am glad to see that your heart loves our city.
- Speaking of hearts — have you seen mine?
- I beg your pardon?
- Look, I said — and I showed him the heart.
- That is a good heart, he said.
- A nun’s heart, you know, I added, laughing — they are going to leave me in Rome in a convent.
- Oh! said Visconti, also laughing — I hope you will stay in another way; we shall find a means.
- Which?
- Would you like me to find one? It will not be difficult.
- Very well — find one.
- Find one, repeated Maman.
- And I shall find one, said Visconti, pressing my hand firmly.
What do you make of that, wretched readers?
Maman is radiant; I am radiant. It is a veritable aurora borealis.
We are almost making plans. Maman is worried about the rough way I treated her favourite yesterday. I laugh...
The sun comes out as if to consecrate my gaiety, and we go out.
Good! The Muliterni and Odescalchi on the Corso! The weather is so lovely that I cannot stop myself from singing softly.
And there is Petruccio — I bow with a smile.
How the devil could I have said so many foolish things yesterday? I know how. I was in the habit of uttering a few impertinences to him every day; for twenty-five days I had to keep them to myself, and all together they came out yesterday evening and produced an enormous gibberish.
We had stopped near a shop when Rossi came up, and I was charming in the way only I know how to be. That is to say — when I set my mind to it, it is something quite adorable.
God, how full my heart is! Not the silver one — the real one.
I am so afraid — I fear everything. It is nearly nine o’clock; I am beginning to grow agitated.
This evening, contrary to all expectation, quite a numerous gathering: Plowden, Simonetti, Botkine and Pastmikoff, and Antonelli no doubt.
I did the honours with great animation, and my silver heart is commented upon in every possible way.
It was Simonetti who stayed the longest — until one o’clock, I believe — and at ten minutes past one there was no one left but Pietro. While Simonetti chatted with Maman, Dina, and Walitsky by one table, I remained with Pietro by another, and we reasoned about love in general and Pietro’s love in particular. He has deplorable principles — or rather he is so mad he has none at all. I was truly distressed by what he said, for he spoke so lightly of his love for me that I do not know what to think. Besides, he resembles me so closely in character that it is extraordinary. It was his debts that had kept him so far from Rome — as proof he offers to bring me his lawyer’s letters. To be sure, he repeats that he loves me, adding however that it comes and goes, that he is incapable of loving seriously. Then I lecture him and he agrees with me and tells me his least thoughts — which is not good, for many things are thought that are often not very agreeable to hear.
Visconti’s words are present to me and I conduct myself accordingly.
At last we say good night and separate — but the locket on my heart opens and it must be fixed; Pietro stays to fix it, and in a moment I do not know how we find ourselves in the corridor. And now I beg you — do not read what I am about to write. I had thought until now that this book was very moral and that in time it would be given to read in schools and boarding schools. Listen — I advise you not to read further, for you will be disappointed in me, and that is all.
I do not know how it began, but within five minutes we were no longer quarrelling. Ah! yes — I remember.
- Good night, I said to him.
- I am waiting for the doctor to give me a cigarette.
- I shall give you one — and I went to Walitsky’s room, which is at the far end of the corridor near my door; only two doors open onto this corridor, Walitsky’s and then mine, and it gives onto the main corridor which is lit.
He followed me, then; I do not know what was said, but within five minutes we were no longer quarrelling — we had come to an understanding — the devil take me if I know how.
- You are wrong not to tell him you love him, Maman had said to me after Visconti’s visit — after all, it commits you to nothing.
I was, then, under the influence of that advice. Let us see — let us try to remember — it was scarcely an hour ago and I can recall nothing of what was said.
He was very close to me; and having quite reassured me, he came even closer and took my hands and my waist.
- I shall never say foolish things again, he said — since it pains you. But what would you have — it is my character that must be excused; I am mad and thoughtless; I say whatever comes into my head. But I swear I love you and have always loved you — besides, you guessed it yourself; you knew it very well, did you not?
I answered nothing but did not push him away.
- Do you love me? he asked.
The same villainy... Then he drew me towards him — do not read on, there is still time! — and kissed me on the right cheek; Visconti’s words and Maman’s were still in my ears; instead of pushing him away, therefore, I yielded to him and putting both arms around his neck... By Jove! — he put his head on my shoulder, kissing my neck... on the left... and... how horrible! For the first time I have been in a man’s arms!
- You love me? I asked then.
- Oh! yes — and I shall love you always.
- No — let me go; what I am permitting you is wrong; I am behaving badly... Go away.
But far from releasing me he pressed me in his arms and looked at me in such a way that I said:
- You know what I told you on the subject, only the other evening... no one, not even...
- Yes, but for me it is different — I love you and... do you love me?
- Why! if I did not love you, would I permit you all this!
Not to say that I love him would be to accuse myself of something worse than mere frivolity.
God, how difficult all this is to say! Let us continue as best we can since it must be done. I no longer know how, but he committed himself to marriage — he at least; I was silent for the most part.
- You are leaving Thursday?
- Yes — and you will forget me.
- Oh! that I will not! I shall come to Nice.
- When?
- As soon as I am able.
- Now.
- I cannot.
- Why?
- Ah! you do not know all that.
- Well then say so — say it at once; I wish it.
- My father would not allow me.
- But you have only to tell him the truth, and then he will not think you are going to Monaco.
- Of course — I shall tell him I am going for your sake, that I love you, that I want to marry. But not at this moment — you do not know my father. He is very kind to me just now; I have just been forgiven, but I dare not yet ask for anything.
- Speak to him tomorrow.
- I shall not dare — he is kind, but I do not yet feel confident; think — for three years he would not speak to me! In a month I shall be in Nice.
In a month I shall no longer be there.
And where will you go?
To Russia. So there: I shall go away and you will forget me.
No, but in a fortnight I shall be in Nice, and then... then we shall leave together?
Yes.
written across the page
I did not believe a word of it, but it was one of the most agreeable moments of my life; I thought it would be the end of the domestic torments.
He pressed me to his heart and covered my face with kisses, while I kept my eyes shut so as not to see this abomination.
Ah! I cried, drawing back, you are satisfied now!
That is just like you! he cried in his turn, there! You always have bad thoughts!
No, I said more gently, I am only asking you whether you are satisfied?
What an answer! And I still kept my eyes shut.
You know, I said, Maman thinks I am asleep and that you have gone.
Really? he said, laughing.
in the margin
[Annotation: 1881. To begin with, I find this scene abominable. To let him take me by the waist and kiss my face!! I feel dirty even now. Fie on the ugly passage!]
Now go — only no, come, here — and I drew back into the recess of my door, which, being shut, offered a very solid support.
You love me, and you will always love me?
I shall always love you — and do you love me?
I gave a slight nod, and he was so delighted that he took me in his arms, and I pressed him to my bosom without saying a word.
written across the page
It amused me enormously.
I love you, I love you, I love you, he kept repeating, falling on his knees.
Get up, Monsieur, I think I am going to faint — but he held me up.
Are you happy? I asked, taking his head in my hands and then running them through his hair — tell me?
Oh! yes, I should think so, he murmured in rapture.
I gathered all my strength and, as our faces were exceedingly close to each other, I made a great resolve and kissed him on the mouth — I who until now had not so much as brushed him with my lips. And this first silent kiss lasted so long that I fell exhausted on his shoulder, held up only by his arms, which were around my waist like a ring of iron.
I meant to write no more, but in the future this will be a pleasant memory for me; so let me tell everything, as far as a troubled memory allows.
Two or three times I made as if to leave in anger, and each time he held me back.
written across the page
We had both become serious. We seemed grieved, so grave were our faces at that moment. Words blacked out: The grave note, more.
No, he said, we cannot part like this every evening. You are not angry, are you?
No, I replied, smiling, I am kind, you see...
Enough! enough, Monsieur; as it is, there has been only too much.
One more, a last one, before I go.
Then I went back into my dark corner and, making him swear once more that he loved me and would come to Nice, I let him go. But he came back again.
How slender you are, he said, taking my waist in his fingers and squeezing it, which delighted me; he could see how loosely I was laced, for my satin corset gave like a loose bodice and could be moved about.
Come to Nice now! I said.
Ah! if only I could!
Ah! the deuce! four o’clock in the morning. I shall tell the rest tomorrow; tonight I am writing very badly. I am not moved, however; I am astonished at my indifference. I look at my lips to see whether they have changed colour — well, no, they are the same, and yet they are no longer the same. See how deceptive appearances are!
Enough, enough; until tomorrow.

Notes

In French in the original: Bigre ! ↩
In French in the original: en sautoir — worn long, as a loop of ribbon or chain hanging over the chest. ↩