Wednesday, 10 May 1876 – Thursday, 11 May 1876

in the marginnote de Marie sur la page de titre du Livre 60
[On the title page: Book 59 is lost!! I am terrified that it has been stolen from me. But by whom?? I have only just noticed it, while reading (1882). It covers my departure from Naples for Rome and from Rome for Nice; everything from 19 April to 10 May is missing. Thank God I did not see Antonelli during that time, otherwise people would think that something ugly had happened and that I had done away with the notebook. But it is so strange — where can it have got lost?]
in the marginnote de Marie sur la page de titre du Livre 60
written across the page found
As I said Tuesday evening, I departed yesterday at three o’clock. Without any obstacle and without any scene, in which I see the goodness of God and the Holy Virgin. I left alone with my aunt, gay and content. As far as Monte-Carlo we had pleasant company — Maman, Tchernichoff, the Count di Clavesana, Terlikoff and Laurenti. It is with the latter that I conversed from Nice to Monte-Carlo, that is to say for about an hour. A little more and I would have stayed in Nice. This dark, lean, small, dreamy, deep creature — a man of breeding and wit — has always attracted me in some fashion.
in the marginAnnotation de Marie
For after all it was admitting before everyone that I was leaving for Antonelli’s sake, and my family was lending itself to this cunning. More than that! It was encouraging it. I tell you: idiots!
in the marginAnnotation de Marie, 1881
written across the page God and the Holy Virgin would have done well to stop me from leaving. 1881.
This reserved and melancholy temperament, if it does not understand mine, at least sees in it more than everyday banality, and I myself communicate my ideas to him almost as freely as to my journal — to him whom I see twice a year. Before taking his leave, he asked permission to “take my hand.” Then I embraced Maman and took a hundred francs from Tchernichoff to buy him an Italian costume in Rome, and we are off.
It is truly a great pleasure to leave Nice. M. di Clavesana is married to Mlle de Laurenti-Roubandi, sister of the Count de Laurenti of whom I just spoke. She is a charming woman, and her daughter is an adorable fair-haired girl of thirteen. We travelled together as far as Genoa, where they live. The Countess sang me Neapolitan songs, and very well too, and told me she had seen me at the opera — the Count said he had admired me. They left us their card with their Genoa address and a very kind invitation.
From Genoa onward, left alone with my aunt, I fell to dreaming about a great many things — about Rome, about the explanation for this unexpected and extravagant journey. I dreamed and smiled from time to time, shrugging my shoulders at my so well-executed escapade.
It is a terrible proof of love that I appear to be giving to Pietro*. Oh well — too bad if he thinks I love him; if he believes such an enormity he is nothing but a fool, as are all those who would ever believe in any love of mine. At two o’clock today we arrive in Rome, I fling myself into a cab, my aunt follows, the driver of the Hôtel de la Ville omnibus takes my ticket, and… and I am in Rome.
God, what joy!
I am so happy that, back from my walk, I fling myself upon a writing pad and compose this letter to Nice:
Copied letterLettre de Marie à Nice, 10 mai 1876
“Great heavens! I am in Rome! Oh, what joy. You cannot understand how much better one feels here than where you are! I am breathing for the first time in a fortnight! No, it is too absurd!”
Our luggage will not arrive until tomorrow; to go and see the return from the races we were obliged to make do with our travelling clothes — though I looked very well in my grey costume and felt hat. I take my aunt to the Corso — what a delightful thing, to see the Corso again after Nice — I overwhelm her with nonsense and explanations, for it seems to me she sees nothing. I point out Pizzardi driving a break full of Zucchini, who gaped with wide eyes, and a multitude of other creatures.
Editors’ note
[Annotation]
in the marginAnnotation de Marie
But could this journey, made on a whim, not be attributed to serious intentions?
And there is the Caccia-Club — a ripple of excitement under the portico as I pass, and the Monk stands open-mouthed, then removes his hat and grins from ear to ear; Saint-Joseph is beside him and bows at the same moment, without too much surprise. Then — heavens! — Larderel! Larderel quite alone!! Larderel alone — do you understand! Further on, Simonetti, Rossi, who turned scarlet when he recognised me, and finally… Torlonia, who stops short and smiles his angelic smile. On the word of an honest woman, he has an angelic smile.
Then Bruschetti, in the distance, alone, grubby, on foot.
Editors’ note
[Annotation]
in the marginAnnotation de Marie
I would never have said that of a man I loved.
Pietro* was in grey, very grubby and pale. I told you that Cesaro and Antonio would lead him astray. Well, I hope it is coming to an end.
No, listen — it is not him we are concerned with. It is Don Clemente* who is adorable, as is Larderel. Then Beimonte, Pandola, and Princess Margherita with four horses and outriders in red.
My aunt pulled such a scowl when she saw Torlonia’s bow that I had to touch her arm, as if to urge her toward kindness.
She took Torlonia for a little shop clerk! For two hours I have been exhausting myself trying to persuade her that Torlonia and Larderel are the handsomest men in the world — she refuses to believe a word of it. Oh! By God’s body! I am in Rome!
Poor wretches! You will all rot in Nice! How I pity you! I nearly forgot to say that I almost stayed in Nice! On account of Laurenti, who has a child’s hand. Examine it — I assure you he is a man of breeding.
At last we go to the Pincio and find Larderel there, fawning like a dog before me. Oh, I assure you there is a difference between Rome and Nice!
This letter must be read aloud publicly, to console all those poor wretches languishing in the homeland of Catherine Segurana.
Well, there you have it — farewell; no, I shall never return, Nice is too tedious! Returning from my walk I sat down in the middle of the staircase — from joy, I assure you, from joy.
That letter explains my state. Listen — in Nice I suffer the contempt of Nice’s wretched society; in Rome I suffer only the indifference of Rome’s fine society. I prefer therefore to suffer in Rome. That stupid Pietro* will imagine all manner of things — it vexes me a little. He was the one who should have come to Nice. He must be proud, and that is quite natural, but it is also very irritating. If he could see to the bottom of my thoughts he would not be quite so proud.
I have just learnt the most delightful piece of news. The Metchersky girl is engaged to M. Ygnatieff. So it is not Torlonia.
My aunt — or rather my aunt’s vanity — is expecting Antonelli this evening; so am I, for that matter, though without too much anxiety. He did not come, and at eleven o’clock I went off quite calmly to bed, laughing at my journey to Rome. My aunt keeps telling me I do not know what I want.
“I want to go into society,” I tell her, “and since I do not, I commit all these follies to distract myself.”

Notes

Marie’s coinage: rusanité [sic] (from ruse, “cunning”). ↩
In English in the original. ↩
In Niçois (Nissart) in the original: San Diou de Diou ! — an exclamation in the dialect of Nice. ↩
In Italian in the original: Corpo di Dio — an Italian oath (“Body of God”). ↩
Catherine Ségurane (c.1506–c.1543): a legendary heroine of Nice, celebrated in local tradition for her defiance of Turkish invaders during the siege of 1543. ↩