Friday, 2 June 1876

I went up to Maman's and stayed with her and my aunt; a great silence fell, which all three of us were burning to break, all three thinking of the same thing.
At last, I know not how, my aunt spoke Pietro's name.
— Some charming things have been written to him, I imagine, I said coldly.
It was a beginning.
My mothers put on an air of disdain and pride; I let myself be carried along, and after ten minutes I was so worked up that I reproached myself only for my... frivolity.
I was ashamed to have been so... light with an unworthy man.
— You are right, I said; it is not Antonelli I lament. Antonelli is not a match for me — but suppose he were, and see what misfortune results for me from our way of life, from your conduct! We do not go into society — very well; you will marry all the same — You see perfectly well that I shall not!
And I dissolved into tears while my aunt remained anxious and distressed, and my mother, putting on a false and irritating bravado, shouted at me that I could weep elsewhere and that my tears softened nobody.
This went on until four o'clock... at four I rose almost calm and went to my room to try on a long dress in the manner of the women of the Bible — straight, long, with straight sleeves, wide and graceful in their rough simplicity. The dress is of white oriental fabric, silk waste I believe. I shall wear it every day. It is practical and graceful.
I was at the second canto of Orlando by Ariosto when General Bibi was announced — he had returned from Paris only yesterday.
I went down to join everyone in the garden. The general asks to which religious order I belong and is astonished by my dress.
I was sad, but I am accustomed to letting nothing show; to look at me one would swear I was the happiest girl in the world. Bibi compliments me on my fine appearance.
We dine together, then go up to my room where everyone settles as they please — on the chaise longue, the armchairs, the footstools, and on the floor.
Bibi asks questions; we recount my exploits in Rome, we show the photographs without naming anyone. Bibi declares Antonelli the most handsome, the most congenial, the most agreeable.
We spoke of him the whole time, and by extension of the Cardinal, the Pope, Cardinal Ledochowski, the Vatican, Rome. I give the etymology of the name Vatican. It is known that this name comes from Vaticinium, the ancient oracles that were delivered there.
Then we spoke of the Orient, of poor Turkey — I care little enough about it, but I keep abreast of the affairs of the day so as not to sit gaping in conversation.
My room has ravishing reflections in the lamplight.
Lefèvre was there; I detest him, but when there are other people present besides him, he is a matter of indifference to me.
Do you know who Lefèvre is? A stout little old doctor, broader than he is tall, a dauber, a chatterer, a crafty Norman. A friend since our first winter in Nice. He owns one of the fine properties in the Lympia quarter, beyond the port.
So, we spoke a great deal about Antonelli. My mothers swallowed their anger and disdain and spoke of him only as my victim, glorying in it.
So my head is a little turned, and unlike this morning I persist in believing he is not in Rome... Oh! No — in any case his conduct has always been spineless, not to say cowardly. I do not say cowardly, so as not to give the impression I am speaking under the influence of some fit of anger, but rather in cold blood.
I am cowardly myself, for here I am alone in my room, throwing myself back in my armchair and closing my eyes to dream of things quite charming but not at all chaste. And above all concerning this man who has so cruelly humiliated me.
But I reproach myself for nothing, for had I been entirely puritanical he would have behaved no differently, and I would have all the unpleasantness of the thing with not a single pleasant moment to recall.

Notes

mes mères: "my mothers" — Marie's habitual phrase for Maman and her aunt Dina Babanina, who jointly managed her upbringing.
bourre de soie: coarse silk wadding or waste silk, a rough-textured fabric.
Orlando: Orlando Furioso (1532) by Ludovico Ariosto, the great Italian Renaissance epic poem. Marie reads it in the original Italian.
Vaticinium (Latin): prophecy, oracle. Marie connects the word "Vatican" to the Latin for "place of prophecy," displaying her classical education.
barbouilleur: lit. "dauber" — one who paints badly; implies he is an amateur painter as well as a doctor.