Friday, 16 June 1876

I forgot to say that yesterday the marriage of Lacroix to Saetone was celebrated, with M. Guiglia and M. Émile d'Audiffret [sic] as witnesses.
May they be happy!
— You went to bed very late last night, said Maman. — Yes, as every day. — You will kill yourself. — I don't care. — When do you leave? asked Grandfather. — Oh, soon — I shall stay ten days in Paris. — One needs money for that, said my aunt. — Not much — I need only one or two dresses. — That is too few, said Grandfather, anxious to see me well equipped in Russia. — No, Papa — I have many dresses made for Rome, but since I went nowhere in Rome, the dresses remained in the trunks.
I had said enough — Maman began to cry, and when we were alone she was the first to speak of unpleasant things, weeping and complaining of her husband and of the Tutcheffs, who pursue her and spread the most atrocious slanders about her. And people believe easily. Monsieur Tutcheff is marshal of nobility and a great lord himself. And my mother is nothing.
I said first in a fairly cold tone that her reproaches were none of my affair, seeing that it was not I who had married her to my father. But as she went on weeping I went to embrace her — and beneath that kiss lay an ugly, selfish thought: for by showing myself resigned and kind I was doubling her grief and might perhaps bring her to do something.
— I am not rich enough, she said, to dazzle and win by brilliance — and I am nothing myself.
The evening was spent discussing the difference between being a fatalist and believing in God's will in all things.
Maman confuses the two and exasperates me. "Everything is written in advance" — that is the phrase with which she drives me out of my mind. If everything were written in advance there would have been only virtuous men — since God, being the principle of Good, would not write lives full of crimes.
— No, Maman persisted — if there are crimes it is because God wishes to punish the fathers' sins through those crimes. — Come, Madame — God created the fathers as well as the sons. He had no need to ordain crimes in the first in order to have the pleasure of punishing the second. — Saint Paul said that not one hair falls without the will of God. — Agreed — I accept the Will of God and bow before it; but Will does not mean prescription in advance. If everything were written in advance, there would be neither merit in virtue nor fault in evil — since such would have been the Divine will. — Whatever we do, if a thing is to happen it will happen. — But, Madame — we do not know what is to happen; how then can we do anything for or against it?
The General tried to argue with me, but seeing it was dashing one's head against a rock, we changed the subject, and conversation turned to Rome and the Romans.
I recounted the awkward position of the court at the beginning — when officers' wives were invited to the palace and when the cards stated that formal dress was required.
— Now, I said, things are improving — but everyone goes to court; they are not yet particular. — And is it amusing? asked Bihovetz. — So they say. — You have never been? — Never — Maman was always ill.
And I blushed — and my mothers saw the blush, and I was glad to have passed a little of my suffering on to them.
After half an hour's conversation with Amalia, I dismissed her, and yielding to the same temptation as yesterday, I opened my chiffonier and drew out Antonelli's portrait — the one he gave my aunt.
I would not have gone to fetch it, had not Amalia — flattering me in every way and saying that no doubt there were many gentlemen who were asking for my hand — begged me to show her some portraits. I showed her five or six; on seeing the Cardinalino's, she exclaimed that I must choose that one.
And so, barely alone, I immediately went to take him... into my hands.
It is strange — I could not tear my eyes away, and while looking at it again and again and again I drew it so close that my lips pressed against this cardboard image, and the cardboard seemed alive to me. I threw it from me and knelt down beside the chaise longue, hiding my face in my arms.
Does he at least look at my portrait? Oh — no; why look at a portrait when one had only to write!
And yet he did not deceive me. And yet even in his tenderness there was enough nonchalance to make me dream. I would have wished for more respect, more timidity, more anxiety above all. I worried about where he was — he never did. Never did he... never, in short, was he as one ought to be when one truly loves. He had the air of doing it because he could. Instead of being indignant at the kisses on my hand, I smiled; instead of sending him away on the last evening, I... I almost went to meet him.
Ah — weakness! Weakness! When shall I rid myself of you?
I love him and despise him — and I am ashamed of my mad conduct.

Notes

Saetone: a Niçois young man Marie has mentioned dismissively earlier in the carnet. This is the wedding that brought Audiffret to Nice.
Tout est écrit d'avance: "everything is preordained" — a form of hard fatalism that Marie is attacking here in favour of a free-will interpretation of Providence.
A reference to the early years of the Italian Royal Court in Rome after 1870 — when the newly established court, uncertain of its etiquette, cast its invitations too broadly.
Amalia: the new Italian maid Amélie, referred to here by her Italian name.
Cardinalino: "little cardinal" — Marie's nickname for Pietro Antonelli, nephew of Cardinal Giacomo Antonelli.