Friday, 23 June 1876

The hero of the novel is named Pietruccio — but Irène does not love him; she loves Leone, a liberal, and is loved by him. Pietro, Count Clementi, nephew of the cardinal who once made the people cry out and who is nothing now under the paternal reign of Pius IX (Mastai Ferretti) — Pietro, I say, pretends to be a liberal; it is doubtless in order to betray, for he is, I am certain, the cause of the misfortunes that will befall Irène, her fiancé, her brother, etc. — and above all Italy.
Leone says he loves Italy more than Irène: “Italy before everything — before yourself.” That is what my own friend used to say to me, and it would even make me angry.
— I love you, he would say; I love only you; I would kill myself if you commanded it — but Italy before you! If there is war I shall leave you; if my country has need of me I shall sacrifice myself and sacrifice everything to it. — Italy before me? I would cry. — Yes, before all: God and the fatherland. — Oh!
Then he would not even answer me — eyes raised toward something indefinable, he would work himself into a transport speaking of his fatherland. The only way not to be enraged is to merge oneself with the man and to begin loving that fatherland as he does. Oh, men! They say it only out of vanity, out of affectation — it is nothing but a pose! I would dearly like to see a man placed between his fatherland and a beloved woman — truly beloved — and then one would see quite clearly which he would choose, if no one were watching.
As we were going to the station to see Bibi off, the idea came to me to go along too and do a little flirting, for there is always someone arriving or departing there. It was very hot; I put on yellow Louis XIV-style shoes, a skirt with embroidered braid, and a Bedouin cloak worn in the manner of the people of Tunis — that is, with one arm passed up over the hood, which hangs like a long pocket beneath the arm. I looked very extraordinary but very pretty.
Then I read — then I wept... looking at the portrait... What! I deign to love him, to look at him, to desire him — and he does not feel it, and it does not make him happy to the point of madness, and he does not love me enough to overturn everything, or to dash his head against the wall!
You know how tightly the Antonellis keep their children — yet in Rome it is said that of all parents they allow the most freedom. All these are mere excuses for telling myself that in four months’ time I shall go to Rome.
And then... if he still loves me, I shall act in an entirely different way. I need spare no one, and I wish to take revenge on the priests — not as I wished to revenge myself on Brother Émile, not like a little girl, but as one ought to avenge oneself, which is to say: to punish Roman priests. I shall not reproach him; instead I shall pity his position, wound him by expressing compassion; and at the same time I shall speak of Italy, of the Fatherland, of the future greatness of this young country that needs unity, calm, in order to prosper. The king who is its head, the constitution that is its safeguard. The king needs goodwill — and above all the future reign: Prince Humbert, Princess Margherita, that princess who is idolised, she so good, so gracious — she needs to be surrounded by true devotion. In time the court will be strong enough to need no one; but for the moment it is not yet rooted in Rome, and anyone who came over to the court now — above all if he is a man of standing by virtue of his family or his connections in the old regime — would be received with open arms and showered with favour.
Editors’ note
[annotation]
in the marginAnnotation de Marie
A pretty revenge! The priests would be delighted by it, while pulling a face for form’s sake.
And how proud one ought to be to serve a queen like Margherita — liberal, dignified, generous, and charming. — To be chamberlain to Princess Margherita! Pietro would be sure to cry out, just as he has cried out so many times when recounting his persecutions.
— And, he said one day on the Pincio, on the very day of the races — I could easily become one. They will be only too glad to have the nephew of the modern Richelieu. Only, you understand, not straight away — for I have always behaved so badly that a single month of good conduct would not convince anyone of my conversion. And besides, I am so young; but in time I shall have only to wish for it. You understand, I am not boasting, Madame — you can see for yourself how things stand; besides, all of it is thanks to my uncle, he would add with a laugh.
You understand that a man disposed in this way — a man attracted by everything that glitters, stirred up by all his liberal friends, hunted and shackled by the priests, constrained by his parents — a young man, inflammable, highly ambitious, somewhat hypocritical, even false — you understand that it will not be difficult for me to push such a man toward precisely where he is only too eager to go. Besides, if he does not adopt this course, he is sensible and shrewd enough to do still better: that is, to become a priest and inherit from the Cardinal. But no — he loves the good life too much, the noisy and expansive life, for that; he will adopt whichever course I push him toward... if he still loves me. If he no longer loves me — let us say I have said nothing.
When I read of revolutions, conspiracies, secret societies, plots — I become an entirely different person; I long to act. What a pity I was not born ten years earlier — I could have witnessed the final unification of Italy. The French Revolution is too distant; besides, it was a godless, bloodthirsty, accursed enterprise. Russia holds no interest — plotting against the Emperor, for shame! That would mean the ruin of the country. Whereas what has just occurred in Italy — the annexation of Rome, and before that the reunion of the other states — that is a great and noble work, and one would be more than happy to have fought for such a cause.
And it is past, and I have nothing left to do. There would be much to do — if there were many people like me, there would be cause to fight against that noble cause: drive the king from Rome and reconstruct the Pope’s throne, setting the exalted people to sing canticles to the Lord. Throw oneself into devotion, elevate the Pontiff, and make him once again King of kings!
Look — I am tempted to offer myself to the Holy Cause. And why not? Have not greater extravagances been committed? People more foolish than I have made their fortune. I have nothing extraordinary: no fortune, no name. Moderately rich, moderately pretty, moderately witty, a fair painter, a fair musician. There are many like that, and they attract little attention. True, painting shows great promise — think of it, I have been painting since January only, barely five months and with what interruptions! Katorbinsky has given me thirty-four lessons in all. And then there is singing; but above all let us think of establishing ourselves properly in the world. On that depends my tranquillity — and with a tranquil mind I can do a great many things. Oh! I feel ambition within me. It cannot be for nothing!
By Jove, this novel is spoiling me. They make assignations on the staircase. Like me.
I was already in bed when it came back to me that if he truly loved me he could have written to me in spite of everything. At the slightest difficulty he gave me up. Hating him was enough — must I also despise him?

Notes

Pietruccio: Italian diminutive of Pietro — “little Pietro.” The coincidence of the name with Pietro Antonelli cannot have escaped Marie. ↩
Pope Pius IX’s family name was Giovanni Maria Mastai Ferretti (1792–1878). He was still reigning at this time, though gravely ill. ↩
Louis XIV-style shoes: heeled, with a buckle or decorative element — a period revival fashion popular in the 1870s. ↩
In French in the original: bédouin — a loose hooded cloak of North African style, fashionable in the 1870s. ↩
In Italian in the original: Patria — the sacred term of the Risorgimento. ↩
Crown Prince Humbert (later King Umberto I, r. 1878–1900) and Princess Margherita of Savoy (later Queen Margherita), who was enormously popular in Italy. ↩
The Pincio: the public gardens on the Pincian Hill in Rome, a fashionable promenade. Marie and Pietro met there during her visits to Rome. ↩
Cardinal Giacomo Antonelli (1806–1876), Pietro’s uncle and the powerful Secretary of State to Pope Pius IX, was often compared to Cardinal Richelieu for his political authority. ↩
The Risorgimento — the movement for Italian unification — culminated in September 1870, when Italian troops annexed Rome, ending the Pope’s temporal power. Marie was born in 1858, so would have been twelve; “ten years earlier” is an approximation. ↩
In French in the original: Bigre. ↩