Friday, 22 September 1876 (10 September) — Rural Suffocation and Roman Dreams

I have decidedly had enough. The countryside suffocates me, numbs me, stupefies me. I told my father so, and when I spoke of marrying a king, he began to demonstrate that this was nearly impossible, given the dreadful reputation of my family. He spoke the truth, but I gave no assent — one may say certain things oneself, but one cannot hear them said by others. I replied that all of that was nothing but the inventions of Mme Tutcheff. I spare that good aunt nothing, and since I do nothing but press on the influence she exercises over my father, he strives — being a weak and vain man — to prove that she does not dominate him and defends himself against her constantly. This pleases me enormously. I have employed the true means to undermine whatever influence that charming creature may have.
And that method works on everyone.
In Rome — the Pincio rising like an island above the countryside cut by aqueducts, the Porta del Popolo, the Obelisk, the churches of Cardinal Garobaldus that stand on either side of the entrance to the Corso, the Corso, the Palazzo di Venezia, then those dark and narrow streets, those palaces blackened by centuries, the ruins of a small temple to Minerva, and at last the Colosseum. I seem to see all of it... I close my eyes and traverse the city, I visit the ruins, I see...
I am the opposite of those who say: out of sight, out of mind... The moment something is out of my sight it acquires a double value — I examine it, I admire it, I love it.
[Blacked out: I have travelled a great deal,] I have seen many countries, many cities, but only two have excited my enthusiasm to the highest degree. The first is Baden-Baden, where I spent two summers six years ago — I still remember that delicious garden... the second is Rome. Rome is a very different impression, but stronger if that is possible. [Crossed out: Rome is one of those cities]
It is with Rome as with certain people whom one does not love at first, but for whom the feeling grows as a house is built — slowly, little by little. It is this that makes such attachments solid and gives them a great sweetness without driving out the passion.
[Eight lines crossed out: approximately identical to the paragraph above]
I love Rome — only Rome. Last winter there was a surge of love for Nice on account of Audiffret, but Nice is charming... that is all. Here I love only Rome. Rome "seizes you," as Laurenti said of my voice — it winds itself round your mind, wraps you in the gilded rags of its past and in the red robes of its almost-past and in the blue cloth of the soldiers of King Victor, that vulgar soldier, that crowned butcher...
The cries of the Lupercalia mingle with the songs of Christians, the scent of pagan perfumes with the incense of popes, the cymbals of Jupiter's priests are drowned by the ringing of bells, I was about to say... to finish with "the sounds of the organ" but... but it is execrable! I turn everything to ridicule.
And Saint Peter's — Saint Peter's when a ray of sunlight pierces in from above and falls, forming shadows and luminous [streaks] as regular as the architecture of those columns and those altars. That ray of sunlight which, by means of its shadow alone, creates within that marble temple a temple of light.
With eyes closed I transport myself to Rome... and it is night, and tomorrow the hippopotamuses of Poltava will arrive... I must be pretty. Oh! I shall be... the countryside has done me enormous good; I have never looked so clear-complexioned and fresh. [Blacked out] Rome — and I shall not go to Rome. Why? Because I do not wish to.
And if you knew what this resolution costs me, you would pity me. Look... I am weeping over it. Oh! I swear to you it is not Antonelli who wrings tears from me — I no longer even blame him. It was the fault of our situation — and above all my own fault.
And I shall not go to Rome until next carnival — for I shall go at carnival; without that I would be too wretched... and then... later, when I am settled, I shall install myself in Rome... I have already wanted to do so in London and in Paris, but that was before I knew Rome. To live in Rome or to die.

Notes

The Lupercalia, an ancient Roman festival of purification and fertility celebrated on 15 February.