Tuesday, 26 December 1876

Visconti in the morning.
At Spillman’s there was almost a tender moment. Having arrayed myself in my pontifical attire like the great brute that I am, I go to the Pincio, ceding to my father the place of honour beside Maman, who searches for Antonelli with all her eyes when, in a group of men, I think I recognise him. Maman holds her head twisted round — like one of the damned in Dante — smiling until the person removes his hat, nudged by the gentlemen around him. Oh! it was absurd, it was atrocious! I was so angry that I can no longer remember who that man was. Simonetti came up to our carriage; they pointed out my father to him, but while speaking to him, they were still waiting for the other. If it was him, he must have recognised me because of my pontifical attire! Absurd, atrocious!
But it was only in the evening that I felt a sort of disappointment, a void... a dull anger. Oh! my mother is sometimes abominable.
It is the opening of the Opera tonight... and not a box to be had... every vexation at once. My father offers two hundred francs for one, but in vain. And Antonelli will be there tonight! I should like to be there to see what face he would make at me.
Visconti comes; I make as subtly as I can some rehabilitating allusions which the old bloodhound understands perfectly, and this greatly relieves me and allows me to go to the Argentina to see Madame Angot’s Daughter in Italian.
My teacher Katorbinsky and the Swedomskys come to the box, and I arrange a day for a painting session.
I have nothing to say to Pietro. He would not understand me.

Notes

habits pontificaux — the formal, conservative dress code required in papal Rome society. ↩
In Dante’s Inferno (canto XX) the soothsayers walk with their heads twisted round to face backwards. ↩
Lecocq’s comic opera (1872). ↩