# Monday, 12 February 1877

Monday, 12 February 1877

Larderel did not go to that ball. What follows is difficult to recount. Know only that in very short order I shall be raving mad. But there is someone to watch over you, you will say. No — no one can do anything about it. If I were prevented from doing what the evil spirit commands I should become furious and disasters would follow.
So today, hearing my neighbour go out, then his coachman closing the trunks, I felt seized by a kind of sadness... What, I said, he is going off like that — and whom shall I watch? And the veglione tonight? And a host of things. But I shall die of boredom!
blacked outBut... Julie....
He is leaving. One might leave too. But one must also see the gala Corso on the Chiaja, and our balcony is at the best spot, since we are staying at the Hôtel du Louvre. Hmm! I shall go and watch him leave anyway. It is no use, but perhaps it will give me pleasure. I am so unhappy that I try to lose myself in distraction, to kill time. So I set off with Maman, and the first person we find at the station is him, with Merisano and an officer. To get admission to the waiting room I go and buy two tickets to the first station — namely, Cancello.
Larderel and his two friends enter after us. I wanted to laugh; I set about perusing a newspaper. There was nothing else for it: we had to go back shamefully, without otherwise explaining our presence at the station. Larderel went through to the platform, casting me a glance. I went up to the man who takes the tickets at the gate and asked him whether there was a train back from Cancello straight away.
— There is a train that arrives in Naples at four.
We make our way onto the platform and look for a compartment — they are all full. Larderel follows us at a respectful distance, lost in the crowd.
crossed out[Sixteen lines crossed out]
At last comes that movement and noise of footsteps which gives one a kind of feverish haste in railway stations; I was waiting for Larderel, Larderel was waiting for me, the guards were calling the departure — one of them takes hold of me and points us to an almost-full compartment; I climb in, glancing sidelong at Larderel, who is behind me and who, dropping at last, there and then, the sort of comedy we had been playing, is about to follow me like a man who has made up his mind: but there are only two seats!
Then came a moment both comic and charming: myself in the middle of the compartment, Maman restraining Prater who was writhing to launch himself under the seat, and Larderel hesitating and looking at me as if to say: what is to be done? Oh! but with eyes so seriously questioning, and his arm, which held a travelling rug, expressing so much young and charming perplexity in so great a libertine, that I shall always remember it with very particular pleasure.
— We shall suffocate here, I said at last — especially if someone begins to smoke.
— They are adding a new carriage, Madame, said Larderel to Maman — you would do better not to take this one, you will not have enough air.
— Ah! a new carriage, I said to no one, well so much the better.
All the compartments of the new carriage bore the word: reserved, except one.
— Reserved, reserved, I read as I passed — so everything is reserved. That one too?
— No, Mademoiselle, said Larderel again — you may enter.
— Thank you.
There were already several parcels everywhere — fur coats, portmanteaux, etc. — which Charles was arranging.
— But this one is taken!
— No, Madame — there is only me.
I sat down, moved to the point of speechlessness, with an incredible desire to laugh.
He chatted with his friends, giving instructions to his coachman Charles (English-style, if you please).
And so: Maman and I with our backs to the engine, she on the right, I on the left, Larderel facing her.
Ten minutes to Cancello. Lost time can never be recovered! — that lugubrious truth was ringing in my ears. We three looked at one another. Speak — but how? Be silent — but then what? Ah! ha! It was repugnant to me to depart from my habits and converse with fellow passengers.
Above my head, placed high up and quite securely, was a large box that did not inconvenience me in the least.
blacked outIt was a dress for Madam the Hussy, no doubt.
— Allow me, Madame, to move that box.
— Please do, Monsieur.
A new silence.
Ah! but.
— I should very much like to know how long it is to Cancello? I asked Maman.
— I have no idea.
— Yet one should know...
— Could you tell me, Monsieur, how many minutes it is to Cancello?
— Thirty minutes, I believe, Mademoiselle — thirty minutes.
Nothing more was needed. Both parties, given the little time available, ceased to dissemble their intentions.
— You are going to Cancello? asked Larderel, while I caught sight of withered violets in his buttonhole and remarked how much he resembled those pasteboard masks, lacquered all white, that Pierrots wear.
— Yes, Monsieur, to Cancello.
We began to converse as if long acquainted. He said he had seen us in Rome, with Antonelli, then in Naples, with the clan — then all the usual things one says in such circumstances.
— Poor Antonelli is ill — he is languishing in the country.
— Really, said Madame my mother, poor child — he is very good.
— Very amiable, I said with an air of indifference for which I cursed myself, and which did not leave me for a minute.
— You are staying at the Hôtel du Louvre, are you not?
— Yes.
written across the page
Prater emerged from under the seat; I called him my son, as did Larderel, who has the good nature of girls — or rather of men.
— And I was your very close neighbour.
— Really?
— I learned it yesterday, I said, and I confess I was somewhat embarrassed — for, believing my neighbour to be some Englishwoman who spent her life on excursions, I did not scruple to chatter and laugh with my sister and sing whatever came into my head.
— I believe I am a very agreeable neighbour, he said — I am never at home and no one hears me.
— That is true.
I felt I was behaving badly and could not help it — I was entirely given over to the joy of having... what?
He says he is coming back in ten or twelve days, that he is going to Florence on very important business and must be there on Tuesday. That he is always travelling, that he will come back to Naples.
His manners and his conversation remind me so forcibly of the Surprising One that I even find it disagreeable.
In the space of those thirty minutes we went a little like the locomotive itself, so that at the twenty-fifth minute Larderel was saying he was busy ruining himself. That is so that we shall not be shocked when we hear it from others. Clever...
I forgot to say how I explained the trip to Cancello.
— You are going to Cancello? he asked.
— Yes — a strange adventure has befallen us: my aunt has lost her luggage and her money and telegraphs to us from Cancello where she is in distress. We received her dispatch this morning.
— So she got there at six o’clock.
— I do not know.
— But... what is she going to do at Cancello?
— Well... she is going to see a lady — she lived a long time in Italy, perhaps you know her — Princess Eristoff?
— No, Mademoiselle, no, I have not that honour.
I did not even manage to say that she was not going to Cancello but was there by accident. Besides, all these paltry things are paltry.
He dares to say that the veglione was very fine and that he had enjoyed himself greatly there.
— But they say there is no wit in Naples, I said.
— Yes... but I met some very agreeable masks.
— I believe Naples society does not go to those balls.
— Oh! yes it does — all those ladies and young ladies were there. I recognised them a mile off, the very instant I saw them, but they would not speak, so that we were doing the teasing instead of being teased.
I could not collect myself at all, and felt dishevelled and common.
— We have not the pleasure of knowing you, Monsieur, said Maman after a few minutes before our arrival.
I was beginning to be uneasy That stupid sentence made me jump.
— Oh! Madame, cried the white mask, holding out his card and bowing, I have long had the honour of... I no longer know what.
— Oh! really, I said, turning away much vexed, this is an odd way to make an acquaintance.
— It is just like a novel, said Maman, smiling kindly.
— Yes, Madame, perhaps it is the beginning of a novel, said Alexander of Macedon.
— You mean the end, since here is Cancello, I said, very red.
— The end of the Prologue, yes, Mademoiselle — but is it here that you get off?
— Oh! really, this is dreadful. Will you show me your ticket?
— But this is a ticket for the stopping train, and we are on the express!
— Well?
— It does not stop at Cancello!
— Oh!
— And look, we have been here thirty-five minutes already — thirty-five minutes already! We have passed Cancello.
— Monsieur.
— And you will go all the way to Florence.
— Oh! I very much hope not — the thing is, I shall be cold, I have nothing with me.
— I should be delighted to put all this at your disposal.
— Ah! but — but no, we have not passed Cancello — and my aunt, what will she do?
— Ah! Madame your aunt... I am unhappy.
— You? Wait a moment — the misfortune one suffers when travelling is not being alone in one’s compartment; we are going to get off and you will be happy...
— Ah! No — it is then that I shall be unhappy.
And for a few seconds, some of Audiffret’s gestures and exclamations of regret.
— Ah! here is that abominable Cancello.
— Indeed it is, Monsieur.
He jumps down onto the track and gives me his hand to help me down, pressing it gently... Though in fact perhaps it was not a squeeze — he had to hold me up, the step was very high.
Then Maman and Prater.
I went to look for my aunt and tore the lace flounce of my petticoat.
— I cannot find her, and yet...
— How you run, Mademoiselle — really, you go at such a speed.
— It is in my nature; I am very restless.
— Fine old man! I salute thee, said Larderel to a beggar who was holding out his hand.
— Give him something, Maman — and do you not give alms, Monsieur?
— Alms... why yes, of course — must one give them?
— Yes.
— Well then, with pleasure.
— I am very charitable; I want it to be repaid to me if I become a beggar.
— You, a beggar, Mademoiselle! I have too good an opinion of you... you will never need to beg?
— A pistol shot, and that is the end of it.
— I recommend the death of Empedocles — Vesuvius is right there.
— Yes, when I am ruined.
— I shall take you into my service, said Maman, laughing.
— At once, Madame, I beg you. In place of that nice little Black boy you had last year.
— You are not black enough, I said.
— What, I am not black enough?
— Ladies, I beg you, cross over, come closer to the carriage — otherwise I shall miss the train, for I shall never bring myself to leave you; and here is the train that will take you back to Naples.
— Let us find my aunt first; I have made inquiries and they tell me she is here.
— Oh! you will find her.
And he made a parade of his influence over the guards and stationmasters, and they came to take, as it were, his orders.
— Don’t worry, don’t worry, there’s time. Maman held out her hand to him; he held out his to me. Ill-bred or conceited! Bah! in a case like ours... For it is a rendezvous, pure and simple, this arrangement of ours.
The guard seething with calls. Ah! the bare shoulders and his shoulder-strap underdrawers!
The second train was stopping just as the first was moving off, and Larderel kept doffing his hat to us all the way to the step, and twice over, as if... Audi... no, he is like all spoilt and dissolute children, and particularly like a young brown hunting dog, short-haired, long-tailed, long-eared, who has just been playing with friends and looks at us in astonishment, pricking up one ear while the other is turned inside out and wet with bites. It is striking.
We got back in time to catch the end of the gala Corso. The carriages, the horses, the luxury, the crowd, carried me away. It is superb and dreadful. I have never seen anything like it. And there is nothing like it in the world.
England with its Derby? Cold and stiff, or else free-and-easy in the jockey manner. Paris? That café. But Naples — worldly luxury joined to the luxury of nature produces a truly extraordinary effect...
On coming in, and to forestall any comment, I concocted an excellent and plausible story for Rosalie, while continuing to question her about the count.
— It is a great pity that Monsieur is leaving, the coachman said.
— And why? asked the maid.
— Because I believe he likes your young lady very much. He finds her charming, only a little flighty. Is she rich?
— And your master?
— Oh! very rich.
— Mademoiselle is exceedingly rich.
— Well then, who knows — why should there not be a marriage?
— You will still be a coachman and I a lady’s maid.
I was laughing.
— He is very free with his coachman, said Rosalie, oh! very free, he tells him everything, and he told him that he knows your family very well and that he found Mademoiselle very pretty. He is very serious, the coachman, and one can see he stands up for his master a great deal.
All the same — to go chasing a man as far as a station outside Naples... to send flowers... The world turned upside down... no, but if I had a hundred men adoring me I should still need one like that. Those who love me do it for themselves; and I need some for myself.
Altamura was here this afternoon and this evening, which makes me sit up late, writing all this trivia.
No, but really, it is Carnival.
What will he think?
I believe it is not too great a crime; it must happen sometimes to respectable people... hmm? Come, I ask in all seriousness — is it done?
crossed out[One line crossed out]
He tied my large chenille scarf for me at Cancello, and I took it off without undoing the knot. Alexander the Great cut the Gordian knot; Alexander the Little has tied one... Let him untie it too — but what does the oracle foretell for him?
written across the page
Audiffret had once tied a knot in the cord of my parasol, which I did not keep.
It is late; after being in an extraordinary state of agitation I am calm, and if I had not written what you have just read, I should never, never, never believe it.
It was that Altamura who kept me up so long, and to amuse myself I told him how the keyhole had been widened by the rubbing of Larderel’s nose, and how the nose [words crossed out] had worn so sharp that it could put my eye out.
While I was looking for my aunt, Larderel was telling Maman that he had long known her name, and I do not know what else.

Notes

In Italian in the original: C’è un treno che arriva a Napoli alle quattro. ↩
In Italian in the original: reservato. ↩
le Surprenant — a prior romantic interest of Marie’s, referred to by this epithet (The Surprising One); he first appears in earlier carnets. ↩
The Greek philosopher Empedocles was said to have died by leaping into the crater of Etna. ↩
In Italian in the original: Stia pure, stia pure, c’é tempo. ↩
Alexander the Great cut the Gordian knot, which an oracle said only the future master of Asia could untie. Marie’s “Alexander the Little” is Larderel (Larderel), whose first name was Alessandro. ↩