# Tuesday, 13 February 1877

Tuesday, 13 February 1877

It seems to me that I dreamed all of it.
I begin again to detest myself and to believe that people take us for a pack of adventuresses.
When I do not speak of a man it is because I no longer think of him. This is to tell you not to imagine, having read what I said of le Surprenant and Pietro, that it still continues. When it comes I say so.
Larderei did not expect to see me at the station and he had my withered violets in his buttonhole. An agreeable surprise — for me.
I predicted to Antonelli in the early days and afterwards that he would die within a year and two months. The term is expiring... I am not displeased.
I rose at two in the afternoon to drag myself from chair to armchair until evening.
And in the evening, instead of going to see the cavalcades, illuminations, fireworks, music, I speak of Larderei while listening to a serenade.
Rosalie comes to report that the coachman has received a telegram, that Monsieur the Count is in Florence — a host of things about horses. And above all... Ah! this truly gives pleasure: know then that from the first evening of our arrival he knew we were his neighbours, and the proof is that he spent hours on his knees, his eye glued to the keyhole; and when he had to dress he posted his coachman there.
— Charles, watch and tell me what they are doing.
Charles recounted these scenes to Rosalie with gestures, and Rosalie comes to give me a repeat performance.
— And the coachman tells me: Oh! Monsieur was like a madman — he would come in, throw his hat down and fall there on his knees — like this — and then he would say that this young lady is so pretty and then at last — and you know, Mademoiselle, he says:
— Who?
— The Count, of course — he says he would like to marry you; he said the coachman would marry me and... that he would make him his steward, and they talked about money, and then naturally I said a heap of things... And then the coachman said that the Count, to make known he was there, would shout: give me this or give me that when he needed nothing at all, and that he was always on his knees before the door; and then he said he would not stay long — he is going to come back to Naples because he is completely like that.
I had the same thing repeated to me twenty times. The girl laughed because it seems the coachman told it in such an amusing way.
— Oh! but listen, Mademoiselle, cried Rosalie, since the first evening when we arrived.
So it was he who began!
— And then, Rosalie continued, on the evening of the masked ball when you drew the curtain, he was there furious like this — another moment and he was going to demand that the curtain be removed. But Mademoiselle, I laughed, for I thought of you who were also watching — only you began later, because before you did not know he was there.
You will understand that I have enough material to talk until eleven o'clock.
There are two things I shall never forget: the Apollo Belvedere costume, and the adorable hesitation before the railway carriage.
I was there in the middle of the compartment, not knowing if there were two places or three, one foot raised to board, an overcoat on his arm, and eyes so serious and so sincerely questioning that I perhaps deliberately prolonged that sweet perplexity. That tacit understanding pleased me — one word would have torn the veil and the charm would have been broken.
I am pliant, attentive toward my family, I am gay, and we speak of Larderei — and it is like a light and agreeable enchantment.

Wednesday, 14 February 1877

Maman being in bed, we went with Pelikan to the Naples Skating Rink, laid out as in Rome in a sort of riding school. A truly Neapolitan animation reigned there: the well-bred lazzaroni are as noisy as those of the street, and the talents that these amiable Masaniellos possess are exercised in society, by amateurs, with marvellous dexterity. Before your very eyes a signor detached a sword from an officer's belt in a twinkling, and the officer had to pay for it with a bottle of champagne. Having stolen the sword, they conjured away glasses of champagne. They were beginning to occupy themselves considerably with us when Pelikan wished to leave; we walked the whole length of the Chiaja on foot, Pelikan leaning on my arm.
My fever this evening will not be understood unless I tell what I learned from Pelikan's manservant. Nosè — that same Nosè has been friends with Charles since the first evening, Charles taking him to the café; accordingly I learned tonight that Larderei has been free of his guardianship for four months, that his father died four years ago, that last year he was here at carnival with his kept woman — for whom he carried off the first prizes for masquerade and costume by the money he spent making her more elegant than the wives of his friends. That his kept woman is La Righi, a singer from Milan, whom he still maintains (the wretch!!) alone in a villa of his own near Florence, and who has a daughter by him.
I pause, breathless.
But that he is stenco di tenerla — and then a host of things about me which delight me. His coachman is his custode, says Mosè, and tells him everything; he told him therefore that he had seen me before, that I pleased him greatly, etc., etc. Mosè is too stupid to invent. One day, he says, he wanted to come down to the table d'hôte and spoke of it to his coachman, ma ha avuto vergna. This puts the crown on my ecstasy. He did not dare... I adore him.
Listen — I had taken Larderei for a vulgar scoundrel; but since learning the grandiose manner in which he conducts his debauchery, I honour and esteem him.
Only — why lie! "We parted ways" — that is a lie, since he still keeps her! And he is a family man! A daughter! Ah! Lord.
Ah! but, ah! but.
I pace the room in the greatest disorder — for until now my love for Larderei has been a pose before my family.
The habitual serenade arrives and I rush to the balcony, wrap myself in a fur, and despite that am so cold my teeth chatter.
And to think that there may be ten days yet to wait for him. If I knew he was not coming I would follow him. And had there been no trip to Cancello, I should have gone off to Florence without more ceremony than that! You do not know me!
If I undertake nothing as regards Antonelli it is because he fills me with shame and pity, and I have the conviction — perhaps a false one — that he does not properly understand the significance of any overture, any word, any action, of anything.
At least when one speaks to Larderei one sees that he understands what is said to him.
Ah! how delighted I am to learn that he gave himself up before me to all the tricks to which I gave myself up!
You know that Bihovetz predicted to me a gentleman who would be dreadfully encumbered by a little girl...
Ah! how long it is, how long, how long — ten days!
A daughter — pah! And I who bring back every evening from the table d'hôte a fig, a prune, a grape, and a biscuit — objects I collect to offer him when there are enough. Bah! He will give them to his daughter. I am collecting for the daughter of La Righi — of La Traviata. I adore Larderei, or at least I am ready to do mad things for him.

Thursday, 15 February 1877

Larderei's coachman has not yet left and I send Rosalie to him every moment for news.
Pelikan left yesterday evening. Poor, good old man.
I continue to hate myself.
I skated among all our escorts from the veglione — Prince Ruffo has an irresistibly comic and refined smile. The sweet young man was there, having lost much of his sweetness on skates.
Only it seemed to me that people were looking at me with contempt. No one knows me. This imagining is atrocious.
I have never before been occupied with a man who has a daughter; the novelty of the thing, and this idea that Larderei — a child himself — has a... child, amuses me immensely.
I am in a very great agitation... I rest only when Rosalie comes to tell me that she... has learned nothing new.
It seems to me I should be happier knowing that Larderei is a perfect plobster, for I would occupy myself with him with more... pleasure — since... it would be worth the trouble of tormenting oneself. I am always vexed when the object is unworthy.
Conceal nothing from yourselves: it is indeed I who am courting him.
I have not a moment of calm. What if I were to love? To know what it is... that would be amusing.
Dina teases me about that little girl, and every time I hear "his daughter," "her father," it produces the strangest effect on me.
Were I less pitiable I should not speak of this man, for he is not, I fear, what one would want — and then who tells me...
Good night.

Friday, 16 February 1877

I do not know where to put myself — which is why we set out this morning at nine o'clock to visit Castellammare, Seiano, Vico, Sorrento, etc. As for the beauty of nature, it made a flattering impression on me — I say no more, for I was not struck, perhaps even because... the whole... ensemble is so marvellous that no single part leaps to the eye. The sea was blue and calm and the sun shone brilliantly: from Castellammare to Sorrento we scarcely spoke, only I smiled from time to time. The weather was very fine, lazzaroni half-naked everywhere, olive trees, a divine air, a little breeze that reddened the cheeks, here and there flowers, amid brilliant greenery standing out against the blue of the water; rocks bordering the path that seem straight as walls — and yet in a sort of crevice, or rather on a sort of projection: a sleeping goat.
We walked through Sorrento on foot; I bought some wooden objects, always pursued by family tableaux.
Getting back into the carriage, Dina signalled me to look to the right... an old man was supporting a baby who was trying to walk... Children cause me a sort of shame.
On the return, the conversation even more non-existent; all around the same splendours, but at the same spot as the goat — instead of the goat, a man equally asleep.
M. Nasimoff, the consul, came for the second time.
I dined alone to the accompaniment of Larderei-news from Rosalie. I am debasing myself, alas!
It would have been better not to have met him — he has let me glimpse... an entirely blue horizon, and I am doubly bored.
I have stupefied myself with patience games — I shall play no more.
No — listen — anything you like, but to imagine that Larderei has... a child. I... I do not know, but it produces the most singular effect in the world.

Saturday, 17 February 1877

I rose early and we went to see the Grotto of Pausilippe — that pleases me — and then Virgil's tomb. To the point! I am grieved: Larderei's coachman leaves tomorrow, so he will not return for a fortnight as he said — if he returns at all. The delay of that wretched Charles... seemed to me an indication of prompt return... Here I was interrupted by Altamura; this excellent fellow was hurt by our manner on the balcony day, but truly he is a good dog... fie! how I express myself.
[Ah! Dido, ah! Aeneas, ah! Larderei.]
I skated and amused myself — there was the one we take for Prince Ruffo, and the officer who had accompanied Larderei, a superb young man, and Merisano the monkey of last year, and the sweet young man, and many others; I was in white with two braids down my back like Gretchen and a black velvet bonnet. What would you have — it is quite natural that people take a little interest in us; we are quite fresh.
The coachman's departure sends shocks of disappointment through me; I undertake an enquiry with Rosalie, having her repeat how Larderei would come home early and in the morning leap from his bed to look through the keyhole; then the pantomime with Charles who would signal him to come when he caught sight of someone; how Larderei would knock the coachman aside, then take his head in his hands and bound across the room crying: Ah! Good Lord, good Lord! This gesture and these words are peculiar to him — approaching Cancello he took his head in his hands crying, "Good Lord, good Lord — here is Cancello!"
Here is something carefully gathered.
The coachman takes all manner of information about me — whether I like horses, whether I have a good character — again and again, and finally satisfied he declares that I am the woman his master needs. Then the coachman and the lady's maid arrange the marriage. But that is not the question at issue; the question is departure or arrival. Charles is no longer leaving — he has received orders from the Palace where the Count of Mirafiore summons him, about horses for Larderei; besides, every moment it is something else... Ah! and can I not hold to what this Bijou-bouzouk himself said!
I will hear no mention of any change — it torments me too much. If at least it were love
I am wild about this Larderei — to hear Rosalie tell it, he is equally so about me. Rosalie told me this before seeing how interested I was, and told it to me as something indifferent but extraordinary.
— He is a madman, said Altamura again this evening — sometimes he throws away a hundred thousand francs, other times he makes a fuss over two sous.
You know, the coachman is finding me a saddle horse to hire, through the agency of the precious Rosalie. Without this girl I should not know what to do.
I should very much like to know how long he will last this year — despite myself I am advancing into these amorous ideas, and if he were not to follow me there, it would be a disappointment.
I have seen him just enough to be irritated and a little mad.
If I followed my inclination I should spend hours transcribing the least items from the coachman, the lady's maid, the horses, the Countess of Mirafiore who left today for Florence and whom Bijou-bouzouk will come to receive in Rome and escort back to Florence at last.
True — I feel something for him... Audiffret came with terrifying slowness; Antonelli came as a result of the communicative influence of Love upon me; as for this family man — well, he came like a thunderbolt. He is the most real of the three; but from the portrait I draw of him you will perceive well enough, will you not, that he is not yet the ideal — or what I shall one day judge to be such.
O boredom — what do you not engender!

Sunday, 18 February 1877

Tomorrow it will be eight days since Bijou-bouzouk left.
The weather is heavy, interspersed with rain; we do nothing but go in with Altamura and watch the dinner of the poor in the middle of the square where the Festival stands...
We have moved to the mezzanine where we are more comfortable besides — the first and second floors are reserved for Prince Charles of Prussia, who arrives tomorrow or the day after.
At the Skating Rink the same assembly as yesterday — no one knows us, which is rather interesting. He who skates and makes such comic gestures to amuse everyone is the Count of Mirafiore, Larderei's brother-in-law. I blushed with pleasure on learning that it is someone connected to Alexander of Macedon.
Above, the ceiling; on all four sides walls; a lamp with a shade that gives the room a sickly air — and then Maman and Dina and silence.
Imagine this life — this torment of Tantalus: I go out, I see society, and I reach nothing!! Not one living soul, not one word from my own kind! The solitude made still more unbearable by an hour or two spent in the street. In short — to say everything — I stay in bed. I — in bed by day and by evening, without sleeping!
— What sadness! I cried for the twentieth time — and this is how the finest years of my life are passing!
— Oh! yes, sadly, said Maman.
It is the first time she has not told me we live very gaily and like everyone else; I point this out to her, adding that had she always spoken thus we should never have had our scenes. And before this submission and the pointlessness of longer speeches — which might perhaps have sustained me by making me impertinent — I feel my whole life slipping away, and I weep without anyone suspecting.
I have attached myself to Larderei as the shipwrecked man clutches at a straw; I have concerned myself with him in detail, and as tonight I have studied the patterns of the sofa on which I lay — from boredom, from sadness, from desolation.
That is why I do not myself know what I think. Were I like others, affections would hold their usual place in my life; but I am unhappy — I am like that prisoner who attaches himself to a spider as to a human creature; the least madness delights me to excess and then plunges me into pain. Larderei's coachman has left. There is a sorrow.
But Larderei said he would return in twelve or fifteen days. I am nothing to him; he is little to me — but for the moment he was everything. He amused himself with me as I amused myself with him — only for him I was what a theatre is to one who goes every day, whereas I am the provincial who once a year goes to the Opera with pink ribbons on her hat and talks of it until the day she goes again next year.
I do not want to go to Paris — that would nonetheless be an ending — but I await Larderei; I like it thus. Why wait for him? I do not know — it is a caprice... I shall wait. And my pride says: this is wretched — had he wished, he would have stayed; why attach oneself to people instead of waiting for them to attach themselves to you? And I reply to my pride: I am of your opinion, but I never claimed that Larderei was mad about me, and once this truth is established, my vanity has nothing to do with it and I hold no grievance against anyone. I am simply following my fancy, I expect nothing — so you may rest easy and not worry about consequences. And this dialogue concluded, I shall tell you what provoked it: it was my character which said this: You see — I do not understand all that! I would do everything at once. To love? Then to love completely — to stop at nothing, to see nothing but one's love. Extremes everywhere, rapidity, violence.
In my opinion... I interrupt it, for it was going to say what Larderei ought to have done — it was going to say something foolish, since Larderei has said nothing, promised nothing, given no false impression; he has done as he wished, and there is no reproach to be made to him. You understand, then, that it is I... who., and not he?
We understand — but since you imagined, Mademoiselle, that this man was going to love you...
Yes, I imagined it — which is why I let the characters you have just heard speak, and above all the last one, who declared that if there were to be love, it could only be understood in one way.
Antonelli's name was mentioned — it had the effect on me of squalid wretchedness, like everything connected to him, cardinals and Pope included.

Monday, 19 February 1877

I rode on horseback this morning with Altamura. This man seems to me a swindler — and yet I know the contrary. He always has the air of performing capers, diving headfirst, bending over backwards; he stammers a little and says eou instead of I, which makes him shout most of the time, open his mouth and fall back upon himself as if in ecstasy. He is rich, has very fine horses as this morning, a groom; without being a great lord, he knows almost the whole town — I have seen him speak with the best gentlemen, and despite these testimonies of my eyes and ears it seems to me that all this is arranged, that the horses are cardboard, his friends people he pays by the hour to greet him, his house a theatre set.
It is like how I cannot imagine the Count of Mirafiore otherwise than telling a joke with his great protruding eyes and, at that very moment, stealing your pocket handkerchief. This son of a king is priceless; he must be the most amusing man on earth — which the skating master has told me besides.
And he is handsome too — perfectly well made, tall. This evening it was almost only he and I, each with our instructor; I came home to dinner exhausted — I believe after sixty kilometres of skating.
If I took pleasure in riding or skating, my torment has lost nothing — for I watched all the carriages of Naples file past my window and did not dare show myself in the street. It is like a disease: I feel as though I had stolen something... above all after Rome, where we so publicly failed at the Embassy and everywhere, and then this masked ball where someone slapped my hand — I was with Prince Mechtchersky; he arrived this morning; meaning me no harm, he will speak of me as I deserve, as of young ladies who went to the masquerade... I do not know if it is truly wrong, but I tell you I am in such a state that I want to die.
Had there been no Rome, we should simply be travellers... but now, this isolation, this equivocal air, and this stupid white statue of whom everyone takes notice — me!
Ah! were it not for Larderei I should already be in Paris — there I have support — but...
I was told today that a wealthy heiress is enamoured of Larderei... My hands were ice-cold until the Skating Rink.
But this life cuts off all my paths!
Ah! Lord God of heaven, is it possible to be what I am for nothing — or for people to look and turn away?
Were I a criminal that would have a certain piquancy — but I am "a young lady who travels with her family; it is a great pity, but they have not succeeded."
Ah! Hell of the four hundred devils!
My position allows people to say whatever they wish — and above all to say nothing, to pass over in silence, as people who are neither this nor that, having reviewed the personal advantages of the stupid white statue who appears everywhere and does everything!
The whole universe disgusts me — Nice, Paris, even Rome; everyone in the end has the effect on me of Bruschetti, Angelini... fie, what horror! And all the others alike, Antonelli worse than all the others. I love only those I see here.

Tuesday, 20 February 1877

Phew!
I wanted to add nothing to that exclamation — but Merisano and the officer remained leaning against the railing opposite our windows for more than two hours, and I must mention it. He looked too amusing.
Wretched, downcast, dead as I was, I began to laugh. The officer had the air of admonishing him, and the little monkey kept jumping up and returning again and again to the same spot.
Today I feel ashamed of everything — of Spa, of Rome, of Naples. I imagine such things that it is enough to drive one mad. Maman ill only adds to these terrors and these mysterious shames... one energetic, encouraging word would restore my spirits, but there is no one to say it to me.
My voice lost, my piano abandoned, my painting stopped — my whole life as if imprisoned in a corset like Dina's, which interrupts the circulation and is worse than dying!
Another month, and this year must be struck from my existence.
Let us not weep too much, since we can leave at any moment. But I am waiting... like; yes — but that is no reason to accept such a life calmly!!
Ah! there, once again! You can never have any idea!

Wednesday, 21 February 1877

It rains; the sun appears to illuminate the arrival of the Prince of Prussia. As Dina and I were wondering at not seeing Count Doenhoff, he saluted us from his balcony above ours. I beckoned him to come and received him almost jumping for joy. He says the most amiable things and with a convinced air — it is true I have grown more beautiful, and it is quite natural at my age.
A little later Altamura came, and as usual I spoke to him only of my love for Larderei.
In the evening we had Doenhoff again — Maman received him in her bed, while Altamura entered the drawing room and stayed with Dina; naturally I preferred Doenhoff. We chatted of this and that, much about me, whom he finds very much to his taste.
The peaceful and portly Prussian withdraws at ten o'clock; the jerky Altamura stays until eleven. An hour spent almost entirely in childishness about Larderei.
— Mo-o-onsieur Altamura!
— Ma-a-a-a-demoiseolle Maouie! (with contortions).
— Give me news of Larderei.
— Of Larderei?
— Poua vous serouiar!
— Telegraph him that there is an angel ready to pay his debts.
— Absoouioutely!
and then
— M... onsieur Altamura!
— Ma-a-a-a-a-demoiseoù Maouie!
— How much are his debts?
— Is it five hundred thousand francs?

Notes

lazzaroni — the Neapolitan poor, historically associated with street life; the term carries both condescending and fond connotations depending on context.
interdit — legally interdicted: a court order placing an adult under guardianship, typically for prodigality or incapacity; Larderei had evidently been under such constraint due to his debts.
coquine — literally a minx or rogue; used here as a euphemism for a kept mistress.
stenco di tenerla — Italian: "weary of keeping her" (maintaining the mistress).
ma ha avuto vergna — Italian (Neapolitan dialect): "but he was ashamed/embarrassed."
La Traviata (1853) — Verdi's opera whose heroine Violetta is a courtesan who sacrifices her love. Marie ironically compares La Righi, Larderei's Milanese singer-mistress, to the doomed Violetta.
plobster — an obscure term; possibly a phonetic rendering of some slang expression, or Marie's own coinage for a type of man.
The Grotto of Pausilippe (Grotta di Seiano) — a Roman-era tunnel through the Posilipo hill near Naples; nearby is the traditional site identified as Virgil's tomb (Parco Virgiliano).
Bijou-bouzouk — Marie's playful nickname for Larderei, combining bijou (jewel) with bashi-bazouk (irregular Turkish soldier, used colloquially for a turbulent character).
Altamura's comically exaggerated pronunciation, rendered phonetically by Marie; likely "Pour vous servir!" (At your service!).