# Wednesday, 21 February 1877

Wednesday, 21 February 1877

It is raining; the sun comes out to light up the arrival of the Prince of Prussia. As Dina and I were wondering why we had not seen Count Doenhoff, he greeted us from his balcony, which is above ours. I beckoned him to come down and received him almost jumping for joy. He said the most amiable things, and with an air of conviction — 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 Larderel.
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 placid, portly Prussian withdraws at ten o’clock; the twitchy Altamura stays until eleven. An hour spent almost entirely in childishness about Larderel.
— Mo-o-onsieur Altamura!
— Ma-a-a-a-demoiseolà Maouie! (with contortions).
— Give me news of Larderel.
— Of Larderel?
— 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 does he owe?
— Is it five hundred thousand francs?
— I ouea-lly don’t know.
— A ou aou i o on.
— If it is less than five hundred thousand francs, I shall not pay.
Well, but — what about Larderel — isn’t he coming back?
How happy I am at what has happened to Clemente Torlonia! The Princess Mechtchersky, whom he pursued so ardently, is marrying Fabrizio Spinosa of the princes Ruffo. This is his second fiasco; the first was his cousin, daughter of Prince Alexandre Torlonia.
Serves him right. Wicked people deserve nothing else. And to think I fancied I felt something for that venomous creature — small, blond, fat, drunk! Besides, they all disgust me at the moment, except Doria who has never ceased to be congenial to me, and... naturally Larderel — or, to speak like Rosalie, “Ladreréel, brother-in-law of Mirafiol.”
It is one o’clock... the wind whistles sinister airs such as I have only heard in Russia in my childhood, in autumn. But I am radiant in comparison with yesterday.

Notes

Altamura’s comically exaggerated pronunciation, rendered phonetically by Marie; likely “Pour vous servir!” (At your service!). ↩
Altamura’s dialect gibberish, reproduced phonetically by Marie. ↩