Friday, 9 March 1877

I dreamed of Gaston de Larderei, of his wife, and of Bijou. After so much rain I amused myself watching the familiar faces of the promenade — there are some that take a great deal of notice of me. I am not speaking of the ordinary idlers who look at everyone.
A young prince of seventeen or eighteen amuses me — he will be handsome as an angel, and his sulky lip gives him an in-between air that is charming. He noticed that we were paying attention to him and struck poses with an entirely youthful grace that was exquisite for that very reason.
[Written across: His brothers walk with a priest, his mother apart, and himself apart — the three equipages are very fine. He does not have the repellent thinness of children his age, which gives him a most interesting air.]
But I wished for a conquest over thirty — I have had one over forty even. It is flattering, but... faugh. I am like women of thirty-five — I like men of twenty-two.
The Fabbricatores came in the evening and we went to the Skating, where there are games every Friday.
My dress suited me particularly well, bringing out the fullness of my figure (do not suppose, please, that I have mountains of bosom — far from it); a lace fell over my gloves, and everything pleased me at last, which made me agreeable and calm. I had brought Rosalie to confirm the identity of the invisible one. That race of night birds, like Antonelli — he did not come; but there were plenty of others, and above all my officer, who has eyes that disturb. You know how expansive Neapolitans are about the impressions made on them by what they see; I gathered many things as I passed — besides, it is stupid to speak of it.
Ah! if only Larderei were here... In the meantime I do my best — I skate with the son of the Marquis de Santasiglia, who is introduced to me and who is blond, spotted with yellow, and [Crossed out: stupid] young. The gentlemen's races were especially pleasant because Massimo and others paid us flattering attentions indirectly and discreetly; the starting line was in front of us, and this mass of trousers was blocking our view, so these gentlemen — Massimo at their head — drew the group back, and whenever someone moved forward, he asked them to step back with the most expressive gestures, indicating us with his eye and even with his voice, with an entirely Italian deference — just as if the spectacle existed only for us, as if there were no other ladies whose view was being sacrificed for ours, or to make ours finer.
As for the officer — I know that I have produced on him either a terrible or a ravishing impression; he is a deep and silent being, of rare beauty, though with nothing very distinguished about him — I cannot picture him without his military cap. I believe he is the one who witnessed Alexandre's departure: slender, dark, with brilliant coloring and eyes almost as veiled as those of the cardinal's son, but more sincere.
In Naples I am condemned, I think, to lead a fish's life — or rather, as they say in Russia: neither meat nor fish.
I am happy with everything except my Larderei, who has forgotten me. Monsieur the coachman had said he would not return for a month, while Monsieur the count had said ten days. And then one does not yet know what Madam the Hussy will have said — one knows, and Antonelli told me, that Monsieur the count was nothing but the servant of Monsieur the coachman, and that when Monsieur the count said:
— Tomorrow I go to Florence — Monsieur the coachman would reply:
— You are going to Florence? Well, I am staying here.
And he stayed. As for Madam the Hussy, she nearly beat him — this adoration of my heart. I would like to see him in a batiste shirt with a lace jabot and a black velvet dressing gown — it would be enough to lose one's head.
Let us go dream of it — I would like to dream of him again tonight as on the two previous nights.
My desk, the tables, and the carpet are strewn with scraps of paper on which I am striving to reproduce the features and wild air of my beloved.
These features bear a remarkable resemblance to those of Princess Marguerite.

Notes

The "cardinal's son" refers to the illegitimate son of Cardinal Antonelli, whom Marie has mentioned before.
Ni viande, ni poisson: Russian proverbial expression, equivalent to "neither fish nor fowl."