Tuesday, 27 March 1877

Oh! a heap of things!
First: I dress all in black from head to toe and find myself superb.
The students of the Conservatoire sing the Stabat Mater of Pergolesi in the church of San Pietro a Mayella. M. Hamontoff, whose daughter is at the Conservatoire, has kept chairs for us and spread his overcoat on "the cold flagstones" — a precaution very well taken, for on my feet I had only hints of tiny slippers, very black.
These songs and this music were a delight whose ending I trembled to reach. One felt the loving vibrations of the musician's soul in sounds tender and heartbreaking. I adore this music — but Verdi's Requiem moves me, seizes me more.
Caracciolo came to make idle conversation before the beginning, and when it was over he came back again — then Pascarola and a M. Marini, whom Mme Fabbricatore introduces to us. My exceedingly long train impresses the "astounded populace," and we all go out together; Mme Fabbricatore proposes that we pay a call at the same time as she does on Mme d'Agostino, wife of a celebrated Bourbon general, whom Maman had met at her house. The two young ladies get into our landau, the mothers following with M. Fabbricatore.
The surprise my all-black costume caused amused us and sustained the conversation, which in any case almost never flags with these girls, who are good-natured and have some wit. The astonishment I produce on the Chiaia proves how much attention is paid to the smallest trifles. Poor Melissano!
This evening, unannounced — a "tumultuous gathering" at ours. M., Mme, and the Misses Fabbricatore; M., Mme, and Mlle Hamontoff; Mme and Mlle Gatowsky. The Duc de Carmignano, the Duc de Melito, the Marquis Santasiglia, the Comte Caracciolo, the Marquis de Pascarola. Tea was drunk, people talked — I will not say talked: they conversed, they laughed, and I circulated, avoiding the furniture and the men with which the drawing room was crowded. This maneuver allowed me not to concern myself too much with these... people. It is Melito and Caracciolo who displease me — they do not even flatter my vanity, for through their amorous airs and ecstatic words one reads, as on a signboard: A title for sale — for the vain, common-born, wealthy foreigner. Pah! The others pass muster. I would have liked to stay the whole time beside old Carmignano, whom the young ladies surrounded with shrieks diametrically opposed to the refined conversation I would like to have in my own drawing room. But, bah! one is informal at a gathering... and yet no — I adore good taste; one may laugh, one may shout, one may be unconventional — but with grace, with wit, with taste.
Pascarola and Santasiglia are the only ones with whom I could converse as well as I can — do not imagine I think myself the finest conversationalist in the universe. Where could I have learned that art, which wit and education alone can never fully bestow? I regret that little San Cesario — that is, Campomarino — was not told to come. At least he is not for sale as vulgarly as Melito and Caracciolo. Santasiglia thinks neither of marriage nor of business — that is why I am fond of him.
What a beautiful night. It is tomorrow.
Tired of always circulating I sat down, which left the young ladies completely isolated — all the gentlemen having grouped themselves around me. Pascarola reminds me of the Comte Laurenti of Nice.
This sort of ugliness that sometimes takes hold of me like an illness passes — already this evening I was almost my usual self. Not that I am very happy — I know quite well it is not the world, but a thousand times better than nothing at all, for then you are like a madman.

Notes

Stabat Mater: the celebrated sacred choral work by Giovanni Battista Pergolesi (1710–1736), composed in the last weeks of his life; one of the most frequently performed sacred works of the 18th century.
Un titre à vendre pour l'étrangère vaine roturière et riche: "A title for sale for the vain, common-born, wealthy foreigner" — Marie reads the fortune-hunting motive behind the Italian nobles' gallantry.