Monday, 2 April 1877

I wake radiant: Larderei has sent the ticket for this evening's box, and his card. He has thought of us.
Back at nine from the racecourse, he sleeps — poor child.
We went to the Fabbricatores' — in spite of myself I talked of Larderei throughout, while trying to mask him by means of Melissano.
I have a fever — my cheeks burn and I am cold and my hands are icy. I had only a cup of coffee this morning. It is now eleven at night.
Larderei came — desecrated by Melissano. After everything I wrote yesterday, I saw him there before me — a stranger, that is all. It made me feel somewhat cold. I told Melissano's fortune with the cards, eyes downcast, blushing and looking so strange that Larderei asked me:
— What is the matter with you? You were charming yesterday.
— I am furious. I am hungry.
Maman came in at that moment — the gentlemen were only waiting for her to settle definitively on the departure for Sorrento; they were expected for dinner. This Larderei, with his suite, wants to isolate us from the others. I recognise that spirit of encroachment well. Nothing is more harmful than that. If I was weak enough to agree to take only Melissano and Marcuard, I shall arrange another outing where everyone is invited.
Marcuard is touched with a chimerical passion for the Empress Eugénie, who receives him. It has given him a distinguished air.
Ah! Larderei does with me as he wishes — like all those to whom I am a little attached.
As he was leaving he held out his hands — I gave him mine, as I would to a Barnola. I did not notice it until half an hour after his departure.
Here is a letter I have just received from Mouzay — read it, and my reply below will shed light:
"Your letter delights me. Everything you say is so true that I have thought it a hundred times myself. Only you really overestimate my worth. I was perhaps worth something, but all these travels have dulled me."
I still have a sore throat, and the climate of Naples will perhaps do me good. Do not take too seriously what I write this evening — I am melancholy and see everything through a veil of black crêpe. It happens to everyone. I think with happiness that in a month we shall be settled in Paris, from which I never want to leave.
Trimmed ears have their charm for those who trim them. Get angry — write me everything you like — it will keep me in a tolerably healthy state of mind. I am myself tired of mouldering — your words rouse me against myself and against everyone; I was about to fall quite asleep without your insults, which I appreciate and understand.
Do you think I have not ruminated on a hundred and fifty projects a thousand times? Good God! But what use is it? Yesterday I was gay — this evening I am overwrought. Maman and Dina are at San Carlo. I stayed at home, which caused a small domestic skirmish at home in which I played an entirely passive role. For some time I have been so reasonable and calm that it is frightening. I am bored!
What do you expect one to do! I simply cannot amuse myself by working up excitement over a fool — or even over a man of wit. That sort of entertainment appeals to me only as an indispensable accessory. I think I am writing nonsense — take from the letter only what is needed. The serenades continue — would you have this Spanish entertainment denied me! Good God, how severe you are. It is all the same to me at this distance — we shall embrace you all the same in Paris. There are a heap of things keeping me in Naples. I shall tell you all that. It is empty — but it makes the days pass.
You know that it is Madame's husband — that is to say, my greatly esteemed father — who caused the disorders of this winter.
Without him we should long since have been settled — and even agitated — in Paris, enjoying etc. etc. etc.
Farewell — insult me more often, it does me immense good. Entirely yours. Marie.
[Half-page blank]
Maman comes to tell me that Marcuard, Melissano, and Bijou did not leave her box all evening, and that Bijou continued his confidences to her. That is what makes me leap! I do not know how Madame managed to carry off a ring of his. I play the mad woman with it and fall asleep with this ring near my lips.
Documents on Pope Alexander XI Borgia, [missing in the manuscript]
Dubium, illusio, Deceptio Oppresio
Gloriae Cupiditate

Notes

Les oreilles coupées: a colloquial phrase meaning something clipped or kept in check — Marie uses it to mean that being taken down, reproached, has its value.
In Latin in the original: Dubium, illusio, Deceptio, Oppresio / Gloriae Cupiditate — "Doubt, illusion, Deception, Oppression / Desire for Glory." A mood notation by Marie in Latin.