Wednesday, 4 April 1877

Setting aside all gloomy thoughts, I rose at six in the morning, returned the ring to Maman, and having looked out at the sea and sky and the rising sun, I made my toilette while drumming on our neighbours’ door — they were sleeping like two angels. The poor souls were furious, and every five minutes I reminded them that they must come out. If Bijou is not a fool, I thought, he will dress and come out as I have. On opening the door of my room, whom do I meet? Marcuard. Marcuard is in love with Dina. What a charming man!
It is not for that love that I praise him — it is to do honour to the truth. I was exchanging a few morning pleasantries with him when Bijou appeared. I had been eager to see him again; it had seemed yesterday as though he would remain drunk for the rest of his days. We went out onto the balcony to look!
It was the beginning of the morning, And the Sun was rising with those stars That were with him when Divine Love First set those beautiful things in motion. (Dante)
What expression in the world could better render the freshness, the serenity, the divine beauty of the scene before our eyes!
— Hoo! The fishermen! cried Larderel. Hoo, look — I should very much like to see that! Mademoiselle, come with me — will you come and see? Marcuard, are you coming? Well?

— Let us go, I said.

— Oh, it is too far, said Marcuard.

— Come, Mademoiselle, come with me.

— Let us go.

— You are staying, Marcuard?

— Yes, I shall stay.

— Let us go! we said in one voice.
And off we went, Larderel and I.

— How strange it is to know you! I said.

— Why is it strange?

— And to see you here, in the countryside, in the morning — it seemed to me you could go nowhere but to the races and the café!
We crossed several streets searching for a way down. One could see the fishermen clearly from above, but from our hotel perched above the sea the descent seemed impossible — there was one, however, and by it we made our way down to the water. Larderel gave me his hand; our bare hands touched.
— What if we went and bought some fish from them?
A man who happens to be there tells us we must take a boat; and off we go in a boat, gliding towards the nets. How happy I was! But Bijou is lukewarm and saddens me; had he said just one kind word to me I would have been wildly gay. Dina and Marcuard come along, the two boats draw together, and now there are four of us.
Then we exchange insults and snatch each other’s handkerchiefs; in this way a sweet exchange takes place.
The dreadful fish were roasted, and there is Larderel beginning to eat methodically, slowly, like a gourmand of the last century. We could not get on our donkeys until about eleven, in the same order as yesterday.
written across the page
And here is Melissano, lounging luxuriously in a third boat, which comes up to us but keeps its majestic solitude, its cigar and its air of a millionaire and a happy man.
We go to the Deserto — God knows why it is called that, for one finds monks there, oranges and wine and walnuts, a whole heap of things. One has to climb, climb, climb; it is fabulous.
— It is strange, Larderel said suddenly, that your mother always stays behind. Yesterday we galloped, today we are going as slowly as possible, and it is the same thing.
— It is true, it is strange, I replied, stung by the pointed meaning of that remark.
So we arrive first, with Dina and Marcuard, in front of that great square building, half ruin, half monastery, and Bijou, offering me his arm, leads me away from our companions’ eyes to tell me that he loves me... and perhaps to make his stuffed Swiss believe that he is kissing me.
— Is it to all your friends that you give reports like yesterday’s, or only to Melissano?
— What report?
— Oh! nothing — only it painted a pretty picture of you.
— No, really, what did I say?
— Nothing at all, but you showed yourself cynical and low.
— I said nothing — come now, what did I say?
— Melissano, that faun, that garden satyr, asked you: “Well?” You answered, and he cried: “What! only that?” — “Good Lord, she had an answer for everything.” — There is your pure conversation. Very clean indeed.
crossed outa rather merry dinner.
We see the Hamontoffs again; Bijou is more decent than yesterday; I say he is ill-bred.
At last we go to a photographer’s and pose on donkeys in the following order: Bijou, myself, Maman, Melissano and Marcuard. Dina slipped away, so the group numbers only five.
The way back is wildly merry. Melissano dozes now and then; Bijou and I tear a button off Marcuard, who is up on the box — hence battle, barricades, shouts.
Larderel was with Maman and Dina, with me facing him. We squabble, and he ends by kissing my hand. But then he began telling Maman, in a whisper, the story of his family, and then of La Righi, saying that she is well bred and that he wants to adopt her daughter! I kept blushing and turning pale... At Castellammare I had to watch him the whole time; I cannot bear his being with another woman; I followed him. I am mad.
The Hamontoffs return to Naples with us; Bijou falls asleep. Maman gives him a pillow; I cover him with my veil. I love him.
They were to dine with us; only Marcuard comes — Larderel is ill. I am preternaturally anxious to know whether he is really ill. This leads to a misunderstanding with Melissano, who comes later, and after him Caracciolo. I joke like a madwoman to cover my disappointment and to numb myself.
He does not love me.
I pursue him; perhaps I bore him. No matter — there is always that: one can always die.
For the third time I fall asleep with his ring.

Notes

In Italian in the original: Temp’era del principio del matino / ET Sol montava ‘n su con quelle stelle / Ch’eran con lui quando l’amor divino / Mosse da prima quelle cose belle. Dante, Inferno I:37–40. ↩
Il Deserto: the hilltop monastery of San Paolo above Sant’Agata sui Due Golfi, near Sorrento, founded by the Discalced Carmelites in 1679. The Carmelites called such remote hermitages “deserts”, hence the name. Its terrace looks over both the Bay of Naples and the Gulf of Salerno. ↩