Saturday, 7 April 1877

At nine o'clock I was strolling in the Villa Reale. — Mademoiselle, you are losing your dog! said Larderei, approaching from the west side of the Aquarium.

— Indeed, Monsieur. Well, let it be lost. Go away and let me continue my walk.

— I assure you it will be lost.

— Go away.

— Would you like me to go and find it?

— Go...
He came back presently with Prater, and:

— I thought you were playing an April Fool on me.

— No, it is the 7th today.

— You behave abominably — you are a scoundrel, a horror, you deserve nothing! How did you come to be there yesterday — why? What sort of manners are these? Inviting me to the Skating, I summoned you here to give you a thrashing!

— But why?

— You are going to the bad — you are already—

— I called on you; I did not find you; I waited for you at the Skating; you did not come.

— Fortunately! To see you in such company?
— I was with the Marchioness of Piccolelis.

— I know! A fine marchioness — a hussy, that is all! I know other marchionesses of the same sort.

— How can you know—

— So do you — marchionesses!

— Come further along, someone will see us.

— Further is worse... but let us go behind the Aquarium, and then we can go in.
You can easily picture my position. I was still worked up enough not to complain, and to give my reproaches the form of insults.

— When are you leaving? I said.

— Monday, and I return Thursday.

— Where are you going now?

— To Rome for the races.

— And then? I want to know, so as not to encounter you.

— Then I return to Naples, and on the 15th I leave again for Florence.

— I am here to say goodbye to you.

— You are leaving?

— Yes.

— When?

— In eight days.

— I will follow you.
I do not remember what I replied.

— I hope, he said afterward, that you will take the same route to have the pleasure of seeing me.

— Pleasure!

— No? It is not a pleasure for you?

— No!

— Then it is for me. But I shall let you go out first.

— Oh, yes — but you are a wretch; I detest you.

— We shall see each other at the races.

— Yes — since I am not going there for you! But you will not have what I—

— What?

— Oh, you do not deserve it!

— Yes, yes, I shall have it — shan't I? I shall have it?

— You know very well you will.
Not a word, not a glance! We came out bickering.

— Are you in a hurry, Monsieur?

— At half past nine I have an engagement. And you, Mademoiselle?

— I do not have, as you do, hussies and scoundrels waiting for me at every corner!

— Oh, listen, Mademoiselle — you were waiting for me just now...

— I? That is an exception and a mistake — a great mistake.

— Good Lord, yes, I am a scoundrel.

— Oh, I see that. You make yourself ridiculous — always with these... filth! You are ridiculous, and you will become more so. It is a disgrace! You know that it is I who am courting you?

— Oh no — surely that is a joke? You are no more pursuing me than I am pursuing you. It is a little joke between us, nothing more. I met you here by chance...

— Since you have neither self-respect nor vanity, you will tell others that what I do for you I do for anyone!

— Oh, Mademoiselle, never! A pure chance encounter.

— Adieu!

— Adieu.
I had to walk for ten minutes to collect myself. And then my whole body began to burn as if I had been struck blows. I closed my eyes and felt cold. Is that clear enough now! It would be stupid to describe what was passing within me as I wrote these lines — you have understood.
Now I must go to the Races. Oh my God, it is not out of malice that I make this vow — not out of frivolity or extravagance, but from deep grief and love. Let him fall and be dangerously ill! Let him break an arm, a leg — let him be confined to his bed for four weeks! In the name of all the tears that have been choking me for the past two full hours, have pity on me for once, my God. Holy Mary, I believe it is a profanation to invoke you for a cruelty — but in the name of the sufferings that you alone see and understand, in the name of all my misfortunes, have pity on me. Forget whatever good I have had in my life — it is not the greater part; think only of my past torments, and of my new, my profound, my delicious despair of the present moment.
Let him fall and let me watch at his door like a dog, serve him like a nurse, on my knees! And if he were to die, I would die too, with joy. That would still be too fine an end for a creature like me — for a rejected dog! I am going to make myself beautiful; I will not manage it — I am choking with tears. Choking with jealousy! My little Alexandrine!! And the other one drove him away, and he clings to the skirts of a woman kept by some Neapolitan gentleman!! I give you five years of my life, my God, that he may fall from his horse! You who read to the bottom of hearts — You know that this heart is pure!
Rosalie tells me that servants have seen me with him.

— Ah, if I had been with you longer, I would have come to find you! Now people will talk. After saying that you were engaged to Count Doenhoff, they are now saying — and are quite certain — that you are going to marry the Count. His valet is certain of it; he believes it. And everyone else.

— It is not true!

— I know, but still, one must be more careful about hiding. Ah — if I had known you were going to do such a foolish thing! You can tell me to mind my own business, but I am saying it! What does it matter to me!

I am his fiancée! Oh, my God.
I put on a long white sicilienne gown, almost plain, with a Louis XV jacket trimmed with a jabot. White and green striped stockings, black shoes. (Black velvet toque, jacket striped green and white.) I am wearing his colours, and from the Toledo I close my eyes, vowing not to open them until the Champ de Mars, so that he may fall. Let him fall, I repeated under my breath all the length of the road. I was very much afraid that an exclamation from one of my party might make me open my eyes, or that some noisy carriage might cause me to think of something other than: let him fall...
But I only opened my eyes on arrival — to see Larderei coming behind us in a cab with a friend and Séraphin. We take the Fabbricatore into our carriage, and when the gentlemen arrive we look like a carricolo — there were people everywhere, on the wheels, practically on the horses.
Gypsy women pass before my eyes, telling my fortune I know not what, then I am given flowers. I decorate all my cavaliers with violets, and we are led to the stand — there are three of them, I should tell you: the left one for all the clubs, the right for gentlemen, the centre for the court. The King, the Princes of Piedmont, Prussia, and Austria are there. The baron who was presented to me the other day is named Eugenio Schininà, dei Marchesi di Sant'Elia. We received his cards yesterday. He comes up to me just as I am complaining rather loudly about everything.
— If I wish Larderei to fall, I say, it is out of philanthropy. I have only to wish for something for nothing to happen.

— Oh, not always, says Schininà.

— Why? Always.

— Yet something has happened to you that you wished for.

— What?

— Something quite recent.

— Tell me.

— You wished to meet the King and you met him.

— Met him? No, Monsieur.

— Yes, you spoke to him on the staircase.

— Yes, I happened to be on the staircase when the King passed. I greeted him, and if His Majesty honoured me with a particular acknowledgement, that does not mean that I know the King — unfortunately.

— They say so.

— It is not true. Alas!
Throughout, we had enough cavaliers to come and go freely to the weighing enclosure. I went down to see Larderei mount — I had already spotted him in the gentlemen's stand — then we took our places and the race began, exceedingly interesting. Larderei's name on every tongue gave me pleasure and made me jealous. It seemed to me at once an encroachment and a kindness that people were doing me. [Words blacked out: Larderei was in the lead, and] then Serra Gerace, then Sarno.
When Larderei began to lose ground I turned to talk to Campomarino — Sarno and Gerace not interesting me. But at that very moment there was a great stir of heads and arms, and I heard: Larderei is down! You heard me then, my God! And immediately another cry: He is on his feet — he is walking!
Dina goes down with Marcuard and I follow them with Porcinari while Gerace wins amid a thunder of applause. I arrived just as he was saying to Dina:

— Nothing wrong with me, nothing at all — the horse is lame.

— You fell? I asked.

— Not at all — it was the horse; I jumped down.
I went back up to the stand, passing close to a magnificent painted peacock tail on Piccolelis's gown. Who pays for such gowns? My God, I thought, answering Zunica's inanities, my God, why were You not entirely good! At that very moment the whole crowd surged toward the weighing enclosure like a monstrous howling wave, and cries all around me cut off my breath.

— They are carrying a man in their arms — it is Larderei! He is unconscious — a horse has kicked him in the chest!
— Maman, keep still — we are being watched, I said in Russian, turning pale. I knew I was turning pale because I went very cold. The gentlemen of the court, the doctor, everyone rushed downstairs. At last, I murmured to myself, at last.

— There is nothing surprising about it, ladies around me were saying — there is nothing surprising, he was dead drunk.

— It is not true, I said to Zunica — I spoke with him as he was mounting his horse; it is not true.
I was cold but very calm. [Words blacked out: at this moment.] — Go and see what has happened, and come back and tell me, I said to Zunica.

And the commentaries ran their course, and the crowd pressed forward, and the King advanced to the railing to look, turning his back on the course already filling with fresh horses.

— Well, Monsieur?

— Ah, Mademoiselle — poor Larderei... is dead!

I had said it so often in jest that I was able to reply with perfect composure:

— Well, if he is dead, he will be buried.

— But he is dead — truly dead.
Di cevo che non era Larderei, cried Princess Gerace at my side, Francesco, è mio figlio, riconosco Francesco!

In fact the accident had befallen Gerace, who, going to see what had happened to Larderei, had received a kick from a horse.
That was a disappointment. Am I really foolish enough to believe that something very pleasant can ever happen to me! Him dead, I would rush down there, I... I don't know what, and I would have put on mourning with voluptuous pleasure. Nothing for me, and nothing for anyone. You should have seen how people stared at me when I responded to the news of his death.
The return journey in two carriages with the Fabbricatore took an hour and a half or two hours. Larderei came behind us from the club onwards. People will say he belongs to me. Is it not by just such trifles that the public penetrates into private affairs? He belongs to me. What a mockery.
I am mad, I am ill, I burn, I am sleepy, I want to smash everything, weep, die. Is it better to die than to be as I am? I am overwrought, mad, raging, wretched!!

— I am going to have a fit of madness! I said to Zunica, Santasiglia, and Altamura, who spent the evening with us.
But instead of madness I fell into a prostration, a despair so unendurable that someone went to fetch the prince's physician, whom I tormented for twenty minutes. Later I shall laugh at this scene: the old German asked me what was wrong with me.

— Ah, Monsieur, I replied in a voice of genuine wretchedness, I don't know — I feel unwell — my head especially...

— You have?

— My brain is détraqué...

Détraqué? I do not understand this French expression...

Détraqué, deranged — I have fits of madness...

The good man consoled me and assured me I would not get typhoid — for that was the pretext under which I had summoned him. Ah, if only I could have a proper bout of typhoid fever! What happiness that would be! It would take my mind off things.
— Mademoiselle, Rosalie whispered in my ear, the Count was going to come up — he asked twice — but when he heard you had company, he went to bed.
[End of entry — paragraph 36 has no text in source]

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Notes

The Villa Reale (now Villa Comunale), Naples' premier public garden along the Chiaia seafront, designed by Vanvitelli in 1778.
The Stazione Zoologica aquarium, built 1872-74 by Anton Dohrn — one of the first public aquariums in Europe.
Poisson d'avril: April Fool's prank (lit. "April fish").
Sicilienne: a ribbed silk fabric fashionable for dress in the 1870s.
Casaque Louis XV: an 18th-century revival style jacket with elaborate trim and a jabot (lace frill at the front).
Ses couleurs: his colours — green and white. Marie is deliberately wearing Larderei's racing livery.
The Champ de Mars: Naples' racecourse, modeled on the French pattern.
Carricolo: a Neapolitan two-wheeled cart, famously overloaded.
King Vittorio Emanuele II of Italy (1820-1878), in the last year of his reign.
In Russian in the original. Marie switches to Russian for private communication in public.
In Italian in the original. "I was saying it wasn't Larderei... Francesco, it's my son, I recognize Francesco!" Princess Gerace's son Serra Gerace had been kicked by a horse while going to check on Larderei.
Détraqué: out of order, derailed — colloquial French for mentally disturbed.