Monday, 9 April 1877

Ah! My emperor, confounded readers, the interest of my illustrious book keeps growing... Proud of Larderel’s fall and of the brilliant turn the scandal with His Majesty has taken, I am radiant. Yesterday I chatted until three in the morning with Rosalie, who talked to me of Bijou, of my master, of my king; I woke up saying his name as always, I talked about him while dressing, I thought of him while listening to Pergolesi’s “Stabat”, which was sung again today for Princess Margherita and whose divine strains still fill my ears.
I stooped to ten small acts of cowardice to send those ladies off on their own at about four o’clock; they had the stupidity to come upstairs just as Larderel was arriving.
We exchanged pleasantries, we fooled about, I put some fluff in his hair so as to take it out again and touch his hair, so as to brush his forehead with my hands; and then to brush his coat.
At last they are leaving!
I had been sitting for perhaps a minute with my back to the window, trembling!
I have extraordinary palpitations; the doctor saw me this morning. He is not the one who can calm me.
— I have forgotten my cigar case, said Larderel, coming back in, followed by Rosalie, whom I signalled to leave.
— Where can it be? I said while the maid closed the door, and then: — Have you found it, Monsieur?
— Yes, Mademoiselle, I have found it.
I was wearing the same outfit as at the Races and a straw hat with white crêpe, white lilac and leaves.
— Well then, Mademoiselle, I bid you farewell...
I looked at him in astonishment.
— Yes, he went on, I wanted to say goodbye to you in private, to have the happiness of pressing your hand once more before leaving, but I shall be back in three days...
I went on looking at him.
— Whatever is it you have to tell me, Monsieur?
— Why, nothing at all, that is to say... what did you think, Mademoiselle?
— I? Nothing.
— What! You thought I had something to tell you?
— I thought nothing; it was you who asked me to receive you here.
— Yes, the thing is, you see, it is difficult to say...
— Sit down and try to explain yourself, I said, sitting down.
— It is about that drive, he began, circling around me, during which I may have seemed ridiculous to you...
— You, Monsieur? Not in the least, it was I who was ridiculous...
— No, no, Mademoiselle, I was ridiculous because I spoke to you... the way I spoke to you. But... I could not pay court to you as to a married woman.
— Monsieur, Monsieur, who said anything about that!
— And there it is, it is my conduct I wanted to explain to you; it may have seemed ridiculous to you...
— I repeat, Monsieur, that I alone was ridiculous...
— Oh! Mademoiselle, he said, in a tone of exquisite politeness that froze me.
— Well then, Mademoiselle, farewell.
— Until we meet again.
— You understand, in this world one does two things.
— What things?
I was gentle and calm.
— Well... in this world one does two things, that is to say, it is one thing or the other: when one pays court to a young lady, it can only be with the intention of marrying her.
We were standing near the door, fidgeting with an immense turban of red satin embroidered with pearls, which Altamura had sent this morning for heaven knows what purpose and which had been put on the table.
— I suppose so, I said, not knowing what he was driving at.
— Is that not so?
— And?
— Well, he said quickly, embarrassed, I cannot marry at present...
— Monsieur! In heaven’s name! What are you saying! Do I want to marry you? Am I trying to get married! I do not want to marry.
— Oh! Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, I never believed it, but... well, I am telling you this. I detest equivocal positions. When one pays court to a young lady, it is with... honourable intentions, after all.
— One must hope so, I said in the same calm voice, tearing off a handful of pearls and crushing them.
— Well... you have understood...
— I have understood nothing, you astonish me, I do not know what to say. Who gave you these ideas! Do I look as though I want to marry? You are mad!
— You will stay kind to me, will you not? You will be good? We shall remain good friends?
I listened, barely understanding what he was saying, and tearing off my gloves.
— There, he said, give me your hand to kiss and a button as a keepsake.
— No, no!
— Ah, but yes, give it to me, give it to me...
I struggled so as to get closer to him, to touch both his hands, his chest, to feel his breath on my forehead, which I bent down to defend myself. He kissed one hand, then the other. I closed my eyes with happiness and pain. It was a kiss of consolation, and the second it lasted was a whole era; I felt with rapture the lightning-swift approach of his lips, and I foresaw, I feared, I regretted their equally swift withdrawal. Two respectful kisses, one on each hand.
— Farewell, he said.
— Farewell, I repeated, half swooning and holding his hand.
— We shall remain good friends, shall we not? Until we meet again?
— No, I said, my eyes lowered.
— No?
— No.
— Until we meet again.
— Farewell!
And I went off to my room, utterly dazed.
— Rosalie, Rosalie, go and ask Monsieur le comte to come back for a moment, quickly!
A flood of regrets had assailed me, and then a mad longing to see him once more.
— You have something to tell me, Mademoiselle? he asked, reappearing with the same polite coldness.
— Yes, Monsieur, I said, still calm, what you told me dumbfounded me so much that I have only just understood it, that is to say, I do not understand... Tell me, do I really look as though I want to marry you at all costs?
— Oh! no, I swear to you.
I sat down on the sofa.
— Listen, I said.
He sat down beside me, or rather facing me; I had turned my body round.
— Listen, I cannot get over my astonishment: why did you say that to me?
— I am frank, I prefer to say everything like this! I would never have paid court to a young lady without intending to marry her, especially to someone like you... Now, I cannot marry.
— Monsieur, Monsieur, who is asking you to pay court to me? You stupefy me.
— Nobody! But I did court you, all the same!
— You think so?
— The two of us had gone far enough to make up our minds, to settle it, we had reached the point...
— After five days? You are mistaken, Monsieur, I said gently.
— Well, I like to be straightforward, that is why I spoke to you of all this.
— Yes.
— So everything is perfect?
— Admirably so.
— In three days I shall be back; I hope to find you still here...
— Very likely.
— Your hand.
I held it out to him, and he kissed it again as before.
— Tell me, Monsieur, since we are chatting like two good friends, tell me, were you ever in love with me?
— I? Why should I not have been?
— I am not suggesting anything, I am asking you.
— Why should I not have been?
— Very well, that is all.
— So it is all quite all right, Mademoiselle?
— It is splendid.
And he went out, leaving me stunned, dazed, frightfully calm.
To get up, to call him back! It was too late! I watched him leave in a cab from the balcony, where I stayed as if rooted for an hour and twenty minutes.
Only now and then did I feel something like the quiver of a wounded animal, a furious gesture suppressed before it was made, and nothing more. All those carriages, the gentlemen of the Court who bowed very low to me, I do not know why. After them, Prince Humbert, who returned my greeting superbly.
After him, Margherita, whom I did not greet. Then Doenhoff, Marcuard, the Neapolitans...
Maman and Dina came back with Hélène Fabbricatore; I went downstairs at once.
— I have just had a visit, I said, taking my seat, and quite a visit.
— A pleasant one?
— Ah! My emperor, no.
— From whom?
— You can guess perfectly well.
— Yes.
— Well, you will never imagine what it was like. One has to be me to enjoy pleasures of that kind.
— Come now, what is the matter?
— Oh! almost nothing.
I talked of indifferent things with Hélène the whole time, and having left her at her house, I told everything to Maman and Dina. They were stunned and turned their heads away so as not to embarrass me. There was no danger of my showing the slightest expression; I was as if made of wood.
— But you should have told him this, and that, and this, and that! they said to me.
I spoke as I speak; the others will speak as they do. Through the layer of ice that seems to surround me, I hurl at myself a flood of regrets, of things forgotten, of taunts. I ought to have said this or that. Let us leave ourselves in peace, we are quite pitiable enough; as we pass the Café de Naples our eyes are full of tears, which the accursed street lamps make glitter.
I do not know how to express my grief, or my pain, or my dejection; it is too great, I am too offended to keep it all shut up inside me.
I have done nothing to deserve this, I have done nothing wrong. Why is it? Why?
Oh! the dream at Sorrento in which I saw myself covered in mud by Larderel.
What have I done? I have committed the crime of being born.
I have no one to blame. He does not love me, and it was I who provoked this evening’s explanation. To complain would be laughable.
— It is nothing, I kept saying along the way, it is nothing; am I not used to it? Everything is against me. You are not to blame, Maman, here. I blame no one. Only see how everything turns against me.
My gentleness had a horrible effect on Maman.
— He is mad, she said at last, how did he dare! You should have told him, etc., etc., etc.
— He was right, Maman. I was even surprised to find in so wild a man such honest and frank language.
— But what an idea, but why, etc., etc., etc.
I went in to dinner after trying in vain to see Larderel again and tell him a heap of fine things.
I made them to myself instead; I longed to come out of this lethargy, but I had to give some explanation to the maid, who is so mixed up in this whole affair.
— Undress me, I said aloud, and then more quietly, shutting the door: — Well, Rosalie, it is all over with Bijou.
— Oh!
— Yes, it grieves me enormously, I do not hide it. I am heartbroken, but what can one do?
— Oh!
— Do you know what happened? He asked for my hand, begging me to adopt his daughter. I sent him packing.
— Oh! Is it possible?
— What could I do! It is not the first time he has spoken to me of it; and I wrote to my aunt asking her, laughing, what she would do, and she at once withdrew from the notary’s all the securities that were meant for me. You understand... I would have adopted even a dog. Well, it is dreadful! But it is over.
— So that is why he was so sad! And Séraphin cried! He has left for good, he is not coming back.
— What?!
— Yes, he has given up his room.
— Well, it is over; I am heartbroken, but I could not act otherwise.
And slipping on my brown habit, my ears deafened and confused by the heart-rending strains of the Pergolesi, I went and lay down on Maman’s bed, where, no longer hiding, I began to weep with rage, with despair, with madness.
Gone, gone for good! Dead to me. I shall not see him again! Then I dug my nails into my forehead and tore my hair, under that lugubrious, that dreadful hood!!
It is now six in the morning; I am calm again, I remember. That searing, indescribable suffering made me fiercely happy, as it were! I understood that I loved very much, that I was loving for the first time. Ah! so that is love? Good, good, it is very good. I am not disappointed; I would not have accepted less. So here I am at last!
I love, I loved, because he is dead to me. I shall not see him again!!
Ah! if I had known, if I had foreseen it, I would have thrown myself at his feet, I would have kissed his hands, his hair, his forehead, his face, I would have told him that I love him!!
And never to see him again!!! He does not love me, very well, but I would have told him that I love him and that before bidding him an eternal farewell I want to hold him to my heart, that, that I love him, in short!
My God, what have I done to you!!
Maman was weeping on her knees beside my bed. As before, I tried to find some point of support or other amid the shipwreck of all my thoughts, and I found nothing. From the moment he arrived I wished to die; seriously, I have no desire to live, I find nothing that binds me, that holds me. In an instant everything has collapsed!
— I shall throw myself from the fifth floor! I said suddenly.
Maman cries out, and I sink back into a mute, dreadful despair.
But Caracciolo comes into the drawing room, after him Campomarino, after him Doenhoff (for a moment), and finally Marcuard!
Maman went out in tears with a letter in her hand, saying that her husband was very ill. It made a very good and very natural impression.
In the twinkling of an eye I am dressed and in the drawing room, seconding my mother. Without that lie we would have been lost. Not to receive would have been to accuse ourselves. Melissano is no fool, and the look on his face when he asked me whether I was going to Rome this evening proved it to me, when he came to see me on my accursed balcony.
I stayed on, chatting amiably; out of bravado I wanted to be heroic. Marcuard is my great friend; he is jealous, furious, ill! I stay more than an hour with him on the balcony, circling round and round the confidence I dare not make him.
Everyone had left except him; I was speaking very plainly, he still seemed to understand nothing. He understands only too well.
It is the first time, I think, that I do not repent of feelings expressed and written down after so many hours. It is daylight, almost seven o’clock. Pergolesi’s melodies still fill my ears; I wish I were rich enough to have that Stabat sung to me every day.
We were talking of Larderel, I was speaking ill of him, when Marcuard said:
— He will be back in three days.
— He told us he is not coming back, I said.
— He told me ten times over that in three days... if he did not come back, it would worry me; it would mean that he is in Florence, and I would not want him to go back to Florence.
— Does he still love that woman? asks Maman.
— No.
— He is a scoundrel! I said.
— He is luck personified, Marcuard went on. Anyone else would be dishonoured, ruined, dead. Just listen: since the age of fifteen he has not slept at night, he gets drunk every evening, rides at six, goes to bed at ten, wakes at two [o’clock], eats pastries and heaven knows what, drinks sherry and... what else, goes off to gamble! Anyone else would have died of it three times over! Then he takes up with that woman, he is under her yoke, she does whatever she likes with him, he is ready to marry her; and consider that marrying such a woman means losing caste, breaking with society, with one’s friends; he is on the point of marrying her when he discovers that letter, and he is saved yet again. Listen further: several times he was reproached for not fighting when he ought to have; he was half ruined in the eyes of all decent people, when that same letter gives him the opportunity and he redeems himself in brilliant fashion! And that is not all: never having handled a sabre, he is himself only rather slightly wounded, and he hits his adversary, the finest swordsman in Florence! If you do not call that luck!...
Whatever you like; so much the better, I adore him.
Marcuard left at one o’clock; I do not hide my feelings in front of my own family.
Half past six! He is near Rome! Marcuard said he did not leave alone. I was about to spring up like a lioness! By what right? He does not even love me.
Go on! Queen, goddess, exceptional creature, happy, conquering! Go on, my girl, I advise you to give yourself airs! Go on, you confounded wretch! Go to bed... jokes have become real sorrows, and real sorrows will turn into jokes! I am not going to bed at all. I am going to try not to sleep for three times twenty-four hours, seventy-two hours. Ah! My emperor...
Ah! Monsieur le comte, Bijou, my heart, my love, my joy! See, I am not ashamed of my true love! For the filthy things before, I used to hide; for you I would go and weep in front of everyone!
My beloved. My best memory! Never have I had to reproach him with the least thing! I have never been ashamed for him or of him, I have never had to complain of him; he was always mad, but great and honest. Never a lack of respect, never an offence! I loved him so, and he is dead!!!
Come now, what have I done? I forgot my pain, I wept in front of Dina, on Maman’s breast! I could not remain alone! As when I was ill! My God, will you not send me an illness, then! What does it take to break me!
I was hot; at three in the morning I went out on the balcony with my bosom bare, until I began to shiver and my teeth to chatter.
And I shall not die of it!! He is going to rush off to Rome! Happiness does come to others, so why should it not come to me, once, just once, a happiness that would be well worth a despair! May he fall and kill himself!! I have prayed to you before, my God, you heard me by halves! Oh! make him fall! You can surely grant me this satisfaction on account of the mad grief it will cause me!
His mother has another son, so I am not committing an infamy in wishing for his death; his friends will soon be consoled.
He will feel nothing, since he will be dead! No one here loves him enough to be made unhappy by it! Oh! Make him die! Five years of my life for him to die! I have already given five, that makes ten.
Are they not worth his death!
I can barely keep my eyes open.

Notes

In French in the original: Mon empereur — an exclamation of Larderel’s when tipsy, which Marie adopts here. ↩
Bijou (“jewel”): Marie’s private codename for Count Larderel. ↩