Tuesday, 17 April 1877

It is raining, so Maman and Dina will not be able to go out. At the races Maman lost a hundred or so Russian cigarettes to Larderel. This morning she sent them to him. They are cigarettes that I brought back from Russia and that my aunt sends on from Nice.
He went out after exchanging grimaces with Rosalie, who comes this very moment to tell me:
— How furious the Count must have been with Count Doenhoff yesterday! cries that wretched confidante of mine.
...Ah, poor girl. That is what you think.
After all, what is it that drives me to despair? Larderel has an income of three hundred thousand francs a year and he is a count. He has no social position, you will say; he has everything he needs to establish himself wherever he pleases, I shall reply, adding that I prefer that to a comfortably settled mediocrity. So is that what I regret? But there are plenty of others with the same advantages who do not want me either. Must one torment oneself over every suitable match? Certainly not. Yes, but here it seemed to be taking, and it did not take — and in the strangest way. Let us pass to the second consideration: love. Love? Is ridiculous when it is not returned. So love no longer exists! But it did exist, and it was the only one, the first since the adoration, mingled with self-interest and ecstasy, that I felt for the Duke.
What torments me — for something does torment me — is my false position with regard to Larderel. If I manage to speak to him, you will understand why I am so absolutely set on it.
He has not had the courtesy to come and thank us for the cigarettes.
I have led such an extraordinary life all these days that I am unstrung, on edge and bored. Doenhoff really does take a great interest in me... if he were to become an ambassador...
Messieurs Marini and Schettino were foolish enough to come this evening; we quickly packed them off on the pretext of a migraine that Maman only began to feel after they had gone. They are not gentlemen — a lawyer and some monsieur or other — who skate well and with all the ladies, but that is not enough to make one find charm in their conversation, especially when one is not on roller skates.
Altamura came later; I am horribly vexed with Maman, who puts on a sentimental air towards me that displeases me in the extreme. I have hidden nothing in this business with Larderel, and they insist there is more to it than I say! Since she says it, she must think a devilish lot of it; and if she thinks so much of it, why does she not say more?
That is their reasoning, borrowed from Alphonse Karr.
I am delighted to be rid of this ridiculous feeling so soon, and they credit me with melancholies I do not have! I went without supper so as to return little by little to a more regular life, and they compare me to Nina, who would eat nothing after Yourkoff’s death. It is outrageous.
Every citizen must serve his time in the army; in the same way every person must have loved. I have done my eight days and I am free, until further notice.
Mme Fabbricatore called this morning; she wants dancing partners for tomorrow.
The Duke of Grottaminarda paid a call.

Notes

In Italian in the original: povera figlia. ↩