Friday, 20 April 1877

Cards from Camillo Caracciolo and from the Princes Villa, who had been at the Fabbricatore’s. I went out early, between one and three o’clock; as for the promenade, I kept away from it, still waiting for a visit from the most honourable Count Larderel. A vain wait, be it said in passing.
The Hamontoff ladies came and spent an hour. I scarcely speak and am absent-minded, as may be imagined. He came in and went out several times with disreputable-looking people.
At last, this evening, a grand fête at the Skating, where Princess Margherita was to have come; but there was only the pork-butcher upstairs with his whole suite.
I had a ravishing toilette, with hat and shoes to match. So I was in good humour, and a little bouquet of lily-of-the-valley soon multiplied to decorate all my cavaliers — a sign to know them by... besides, they were all around us, in spite of an enormous crowd. Doenhoff too, of course, as far as was possible with regard to the prince.
As skaters I had only Campomarino and Schettino.
For the first time I took part in the flower race. They give you a charming little flag, at the end of which there is a ring with which, as you pass, you must catch up bouquets fitted with hooks. These bouquets are set in little niches on a kind of pedestal table, of which there are two.
It is an altogether graceful game, and the lady who gives her left hand to her cavalier and carries this warlike crook in her right shows herself to every advantage. I hooked six or seven bouquets. I was pretty, and I am pleased.
I was surrounded, escorted home... Schininà nibbled at my fringe of Siberian monkey, like the people in Rome... and in the most delicate and subtle manner I gave him to understand that the Piccolelis’s behind was a false one. Indeed, just as with white, I have set the fashion here for large... every silly little hussy now pads herself out with horsehair or heaven knows what; each one wants to equal me in circumference...
But I had nothing to say; I could not even be coquettish; not one congenial creature — I cannot live alone.
There is something behind all this... Ever since Spa, where I had that trouble with Gericke... Good Lord, Gericke, whom I never thought of, whom I did not love, who did not please me. They said I was in love with him!!! And because of that he began to avoid me. Merciful heaven! Ever since that fatal summer when I, poor innocent, suffered that vile treatment, so little deserved, so utterly groundless — ever since that summer it has been like a curse! Ever since then I seem to see Gerickes everywhere, imagining that I adore them; this fear hampers me, vexes me, grieves me, in short! And that accursed name slips in always and everywhere...
I have come to fear it superstitiously. It is dreadful, it is dreadful, it is dreadful! That bearded Greek repeats himself in Marcuard... and... Oh, it is shameful! In spite of myself I draw comparisons! Nothing is alike, nothing, except this sudden change, this inexplicable conduct... Oh, fie! How horrible! Why speak of this filth! Oh yes, a real piece of filth which, without my having any part in it, seems to lie like a curse over my whole life. Why???
I swear to you that it makes me giddy and fills me with such terror!!!... What if it were always to be like this!
Why, why does this man, who was nothing to me, whom I have forgotten, or rather whom I never once thought of — why does this indifferent man, this stranger, come back to me like a scarecrow, like a phantom, like the Commendatore’s ghost over Marcuard... fie, what nonsense! No Marcuard here — I am speaking seriously — why does this Dutch drunkard, this poor devil with the dirty cravat, why does he pursue me like a legend?...
Why must everything resemble his conduct...
Ever since Spa I have kept, in spite of myself, an inner conviction that men are divided into two classes: the Gerickes and the Merjeewskys.
It is dreadful, it is a nightmare... I will have no more of it!!!
Ah, Lord in heaven, take this panic fear from me, this abominable tradition.
Strange, strange and frightening.
I will not let myself be ruled by this hideous superstition!
I will not have it weigh on my life any longer!
I would not speak to you of it, but circumstances force me to, and a voice cries out to me: it is just as it was with Gericke!
But since I never felt anything for this Gericke, since he is no more to me than the porter of this hotel, since... Why, then!
Oh, the filthy memory that, after three years, still soils everything that happens to me!
In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I cast you out; I do not curse you, for I have cursed you a hundred times already, and I forget you!
Let nothing recall you any more; in the name of God and of the Virgin Mary, begone. Amen.

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Notes

Skating, in English in the original: the name of the Naples roller-skating rink (roller skating was a fashionable novelty of the 1870s). ↩
Le charcutier d’en haut: “the pork-butcher upstairs” — Marie’s contemptuous nickname for the Prince of Prussia, in whose suite Doenhoff travels (presumably lodged above the family in the hotel); charcutier is her running slur for the Germans. ↩
In Italian in the original: gettatura (Neapolitan jettatura) — the evil eye, a malign influence. ↩