Saturday, 21 April 1877

Very late at night I was still chatting with the Princess de Melissano, otherwise known as Rosalie. Still afraid that the girl might have discovered the real secret of the affair, I made her tell me everything as though to someone else. The frequent regrets I have voiced bring her to this conclusion, reassuring and almost pleasant for me.
— And now, she says, you are both at odds. And it is your fault. Naturally you said things to him... and the Count flared up, and now you are both at odds.
— Why does your young lady not want the Count? Séraphin asked Rosalie.
I said that I had refused, and the imagination of these two creatures works in that direction. They find the Count changed, irritable, sad. It is true, but naturally for another reason.
Rosalie tells me scraps of the past which all tell me that I pleased him; the valet’s remarks, in short...
— Monsieur never found anyone to his taste; what a pity that just when he had found...
After Sorrento he changed all at once. It was I who disgusted him! I hate myself!
Fie! How horrible! Larderel has just had a visit from the two most odious, vulgar and disgusting hussies in Naples.
Indeed, the Piccolelis is too beautiful and too aristocratic for him; he needs horrors like these two women. One above all: slovenly figure, dirty petticoats, hair pinned up and topped with a little hat like a man’s, broad face, beetroot-red cheeks (natural, alas, only too natural!), round nose, turned-up and red. An inn chambermaid! This woman was my nightmare at the Skating; she clings to everyone, waves her arms about, and sweeps the asphalt with the rags that hang below her dress. I am humiliated for Larderel.
Ah, God, I must speak to him!
He was to leave yesterday, but in the night he gave orders to unpack. And now he has just flung himself like a madman into a cab and gone off to the... Café de Naples.
Mme de Mouzay told me to go and see a Mme Romien, a former celebrity, it seems; this lady is leaving for Castellammare and came to pay me a visit just now. I am in no mood to bother with all that; I saw her, I talked...
What if he were to take that hussy in place of Silène... fie! She would deceive him within two days, at the first opportunity, with the floor waiter. To take the cocottes of Paris, clean, elegant, beautiful, witty — very well! But women like that! Who have not even animal charm, badly dressed, stupid. It is worse than a dog.
When I go to Florence I shall see Silène close to and speak to her. I am curious to see her; like Gioia in the Duke’s time, she attracts me and I like her.
Maman is so unwell that we do not go out, and with Dina I watch those sinister imbeciles go by in carriages and on foot.
Suddenly I see two fine chestnut horses and a grand livery; I look more closely, for the face of the man in the [carriage] seemed handsome to me, and I recognise Larderel with Mme de Piccollelis.
They drove past several times, chatting like two turtle-doves. Only once did the lady look at me and say something to her companion, who went on speaking in her ear. Good — there is the revenge for my backbiting of yesterday.
I do not know what agitation, what vexation I felt... but it struck me to the heart. Since that strange declaration I have felt myself growing weaker and weaker, and today I had something like fainting fits... oh, nothing serious; I am not favoured enough to have a good, honest illness, a swoon, an outburst of some kind, in short. I am wearing myself out little by little, over all sorts of little things. I have been slowly destroying myself, without any outburst and with a great deal of noise at the start, for about four years now.
Why do I stay in Naples? I desire nothing, I am capable of nothing, I have lost all sense of the present and the future, and I stay because it matters little to me where I stay. Why go to Paris?
I am so superstitious that I hold myself back from saying: for fresh sorrows? — as I wanted to. I weep so much in advance; it brings me bad luck.
I will not do it any more.
Oh, dreams! Did I not dream that the Piccolelis was showing me her bare legs? A sure sign of an affront. You know, I did speak to her, that charming beauty, a little faded — she is nearing forty. It was long ago, at the Skating; she had voiced doubts in Italian. Pascarola was there, and I told him about it, laughing. He had nothing more urgent to do than to repeat it to the lady, and the next day, I think — a Friday evening — while I was having my skates put on, she came and sat down beside me.
— Mademoiselle, she said, without having the pleasure of your acquaintance, I owe you an apology.
I felt extremely awkward at being seen talking with such a woman — and so likeable, too.
— To me, Madame? An apology? I asked, blushing.
— Yes, Mademoiselle, you thought the other day that I had criticised you.
How could that be! I swear to you that everything I said was only to pay homage to your beauty, to your grace. We admired you so much the whole time; I was saying that you were pretty... well made, ravishing, as is the truth.
They had fastened on my skates.
— Oh, Madame, I said, rising, you are really too kind.
And on these rather curt words I took Santasiglia’s hand. I was sorry to have been cold to that poor fallen society woman, but in those days I was possessed by the fear of being taken for an... adventuress.
To drive about in the Piccolelis’s carriage — it is true that others have done it; everyone in Naples does it, on the pretext that she was married to a marquis...
I have just come back from San Carlo, that beautiful theatre where I spoke to Larderel for the first time and where, to do him justice, he showed himself as little eager as ever.
It was the first night of Robert le Diable; but it went so badly that the audience howled along with the singers, and then they barked, hissed and miaowed. One sees that, or rather hears it, only in Italy.
The first to come was Schininà (he had already called on us this afternoon), and then the others. Little by little they will all turn towards Dina; I am good for nothing. The box was never empty; Melissano has a new attraction: Princess Margherita, after speaking with him the other evening at the palace rout, said, turning to the Sarno:
— Really, Melissano is ugly. The story is going round everywhere.
Ah, I am wretched! What a consolation and what happiness — I do not exaggerate in using those words — to be surrounded, adored, waited on by so many others! Here I am never at a loss for an arm on the way out. They stay with us, they see us home, they love us; and not one fortune-hunter!
The frightful Melito was not there, but only people of the best society, with good manners...
They say Larderel was at the theatre for a little while, in a stall, and Schettino adds that he was very pale, thinking he was saying something new.
I should like some change or other, a great fit of spite, an outburst, in short! I am burning over a slow fire; I torment myself gently!
I cannot quite make sense of any of it, but I am irritated, discouraged, sad. Before, I used to weep and rage; now I am only... irritated... I do not want to make a scene, to myself, because the present is nothing like the past and because... I am irritated, yes, irritated!
And yet I am almost annoyed that it is so little tragic... No, it is not yet the real thing, such as I imagined it...
I am quite vexed enough already by this little bit, since it is useless and therefore almost shameful and altogether humiliating.
I am irritated because I am calm; that is perhaps better than the explosions of the past; it is new. My past is so odious to me that at the slightest resemblance I shudder and shy like a horse at the sight of a corpse.
Let us speak of it no more; I am simply bored because I have no favourite, and that kind of bird is not to be found in Naples. To me they are all ugly here.
I enjoy myself very much in Naples; it is a charming life, a life of delights compared with before. I shall talk now of nature, of the people around me, of music, of everything, in short; not this evening, but little by little, every day.
Do not take this resignation for despair; I am not in despair, I no longer love. That love has been tarnished, bruised, and it no longer exists. There are only regrets — not even that: a little sadness, a little boredom.
I cannot express my true feeling; I circle all round it without being able to reach it, which sets my nerves on edge.
But I am calm, I am tranquil, I am indifferent.
Maman felt so ill that we had to come home after the second act. He might perhaps have come.

---

Notes

Skating, in English in the original: the name of the Naples roller-skating rink (roller skating was a fashionable novelty of the 1870s). ↩
Marie’s coinage: miolé [sic] (for miaulé). ↩