Tuesday, 24 April 1877

I am not sending that last note. I will write him nothing more.
I am the most wretched of women. No one can measure the full extent of my degradation! Hideous degradation — I thought myself so far from these horrors, so pure, so...
If he believes what he has written, the more I write the more he will believe it — unless... I confess to him that I loved him, which would be, which is impossible.
I have a fever and am in such a detestable state that I cannot describe it. Carmignano has just left us.
I am going to take a drive outside the city, to get some air and think... my scattered wits are driving me mad.
I believe — I am certain — that I was right not to send those last letters. The first is sufficient. To be reduced to making oneself a nuisance to men! That is surely the ultimate degradation, both of the known world and of the world yet to be discovered. The ascent of Posillipo furnished me with good reflections, along with its beautiful views. To go off somewhere alone and think — that is the best thing to do in such a case. I am disgusted — oh, positively disgusted — with myself and with all the rest of the universe, which means I revolt only in fits and starts. I would find his note crude and infamous, if it were less witty and if it did not prove to me that my letter struck him keenly.
Several people came to inquire after Maman — among others the most celebrated of all the Melissanos — just as I was alighting from my carriage, which I had had closed from the beginning of the Chiaja so as to be less observed alone. One recognized the livery, but one could not see too clearly...
In any case — what was I going to say?
Ah yes — since Madame is in bed, it is the agreeable Gatowsky who takes us to the Cercle, or rather to the Società Filarmonica, where they are performing a French comedy this evening. I wear a very fine white wool gown, fitted in one piece, low-cut with short sleeves. The front of the bodice is entirely covered with green leaves descending in a single band, crescendo, all the way down, and making the round of the skirt, which is lined with lace and a quantity of little mossy trimmings of charming effect. Nothing at the neck, nothing on the arms; Psyche coiffure.
For perhaps the first time in Naples I was interesting and pretty — not as before, oh no, but better than of late.
Dina wears a beautiful black gown.
The hall is truly brilliant and the lady-actresses have dazzling diamonds.
I divided my attention between the very amusing play and our cavaliers! Ah — what a lapse! I forgot to tell you that I had a leaf-fan with a bouquet of lily-of-the-valley attached to the last front leaf.
Bouquet and leaves were immediately dismembered for buttonholes for Pascarola, Campomarino, Caracciolo, and the most Swiss of all, Marcuard — who is mercilessly cold about his passion and always addresses me in the same simple manner.
The charming thing to report is that Pascarola, after a small discourse rather well-felt on home life, on a little wife, a hearth, a life for two, asked me timidly whether I would come and grace his domestic leisure, serve as his friend, companion, wife — adding that he was sure of obtaining a perfect accord through attentiveness, solicitude, love. Since the proposal was wrapped in philosophical reflections, it was to the latter that I replied — and there the matter rested. It is original.
I was in a charming humour and joked about Larderei, whom we had the grief to lose after having him every three days like a fever. I say laughing that I adore him, and people repeat it and call him our dear Alexandre without suspecting that... In short, I appear to be making fun of him.
We left as soon as the play was over — it would have been melancholy to stay among that world of acquaintances; they were waiting for the actors, who were to supper at the Cercle itself.
Melito introduces his brother, and just as Campomarino was bringing the cloaks, the Duke of San Cesario came to say a few blagues which, from a man like him, are almost impertinences.
Larderei saw me only when I was plain! That raises a storm. I shall remake myself.
Let us not do as the imbeciles do — let us not deplore the past, which is beyond remedy.
I reproach myself nothing, because it is useless — and I promise myself nothing for the future, for the same reason. One learns how one ought to have acted if the same case arose again, but it is of no use, because nothing repeats itself. It is like people who claim to know women: you may know fifty, but the fifty-first is different. And this is quite natural — so too with men. A few general traits... yes, but the rest! Ah! Mon empereur.
In the end, the only explanation for... the Aquarium is jealousy.

---

Notes

Posillipo (Pausilippe in the French): a scenic hill overlooking the Bay of Naples, a favourite carriage drive offering panoramic views.
The Società Filarmonica: a private Neapolitan club for music and theatrical performances.
Coiffure Psyché: a classical revival hairstyle with hair gathered up, leaving the neck bare — inspired by ancient Greek sculpture. Fashionable in the 1870s.