Wednesday, 25 April 1877

I circle around something... I know not what — something I ought to have thought of — and it makes me unhappy. Something is missing, everything is missing, emptiness everywhere.
What have I forgotten?
Marcuard came to say his farewells. Then Zunica and Porcinari and the Fabbricatore and the consul, and in the evening Melito and Caracciolo.
I am sad — I have said sad so often when I meant bored that... besides, I cannot quite take my own measure. What I know is that I cannot converse, I do not laugh, I want nothing, nothing interests me. Everything is indifferent to me, if it does not disgust me.
I made myself ugly! Larderei saw me only as dull, clumsy, ill-dressed, pitiable. Ah — had I been brilliant, elegant as before, admired... things would have been different through sheer self-regard alone. One does not love pitiable women — and one is right; it is stupid.
Maman tells me very sensible things on the subject — things I would have said myself if it were not for this torpor, this prostration, this stupefaction.
Here is a letter to reassure my aunt:
"I am writing because I am certain that Maman will have told you of dramas and nonsense. I take nothing tragically — besides, I swear before God that in this whole adventure I have had nothing but amusement, which is why Bijou is congenial to me. No vexation, no humiliation — the intimate affairs concern only me, and... even that! As for the external affairs, they are entirely to my advantage.
Do not think there are, as before, those stupid and odious entanglements with sordid people. Here everything is different and resembles in no way the past vilenesses in which I was involved — God knows why — with not the slightest love involved: I did not care for a man, you cried out that I adored him, I wept from wounded pride, you imagined I wept from despair. It would be supremely disagreeable to me to think that anyone could, even from a distance, compare the present affairs with the filth of before.
I have shed my old skin and desire no parallel with past horrors. I am greatly amused, and if by caprice I adore Bijou, do as I do — do not take it tragically, and above all do not degrade it with absurd fears, abominable sighs, and humiliating comparisons. There is nothing so foolish as the sorrows of love that you always visit on me, and I swear to you — wrongly."
"Dubium, illusio, deceptio, oppressio"
Gloriae Cupiditate

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Notes

Sympathique (1870s French): congenial, having an affinity with one's nature — a stronger and more precise term than the modern casual "nice."
In Latin in the original. Marie's closing motto: "Doubt, illusion, deception, oppression / Through desire for glory." Likely her own composition — a bitter philosophical summation of the Larderei affair and her broader condition.