Monday, 23 July 1877

In this very house there is an American woman who spent a winter in Florence and who, looking through my album, recognised Alexandre and named him to the baroness. At once I expressed to the latter my wish to meet the American. For I know and see no one here; my album had been taken to the drawing room as a curiosity. This American has a cousin who entertains a great deal in Florence.
Editors’ notenote of the Cercle edition’s editors on the manuscript
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And this morning the baroness enters with a photograph in her hand. I look and recognise several faces: indeed, here are fourteen members of the Florence Jockey Club in carnival dress, costumed as playing cards. Mirafiore is the three of hearts, and the ace of hearts is Alexandre! On recognising him I let out a cry that was almost involuntary.
My friend Alexandre, you really ought to keep this photograph now that you are out; at least it proves that you were once in, after a fashion. I like him much better in this group than in the portrait I have. In this group he faces the camera, almost blurred and not handsome, but the expression is his own... In a word, all day long, as I look at him, I wonder what on earth this man has that pleases me. There are thirteen others besides him, some of them very handsome — well, not one of them is a man for me.
All that is nonsense; he will not marry me, so let us look elsewhere, so as to be able to look at him afterwards and make him furious.
I no longer wish to meet the American woman.
Ah, if only I could go and live in Italy!! I no longer speak of it, because that one word, Italy, gives me such a fever that it stops me eating — and I, dulled as I am, ought to do nothing but sleep and eat. Well, no! I shall never become disgusting.
My God, my God, be good; my God, be indulgent to my whims. My God, be kind, let me go away to Italy!
What prevents me from going? Why, by heaven, it is the fear, the certainty (if one can ever have so horrible a certainty) of faring badly there!
Oh, but for that, I would sell my false pearls and Alexandre’s portraits to go there!
It is nine o’clock; I am going to bed to talk about Alexandre until half past ten. As last night, I kept Rosalie until midnight so as to hear her talk of him.
I am quite willing to forget everything; besides, all that is no concern of... Oh, but it is... but what can I do, it is a delight to hear him spoken of, a charm, an enchantment! And my mother, my darling, so good, so kind, whom I love so, so, so much.
Why remember anything at all! I remember nothing, I feel nothing but what I feel at this moment... And what I feel is sweet, calm, adorable, lovely.
Editors’ notenote of the Cercle edition’s editors on the manuscript
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Since I cannot be his wife, I shall prevent him from marrying, or take him from his own wife. He did not dislike me, and the horrible closing words of his note prove that he will not refuse me!
These are simply horrible, base things I am reeling off, but it is the fault of fate, which makes me loved by a heap of people I care nothing for and refuses me the only one I have ever really wanted, once in my life.
Editors’ notenote of the Cercle edition’s editors on the manuscript
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He is not handsome, he gets drunk, he stupefies himself at the gaming table. Incapable even of understanding any lofty and delicate feeling.
Just look at this crouching ace of hearts, who seems to be telling you, with his frank and cunning air and that sly half-smile: well, yes, I have done foolish things, but here I am sitting down and I am going to be good — and if you are not pleased, you bore me, you do!
I used to recognise Gaston from very far off, and yet my sight is not keen. The fact is that the two Larderel have a way of their own of carrying the head and the left arm.
At Sorrento, as in this group, he looks a little — very little — from under his brows, yet without falseness and without shyness. He has the same line of the nose, a little exaggerated and perfectly noble, as Princess Margherita. And then the forehead, the temple — since the cap tilts to the left — that temple and that beginning of the forehead, curious, stubborn, good-natured.
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If you love your Larderel, stop!
Such details, which suit the description of a woman, belittle a man when a woman gives them.
I meant to go to bed, but Blanc came, and I went in to show him my hair. Besides, I have taught him to talk about Alexandre.