Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Tuesday, 24 June 1873

Since morning we have been moving. The trouble, the confusion, the vexation of it cannot be told. At two we lunched in haste, and then the whole time arranging, transporting furniture, clearing rooms. Grand-papa, Maman, and Paul are downstairs, and the dining room too. All of us on the first floor, with two drawing rooms and a third that serves as an entrance hall. I shall not describe the apartment; I shall only say it is comfortable, large, and not ugly.
Here I have my first room of my own; I am very satisfied with it. It has two windows and a glass door opening onto a terrace similar to the one near the yellow drawing room — we have one, not as pretty as the other; that one has only yellow furniture, the curtains are different. The whole house, except for the large drawing room and my room, reminds me of the Fedorovna station. When everything was in the house, I went into the drawing room and saw it so cluttered that I was nearly discouraged. I thought we could never put everything in its place. I set to work, however. For the pictures alone I had to spend nearly all my time — climbing on tables, hammering nails, measuring distances. The soles of my feet burned and dolevano. And if one leaves such things to the servants, it will be wretchedly done. It is impossible — or rather, too long — to describe all that I had to do. My room is the finest in the house.
At eight we dined. The Anitchkoffs live behind us. We are door to door, and we have an invasion of children. These children are so detestable. They annoy me beyond measure. At last, at half past eleven, I went to bed tired beyond all possibility.

Notes

Italian: "they hurt." In Italian in the original. ↩