Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Friday, 4 July 1873

The whole morning, instead of studying, I sewed that abominable bodice and ended by ruining it. No, I cannot occupy myself with sewing — it is too stupid.
I find the same resemblance between the Apollo Belvedere and Hamilton as between the presto of Mendelssohn's Concerto in A minor and the Egyptian March of Strauss. This struck me.
My room is the centre of everything. Again this morning people gathered in my room.
At five I went to the sea with Mme Anitchkoff and her children. I dived. The Durands all bathed.
At eight I went out again. Having seen Maman and the others off at the station, Paul, Dina, and I gathered in my room as usual; after talking, each went to their own. I was left alone; the moon lit my room and I did not light the candles. I went out on the terrace and heard the distant sounds of violin, guitar, and harmonica-flute. I came back quickly and placed myself at the window to listen better. It was a charming trio; it has been a long time since I listened to music with such pleasure. At a concert one is more occupied with examining the audience than listening, but this evening, around eleven, by moonlight, all alone, I devoured — if I may express myself so — this serenade, for that is what it was.
The young men of Nice played us a serenade. One could not be more gallant. Unfortunately the fashionable young men no longer want these innocent and charming amusements — they prefer to spend their time drinking in the company of disreputable women. Whereas music — what is there more beautiful in the world! And what is more noble, gallant, and amusing than to sing a serenade as in old Spain? Upon my word, after horses, it is the first thing for me. And if I were a man, I would spend my life at the stables, the races, the shooting range, a little in the drawing room, beneath the window of my beloved, and finally at her feet. A thousand adventures, obstacles, impossible things, combats (one would say I am stuffed with novels, yet I have never read any except a few English ones). It is my nature, my life. One sees everywhere the goodness of God. He made me a woman to prevent me from committing the follies I should wish to. All the women would be mad for me, and since in the end I should love only one, I would have made many people unhappy. God has averted that. So there I was, listening; they played very prettily. Dina and Paul came to my room and we listened some more. Our serenaders gone, I set about praying to God. I was so well disposed — I was at the part where I pray for him. All at once Dina calls me; I come; she shows me a shadow on the wall. I look for a few minutes and see that it is a man — a burglar certainly, for he wanted to hide himself. I was frightened. We imagined a thousand things — he will come up and rob us, even kill us. I sent Marie into the lane; she went with a man, but at that moment the burglar disappeared. I was very afraid, for Dina told me he was hiding and showing himself, crawling near the wall — all sorts of manoeuvres so as not to be seen. I shut fast the shutters of my terrace door, and for greater security I barricaded it with my washstand, the basin on top, the water jug, and all the crockery, so that if the door were opened, everything would fall and wake me. I even — contrary to my habit — left my bedroom door open, to escape more quickly.