Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 4 October 1873

I was still asleep when Manotte came, but since I do not like to rush or be disturbed, I ask Dina to go first. I have begun the Pathetique Sonata. I adore Beethoven.
Paul goes to the lycee; everyone is happy, and his arrival home twice a day is an event. I am free these two or three days because of the change in hours. We go out with Bete, Papa, and Dina. We eat ices at La Victoire.
I must change my dress; the corset covers are at the laundry. I tried going without a corset, and I am so well made that I can do so perfectly well. Just as I was about to get back into the carriage, Dina tells me Lemp is waiting. I thought he would not come. I shall take another hour for chemistry.
At last I have finished, and they come to fetch me, and Bete tells me that on the promenade the wheel of Gioia's cab broke and Auguste fixed it and she gave him five francs. This astonished me -- how dared Auguste abandon his seat -- but I believed it.
"Ask Auguste who gave him five francs; ask, then you will believe," Bete was saying. So I ask:
"Auguste, who gave you five francs?"
He looks at me, astonished. Bete and Dina burst out laughing. Only then did I understand it was a trick. And I was already cursing Lemp, studies, and everything that kept me from seeing it. On Monday they are coming to do up the dining room. We walked from Lyons' to the London House, where I bought smoked salmon and delicious ham. This evening is the first vespers service at the Russian church; we all go except Bete, who stays for her Bijou. The church has been very well refurbished. There were only Zibine, Arnoldi, Keldal, one or two women, Mme Anitchkoff, and ourselves. I crossed the church to stand beside Mme Anitchkoff; I talked the whole time. One cannot pray in public. Zibine nearly cracked his eyes from staring at me.
Madame Anitchkoff draws us to her house; I was terribly thirsty and drank a whole carafe of water.
On the way to her house, Maman was telling her that at Monaco (she was there today from three to five) they let Gioia and Soubise in. (While writing, I slump back against the armchair and had a short nap.) Alone. "You know," she continued, "those notorious women -- it has been a long time since they were allowed in. But I believe Hamilton has quite left Gioia. She is so pitiful. Before, she held herself so proudly when she entered the room, alone -- so fine with her pride. She would sit by the window or approach the table, and everything was well. But now she is always with Soubise; the pride of before is gone. Her dress is pitiful, her hat ugly, even her boots are ugly. Her face is flabby, pallid -- in a word, she is ugly. Her outfit is grey cashmere with checked sleeves and a checked hat trimmed with a grey veil. Before, she was beautiful, proud -- (proud -- that is the word that expresses her look well enough in Russian) -- and now she is ugly and she holds herself contracted, unhappy, her back hunched." This speech was addressed to Mme Anitchkoff, but it was meant for me. I doubted aloud and said that perhaps it was the fashion, etc. But Maman insists. Yet I cannot believe it, because it gives me too much pleasure. She alone is worthy of envy; if she is eclipsed, I am happy. I see now that I envy her and I detest her -- a feeling that follows envy. And if it is true that the Duke is no longer her protector, and that she is fading, going out of fashion -- I am very pleased. But no, such happiness cannot come to pass; I am not worthy of it.
Tuesday, Paul's feast day. He will be fourteen!!! I hope to go to Monaco and practise shooting, as will Paul. What happiness! If God would but permit it!!!
[In the margin: Paul has made the acquaintance of young Arson, with whom he is at school.]
We took Paul back to the lycee at two o'clock. Before, I paid no attention to the lycee, but today I noticed all the boys with their books -- dreadful dirty urchins! When one has not experienced something oneself, one does not understand. I always used to wonder why there were shops for furniture, lamps, photographs. Because I had no need of them, and I could not imagine that anyone made use of them. It is curious.

Notes

In English in the original. ↩
In English in the original. ↩