Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Thursday, 19 March 1874

The season of winds has begun. It is sad.
Simone bores me more than anything; she makes me wait so terribly. We go out now, however, always at four o'clock. The music and the people are finished when we arrive; I have no great interest, besides, in listening to this fine music -- as for the people, I have forgotten them. The Duchess de Mouchy was driving in her landau with the Obelisk, more beautiful than ever; one can well see that she is getting married. She said something to the duchess whilst looking at me and smiling a little, as if she were saying: There is that child, is she not sweet? I believe I owe this to Fedus, who also finds me a sweet child. He looks at me as Maman used to look at Clementine Durand. There is the explanation of the problem.
From a man, that counts for little, but...
For several days he is no longer seen. I was so vexed about it that everyone thought he had been looking at me. Maman, my aunt, even Walitsky and Pavloucha. Because I was so vexed today, I lost, but I was not vexed about the money but by the fact that everyone thought I never lost, that I always won. This however is not a fair comparison, but I understand what I mean: there are moments.
When it seems to me a little that Fedus pleases me a little -- but of course very little, and because here there is almost no one -- he is all the same better than Emile d'Audiffret, and I cannot live without some imaginary folly. Only to have a purpose for walking. Hamilton pleases me so much that there is no one in the world who could please me as much, and all this is only jokes, follies. It seems to me so little that Fedus pleases me that it seems ridiculous. Even to mention so insignificant a creature is already too much. And I always look at him more than at many men, more than at old Galve for example, but not at all as a man.
Last night I thought that in yesterday's journal I had too strongly expressed my vexation, but today I have changed my mind because I am vexed. Truly I ought not to let myself go in such follies, because at one moment I am vexed, but at another not at all, but in order to have a journal that faithfully records [Crossed out: be a faithful portrait of] all my slightest thoughts [Crossed out: at this time], I remember everything. It would cause me great pain if anyone interpreted my thought otherwise, or if they thought my intention in making this explanation is to hide something.
What a rascal Paul is; he knows nothing but theatre, actresses, banquets -- especially when I think that on arriving here he spoke of the education of children and I hoped to make something of him.
In the evening Dina read me three chapters of the green book, for five francs, since I have sworn not to read in it myself. At the end we re-re-discussed the wager; I proposed another thousand francs so that when, on hearing her speech, Fedus opens his mouth in astonishment or to reply, she throws a candied cherry into it.
I am alone; I write, but I am still laughing imagining his face when he receives the sweet. But she refuses the sweet, although she consents to the original wager. All this is nothing but a great folly that Dina will never do, and I am quite mad to waste my time talking about it. But since it amuses us!
This cara gioia of a Lambertye is taking too beautiful a wife for himself? I fear that they will...

Notes

Italian: dear joy. ↩