Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 19 December 1874

"Filth: public contempt, family shame" — says La vraie clef des songes by Lucimius.
The fulfilment of last Friday's dream was not long in coming, as will be seen. This morning, as I was making Victor jump — that beautiful, good creature — my mother hands me a letter and tells me to go read it in my room and bring it back.
Here it is, more or less:
Madame Nadejda Stepanovna — after mature reflection, I have decided.
No — I do not remember it well enough to write it out. [Crossed out: It] The letter says that after reflection she has decided — (who is "she"? I have not yet said) — that she will on no account bring her children to a house where the young ladies frequent gaming tables; that in matters of education she would never see eye to eye with Madame Romanoff, to whom the letter is addressed; and that it is better to part, for nothing is more disagreeable than forced relations. That she regrets it infinitely, for Maria is a charming, sympathetic, and agreeable woman — but alas! why such a weak mother!
Signed, Julie Howard.
Furious and red with anger, I determined not to show myself; and having composed my face as best I could, I went back and returned the letter — to which my aunt replied:
You must have noticed yourself that our relations have been quite different from what they were, following certain rumours that have reached me. You unjustly slander our young ladies, who went to Monaco no more and no less than your own. As for the education of children and young ladies, our methods differ entirely — that is true. For me, as for any respectable, honest woman, a young girl's name is sacred; whereas you choose to slander children with such levity.
Nadejda Romanoff. At your service.
A letter which I admire and respect.
As for the effect this affair produced on me — what am I to say? I had almost expected it, for being so grieved about our position, I expect nothing but affronts. But what revolts me is the infamy of the slander! When, for heaven's sake, do I go to Monte Carlo? On the day of a shooting competition, or of an illumination — and there is only one illumination a year. Every young lady in Nice goes as much as I do. Fie! Am I reduced to justifying myself when I am not guilty? No — what is vile, what is cowardly — above all from a mother — is to use a child, a young girl, as a pretext and slander her before anyone knows what she is! For she cannot seriously believe what she says. The business originates with my aunt Tutcheff and with Boutowksy — a depraved woman if ever there was one — and with Hélène; for since last year she has been jealous of me in a manner too visible for me not to see it. And there is cause enough! She is ambitious and cunning. When we first knew this family, neither Hélène nor Lise (still less so) had any notion of manners or elegance; by copying me little by little they began to dress more neatly — many silk dresses were made for them, feathered hats, etc. Then Hélène's admiration turned to envy, and while continuing to copy me she pretended to think herself superior. The more she dressed up, the less she succeeded; I never had many dresses but was always well turned out — above all since Mademoiselle de Galve helped me understand the value of simplicity. At the matinée they gave, I was the best-dressed of all — whereupon Madame Bariakinsky said:
"Who is that remarkably distinguished and well-bred child?"
And [Crossed out: again] I heard with my own ears another woman, or the same, say:
"What a charming young girl."
It was at this same matinée — which I attended as a child, because it was at friends' house — that Woerman pretended to pay court to me.
Well — she is satisfied now; at their Tuesday matinée she will doubtless be the best-dressed, given the sorry company they will have.
I drove out in the carriage and saw Lambertye — I was not even surprised, and looked at him as I look at Saëtone. I walked with Sabatini. Copland — or was it Plantus? — kept insisting on taking me to see some wild flowers or other, but I shook him off — Gracias a Dios. I am, one might say, displaying my languages: several people, having heard me speak Italian, then English, then French, then Russian, showed faces of astonishment at hearing me speak a different language each time.
I am not shouting, but the Promenade is not very wide, and as one passes one catches a word or two — enough to recognise what language is being spoken, especially when one is listening.
I am fortunate enough to speak four living languages and to be studying a dead one — Latin — which I shall speak, God willing; for I study it con amore and find it the most beautiful of all.
While Copland was accosting me I saw all the Galve family — at least there are some proper people.

Notes

In Spanish in the original — "Thank God." ↩
In Italian in the original — "with love," i.e., with passionate devotion. ↩