Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Tuesday, 9 February 1875

At two o'clock, Marie, Olga, I, Paul, and Cima — the last two masked — set off. This time, despite the noise, the motley crowd, and the gaiety surrounding me, I had no time to become gloomy and cold — one had to fight, and furiously. We all went raving mad and pelted so fiercely that several begged for mercy. Paul played the devil; he and Cima, not content with bombarding from the carriage, climbed down, ran after other carriages, attacked pedestrians, saying a thousand foolish things, and then [Crossed out: returned] taking a run dove headfirst back into the carriage so that their feet were in the air — with marvellous dexterity.
We, with our wire mesh masks, were perfectly recognizable — but behaving as if we had forgotten this, we acted exactly as though the most impenetrable masks covered our faces.
So we made the first circuit — pelting, calling out to everyone, addressing people by name, saying insolences or compliments, and laughing — oh yes, laughing! I stopped only to speak, but the moment a sentence was done I began again like a rabid creature, and the others joined in chorus.
One needed lungs for it!
But at the Quai Saint-Jean-Baptiste — oh, the horror! No more confetti! We nearly fainted. I have the carriage leave the line and we run to find some — but nothing anywhere. One should have seen our dismayed faces. Impatient, I have us turn back to the Cours; we enter with empty hands — there a hundred sweet-sellers press around us and the disaster is repaired.
[Crossed out: But the world of the grandstands was there no more. One had to]
In the absence of the grandstands, which were emptying little by little, we turned our fire on the crowd, on the wretched soldiers. Some grew angry — but immediately the others mocked them; Paul said impossible nonsense to them and we laughed.
The unfortunate 111th has been under fire — a fire more formidable, I dare say, than that of the Prussians.
As we turned back and moved onto more reasonable ground — the Promenade — we did not stop conversing with the passers-by. La Chestakoff goes past. — Oh, the filthy woman! Paul cries at her, and we repeat after him; she turns round smiling — the fool takes it for carnival gallantry.
I come home quite dazed, with buzzing ears. At eight o'clock we return to see the illuminations and the burning of the Carnival effigy in the Place de la Préfecture. We have to get down from the carriage; we cross on foot through the masked and costumed crowd, run toward the main grandstand — but the entrance is at the back, we must go round; we set off running again, cross the street where the telegraph office is, turn into the Rue de la Préfecture, pass under the arch of the building, and at last mount the grandstand — breathless and brimming with joy.
During the auto-da-fé I sink back into the torpor I have spoken of; the others rise and I follow them mechanically. We put on half-masks, find the carriage in the Rue Charles-Albert, and once masked and in the carriage we laugh and chatter and exchange with the crowd the foolishnesses of the afternoon.
I have seen no Carnival but Nice's — which is perhaps why it seems so beautiful to me; but no, the sight from the grandstand that evening was truly lovely: this amphitheatre full of people holding little candles in their hands, the moccoletti, below the crowd dancing, shouting, singing, and in the midst Father Carnival burned on his throne to the sound of Offenbach's music and the explosions of the fireworks — the whole illuminated by an electric star.
We go to the Théâtre Français; my aunt is there. Girofle-Girofla — the second act was ending as we entered. From there to Mme Sapogenikoff's, and finally home.
I have but one regret — that it is over. Even in the theatre I felt like shouting out to the pit, to the boxes, and every moment I had on my lips — oh, the stuffed shirt! — or — you are ugly — or — catch this then, ugly sparrow! — and so on.
All of this is common, ruffianly, street-urchin — but it is amusing, and this mood will stay with me for several days, for I cannot stop hearing the vulgarities that the maskers said, and that we ourselves said beneath our masks.
By day as by evening we were alone, without any jaded and solemn person to prevent us from doing or saying whatever came into our heads. It was rash, perhaps — but so gay; and it falls to me so rarely to be gay.
On coming down from the grandstand I saw the windows of the Prefecture lit up, and carriages bringing women with bare shoulders and men in tailcoats — and my heart tightened.

Notes

Auto-da-fé: originally an Inquisition execution by fire; here used for the ceremonial burning of the Carnival effigy. ↩
Moccoletti: small candles, a traditional feature of the Nice Carnival; participants try to blow out each other's flames. ↩
Girofle-Girofla: popular comic opera by Charles Lecocq, premiered 1874. ↩