Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Monday, 22 March 1875

# Lundi, 22 mars 1875

I think I am going mad. I pray to God but hope for nothing — I no longer believe. I am more than wretched.

Je pense devenir folle, je prie Dieu mais je n'espère rien, je ne crois plus. Je suis plus que malheureuse.

Before, I had nothing; now I have no more. But before, I believed in God — and now I believe no longer. Horror! I believe in Him — but He hears me no more. He has abandoned me, He is testing me. I am no Job — I grumble, I revolt, I cry out, I weep, I blaspheme!

...Avant je n'avais rien, à présent je n'ai pas davantage. Mais avant je croyais en Dieu et à présent je n'y crois plus. Horreur ! J'y crois mais Il ne m'entend plus. Il m'a abandonnée, Il m'éprouve. Je ne suis pas Job, je murmure, je me révolte, je crie, je pleure, je blasphème !

Happy pagans who could have recourse to several divinities — abandoned by one, they turned to another. I have only one God, and He forsakes me.

...Ne m'entendra-t'il plus ? M'abandonnera-t-il pour jamais !

Will He hear me no more? Will He abandon me forever! Mad woman — I say: will He abandon me. He has abandoned me.

...Heureux ceux qui n'ont pas seize ans, ils ont du temps. Sans m'en apercevoir je suis devenue jeune fille. Pourquoi ?

The spirit of evil breathes revolt into me; God wishes to test me, but I have no strength — I weep and despair! Happy those who do not have sixteen years — they have time. Without noticing it I have become a young woman. Why?

...Pourquoi ne suis-je pas un morceau de viande comme Dina, pourquoi ? Puisque je ne suis rien... pourquoi m'avoir donné l'esprit, l'ambition, la soif de célébrité ?

Why is it given to me to understand so much, and to desire so much? Why am I not a lump of flesh like Dina, why? Since I am nothing, since it is not likely that I shall become what I wish to be, since God turns away from me and permits me to doubt Him — why give me wit, ambition, the thirst for fame?

...Alcibiade, Alexandre, César étaient-ils dignes ?

Why not have made me like the others, since I am mouldering in obscurity?

...Ma voix, le chant n'est qu'une gloire passagère... le temps fuit et comme a dit je ne sais plus qui l'instant où j'écris est déjà loin de moi.

I am not worthy, you say — were Alcibiades, Alexander, Caesar worthy? They were extravagants, ambitious souls, people avid for popularity and glory — like me! They had their opportunities — but what can I do? Since in our wretched century for the least of things one is condemned.

Je suis comme César qui pleurait en regardant la statue d'Alexandre... O ambition, tourment des uns, félicité suprême des autres.

To dress better than others is cause for censure. What can I do! God, inspire me.

Je mourrai ou je parviendrai.

My voice, my singing — that is only a fleeting glory. I am sixteen; time flies, and as I cannot remember who said — the moment in which I write is already far behind me.

Je n'ai rien pour et j'ai tout contre moi.

I am like Caesar who wept looking at the statue of Alexander,^[Plutarch's Lives: Caesar wept at the sight of a statue of Alexander, lamenting that at Alexander's age he had already conquered the world.] because at that age Alexander was already great — and he was not yet. Oh ambition — torment of some, supreme felicity of others. I curse and congratulate myself on being what I am. At my age I would have wished to be. Who knows — shall I ever be?

...J'aime ma mère, et je crois aimer un homme. Mais l'amour pour moi n'est qu'un accessoire, un caprice, un passe-temps, et je le sacrifie quelqu'il soit à l'ambition.

I shall die or I shall succeed.

Epouser le Russe, ô dérision ! Faire des enfants et avoir une vieillesse heureuse. Chaque faquine peut en faire autant.

I have nothing for me and everything against me.

...Je serai donc un jour, mais quand, mais quoi ? Et sinon. Impossible dis-je, impossible Dieu me voit. Il m'entend, Il m'exaucera.

I do not have the good fortune to be nothing; I am just enough to be unable to be more.

Vous allez voir que demain je me promènerai à la Promenade des Anglais et ne m'occuperai que d'Audiffret ou de la Prodgers...

Oh, if I had nothing to lose!

Je monte jusqu'aux astres et je tombe dans les Durand et les Vigier... N'abandonne pas ton Alcibiade en jupes !

I have great beauty of body, a passable beauty of face, and enough knowledge to know how much more I need. I am made of ambition.
Enough for that to tumble into oblivion — or to rise to the skies.
I shall have neither one nor the other — I shall have mediocrity.
I love my mother, and I think I love a man. But love for me is only an accessory, a caprice, a pastime — and I sacrifice it, whatever it may be, to ambition.
Marry the Russian — oh mockery! Make children and have a happy old age. Any nobody of a woman can do as much.
The only means by which I can escape my present state is wealth. There has never been brilliant glory without gold.
Poor people are honorable people, often respected, more often ignored.
That is not what I need — that is not what I was born for. It is impossible that God made me for nothing, that He gave me intelligence and this vast, immeasurable, unheard-of vanity, this thirst for noise and brilliance — for nothing.
I shall be something, then, someday — but when, but what? And if not. Impossible, I say, impossible — God sees me. He hears me, He will grant my prayer.
You will see that tomorrow I shall walk on the Promenade des Anglais and occupy myself with nothing but Audiffret or that Prodgers woman. How great I am and how small!
If I am small it is from being so great.
I soar to the stars and fall among the Durands and the Vigiers. This mixture of greatness and smallness cannot produce an ordinary effect. And yet — Almighty God, take doubt from me, permit me to hope and to believe in You.
Do not abandon Your Alcibiades in skirts!