Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Monday, 26 April

Ah, my beautiful dream!
When I speak of it, Dina says with a laugh that it presages that old moneybag Malzoff, who, it seems, does nothing but look at me. Indeed I had noticed he was watching me — this past week especially.
Ah, what a wretched day!
Georges — that dear, that adored, that blessed man — is here, and is causing a great scandal throughout the entire house.
Oh! My God — may the size of these letters and the force with which I press my pen express how enraged and humiliated I am at being compelled to endure this scandalous drunkard, this coward, this wretch!
He will kill my mother as he killed his own!
Everything shatters before his vileness — even my own will!
I am reading my journal at the very moment he is getting married!
I weep, I rage, I cry out, I am going mad!
My God, my God!
I have supped and come back to write, calmed down. I was at church this morning in a long dress — (Archduke dress and hat, good).
Then I went out and walked almost the whole day. Towards five o'clock I was with Collignon buying stamps, when Mme Sapogenikoff drove past in her landau with her children — and at that very moment Doria's brother and Count Somaglia passed by and saw my long dress as I stepped down from my carriage to get into Nina's.
Their gaiety makes me gay; truly, these Sapogenikoffs are delightful. We go to the café.
Before getting into Nina's carriage, my little beggars surround me; I give to them and chat with them. Doria and the pretty blond Italian always give to them too.
Ah! I was not then in my present mood, and I had not read about the festivities of the Duke's wedding — I had not yet envied, not raged, not wept.
Oh! I want to swear, to curse, to strike out, to scream. I am wretched, pitiable. Oh! Pity me, all of you, pity me!
To understand my fury, one must know me and read my journal from the beginning.