Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Thursday, 13 May 1875

I was at the concert with Collignon and Olga; Marie and Nina had stayed behind at our house, having arrived in petticoats and white chemises. So — I was at the concert (Archduke dress, Watteau hat, good). Each time Girofla arrived, we were talking — whether by chance or by design — and that was very well done. The young man might have imagined all sorts of things that are not so.
His pallor and his sad expression interest me — I said so openly. I find him agreeable; I like him. Not love, but like.
"He must have some sorrow," says Collignon. If so, I pity him — for I say it again: I like this pleasant Girofla very much, so fresh, so pale now.
As on almost every day, we dine with the Sapogenikoffs.
Grand-papa asked whether there were many people at Baden-Baden, and what the Mortiers said about it — they go every summer with their shop.
"It is full," says Maman, "this year I do not know, but last year it was very crowded. The Duke of Hamilton was there with his wife."
"And were there as many people as before?" asks Grand-papa.
"Not as before, but a great deal. Besides, there was much gambling at roulette at a banker's house, and the Duke of Hamilton lost half a million."
They went on, but I had heard enough — that was it, as they say in Offenbach's nonsense. Mad, mad, mad — a hundred times mad to have said I had forgotten! Forgotten! Come now — does one forget such things? Does one... Oh! Devil take it! Am I uglier than that other woman? A hundred times no — I am whiter, younger, fresher, prettier; my figure is more supple, my skin firmer, my feet smaller.
Laugh, laugh! I enumerate it all the better to convey my indignation.
If I were ugly, stupid, ignorant, and did not love him — that would be understandable! But...
My God, why have You punished me so! Why, while everyone talks and laughs, do I stand apart and say nothing. They go into the garden, they dance, they leap, they shout — young and old alike, I among them — but in what a state! I say goodbye to Markevitch, who leaves tomorrow. I want to be alone, and I am surrounded.
Oh! What a wretched figure I cut — and how foolish my tears seem to me!
My God, my God, my God — You who can do all things, You who are so good, You who command us to forgive — then forgive me, for after all I have done nothing extraordinary!
Forgive me — and let me live!
Great God whom I love and in whom I believe — Creator, divine Author of all things. My Father, my God, have pity on me; lower Your eyes to where I am; deign to understand my wretchedness; let the tears that cloud my eyes in this moment pass, and let them return only as tears of joy and gratitude.
You know well, my God, that from the beginning I have prayed to You; that I have had, and have, no hope but in You; that without You nothing remains for me but death! My God, have pity on me. Forgive me my vanity, my ambition — above all in regard to this man — for I love him; I swear it to You, and You know it well! Forgive me, my God — for I do not know whether I weep for the man, or for the Duke of Hamilton.
I am ambitious — forgive me for it; enter into my soul, and You will see that it is not black. If ambition is a grave sin, then I am lost! Yes — but turned to good account, it does no harm. What was I asking, after all? To love him and to live as honestly as could be in the world, to make one man happy... But You thought, my God, that another would do it better. Your will be done.
But hear me then — give me what I have been asking for three years!
God — God, be the true God and not an idol one prays to in vain; give me words, inspire me with expressions to move Your heart!
But let Yourself be moved — is it not enough to believe and to pray?
Writing, I pray best; on my knees I recite prayers — but here, I truly pray.
Oh — but I am exasperated; it seems to me He does not hear me. My God, my God — let me hope; allow me at least to believe.
Hear me; suffer Your heart to be softened; take pity on me; forgive what wrong I have done — and hear me.
I am mad! I wish God would appear to me! Oh — then I would pray with such passion that, were I a hundred times less worthy, He would hear me and grant my prayer.
Holy Virgin and Son of God — to you I dare speak more freely; pray God to hear me. You, our Saviour — You were man; You will forgive me. Have pity on me. Holy Virgin Mary — You who were a woman!
Pray God to be merciful — pray Him to listen to me!
Let Him not make me languish forever; let Him save me; let Him be good to me!
Holy Mary — You whose name I bear, You, mother of Christ, You my protectress — look upon me with a favourable eye; do not turn away from my wretchedness; be good, be gentle — You cannot be otherwise — and try to soften God!
Oh! If there is a God, a Christ, a Virgin — they have heard me. II!!

Notes

In English in the original. ↩
A footnote appears in the original manuscript at this word; its content is not preserved. ↩