Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 15 May 1875

Maman, ma tante, and Nina go to Monaco — and we go to the château!
To Toto's château — to the château of Emile Audiffret, rosy, pretty, and fresh. I had not mentioned before that Terffidua possessed a château; but now that I have seen it close, I shall describe it. Everyone sees it from afar, for it dominates the whole city — and I set my watch by the great clock of the château.
Ha? Does that not sound well?
Pardi! as our coachman says.
Marie and her sister come to fetch me in their landau. Marie says to go somewhere near the château to look at it; the coachman smiles and takes the lane by Krohn's. We approach, laughing and chattering and blushing at every moment — and as we speak in French, when we begin to admire the château aloud, the coachman joins the conversation:
"Yes, how pretty it is — if you could see from up there, from the tower, it's a ben different thing — you can see touté la villé."
"Really?"
"And voui (yes)... Would you like to go in?" our conductor continues.
"But one cannot go in?"
"Yes — you just have to ask permission; it's easy!"
"But we do not wish to."
"But I shall see to it."
"No, no — no indeed."
And the coachman insists as if he were paid to do so, and we refuse and refuse.
"Well — will you at least go round?"
"The tour, then," I say, thinking he will take us round by another street. But what is my — our — astonishment! He stops before one of the gates. I forget the château itself: the château is built of dressed stone, with two towers, cross-shaped windows, terraces, an immense entrance gate at ground level — high enough to be called a first floor. There are also the service quarters to the right, or the dining room — I am not sure which — but the whole is very fine.
The garden is immense — or rather, the grounds, for there are no trees.
One descends from the house by fine terraces down to the garden; there is an immense lawn in front, then paths and greensward awaiting flower beds. The property is enclosed by a handsome wall with openings here and there; there is a gate facing the château, while the main entrance is to one side.
Two towers and an iron gateway, surmounted by a vault or — I don't know what to call it — besides which, the flies prevent me from writing!
The towers stand apart from the main building — a true entrance to an ancient château. In short, everything is grand, rich, and handsome, if not marvellous in taste.
The coachman then stops before one of the gates and begins to call: "Monsieur Emile! Monsieur Emile!"
For the first moment we did not understand — then:
"Not him — not him!" cries Marie.
"No, no — I don't want to — we don't want to."
"But I shall just take you through the garden," says the man, astonished.
"But we don't want to," I say — and the coachman persists.
"But no!" I cry at last. "For nothing in the world do I want to. But whom are you calling?"
"Pardi! The master of the château — Monsieur Emile." Oh! If he had heard!
Three madwomen at the gate.
One should have heard us shrieking — we were as in a nightmare, crying and laughing at the same time.
Laughing because we wanted to go in, and shrieking because we were afraid to.
This coachman intrigued us; Marie and I questioned him. He knows the châtelain very well — he was formerly coachman in the household, drove M. Emile to the Lycée, and used to play billiards with him:
"You know the café on the Rue Cassini?" he says, by way of explanation.
"What — with you?"
"Yes — with queu moi."
"How long ago was that?"
"Eight years."
"But how old is he then?"
"Twenty-three."
"But then he never finished his studies?"
"No — when he came into his fortune he left straight away and went off on his own."
"From whom did he inherit the fortune?"
"From his grandfather."
"And he lives quite alone in the château?"
"Yes — quite alone."
"And his father and mother?"
"The méreu is out walking, and the father is away."
"Ah!"
"Yes — I know Monsieur Emile very well, I tell you!" And on that, our coachman, our cicerone, turned back to his horses, thoroughly pleased with himself.
We drove down, praying God to let us encounter the little peasant — the lane is narrow and two carriages cannot pass. But God did not hear our prayer, and we only saw him on the Promenade, between Saëtone and another Pepino, I think, then once more.
Today it is we who run after him — but properly, I hope.
Can one not meet by chance — above all on the Promenade?
"Listen," I say to my two companions, "I have thought of telling the story differently from how it was. I have already deceived Dina once — I want to deceive her again."
"What will you say, so that we can support you?"
"I do not know yet — inspiration will come. Leave it; listen, and you shall hear."
"Very well."
One can see that the most perfect harmony reigns among Aglaé, Thalie, and Euphrosine. That is what we call ourselves — the three founding members of the society, as it is known. I am Thalie, Marie is Aglaé, and Olga Euphrosine. You see? The Three Graces.
I arrive at the house, running, followed by my two Graces.
I rush upstairs and burst like a bombshell into Dina's room, crying:
"Ah! I have no more legs — I have no more head — I have no more legs! Ah!"
"What is it? What! But tell me!"
"Tell us, Marie — come now."
"Marie, Olga — be quiet, say nothing!" I go on crying, hurrying about, out of breath, running around the room.
At last I draw Collignon into my room and tell her the story — adding that when the coachman called, he appeared, was as charming as could be, showed us the château; that we would not get out of the carriage, but that he walked alongside the carriage door and took us round the garden, told us about all the rooms, that on the highest tower there is an observatory, and so on and so forth. I say all this with great gestures, theatrical swoons, stopping now to catch my breath, now to pace around the room.
The result of all these antics is that they believe me as though it were the Gospel.
"That is why he looked at me so much," says Collignon. "Ai, ai, ai."
"Yes — no doubt that is why."
I repeated the same tale to Dina; but Collignon learned the truth before dinner, while Dina — who has been caught for the second time — will not find out until tomorrow.
"So we shall bow to each other now!" she says — as the other time she said:
"Oh! Now it is no longer interesting, since one knows him!"
Oh, the fool! That is twice now — wait for the third.
Maman arrives and I repeat the story to her. Dina, from her room, listens and is convinced — while Maman knows the truth. Having seen the Sapogenikoffs home, I was returning with Collignon when the carriage full of Maman, Nina, and Walitsky goes by; Nina stays at her house, we get in, and it was in the carriage that I had warned Maman.
There is no great merit in lying like that — almost everything was true.
I laugh like a madwoman — worse even — and the others follow suit. What an infernal concert!
I note everything down to remember afterwards — for surely these follies will give me pleasure.

Notes

Terffidua: an anagram of "Audiffret," one of Marie's code names for him. ↩
Pardi: a mild popular oath, roughly "Indeed!" or "By Jove!" — characteristic of the Niçois working class. The coachman's speech throughout this entry is rendered with a slight provincial flavour. ↩
Marie renders the coachman's Niçois accent phonetically: ben autré chosé ("quite another thing"), touté la villé ("all the city") — final vowels pronounced in the Provençal manner. ↩
A footnote appears in the original manuscript at this passage; its content is not preserved. ↩
Châtelain: lord of the château — an ironically grand term for the twenty-three-year-old Audiffret. ↩
Queu moi: Niçois dialect for que moi ("just me"). Marie transcribes the coachman's accent faithfully. ↩
Méreu: Niçois dialect for mère (mother). ↩
Cicerone: a guide, from the Italian — evoking Cicero as a guide to ancient Rome. Marie uses it with ironic affection. ↩
The Three Graces of Greek mythology — Aglaia, Thalia, and Euphrosyne — personifications of charm, beauty, and joy. Marie, Marie Sapogenikoff, and Olga Sapogenikoff have formed a secret society under these names. ↩