Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Sunday, 6 June 1875

I am impatient to go to the concert — it is hot, one is bored, and besides I must see Audiffret about tomorrow's excursion. We see him at the concert, in white — this fellow is always badly shaved; what a pity!
He will come this evening. He comes and finds us on my terrace — made on the model of Gioia's, of my dear Gioia — where we have been since eight o'clock. Nina, my aunt and the three Graces. We had first been imitating the frogs singing melodiously in the basin beside the terrace, then we all turned to barking — everyone, even Nina (oh! she is a good comrade) — at every passer-by and every carriage.
Look, says Nina — and these are girls of sixteen! Indeed. But is it better to bay at the moon as young ladies do?
Besides, we laugh the whole day — near the London House we see Girofla again before dinner, and there too we laugh.
I had bought some honey, and not knowing what it was, he picks it up and tries to put it in his pocket — I had the extreme stupidity to warn him. Without that it would have been delightful. Yourkoff and Walitsky, who are inseparable, follow us everywhere by cab.
But I was saying, I believe, that we were on my terrace and Girofla had just arrived — yes, that's it — after the cries and the barking, of course. We arrange tomorrow's excursion in a brake at four o'clock. It is settled. Then we go in for tea.
Oh! here, before beginning to write, I laugh all alone like an animal. We are speaking of Gambart, of his châteaux, of the people who visit him, of the reception he gives his visitors.
Collignon then says that a few days ago four Englishwomen came to our house asking to visit, and that they asked her what was that château on the hillside and went to see it.
Yes, says Audiffret, and he recounts our expedition point by point. I gave orders not to let them in.
— You see, I said, how you treat those who come to your house — then complain that no one comes.
— Oh! but those ones were too hideous. But with what audacity — they sent for the gardener; he did not want to let the carriage in, so they said: Very well, we shall come in on foot. And they strolled about as if they were at home. I calmly opened my window and I see these she-monkeys — ah! but listen, there was one who walked like this (and he imitates the gait that Marie had adopted).
— Yet, Monsieur, Collignon interrupts — the little girls were not bad at all; there was one especially with golden hair.
— And they looked at me, there, the handsome man of Nice continues, like something worth seeing.
— Yes, like goldfish in an aquarium, said I.
— Exactly. Ah! but then they came to the baths, straight from my house.
— Yes, I saw them there — I was with Mlle Collignon. They were sitting on the ground and on the bench.
— Oh yes — they sat down everywhere.
My God, we could bear it no more.
It was too much. I rushed out as if to fetch my fan.
We speak of the Englishwomen again and he recounts that at the baths there was one who could not walk — it was Nina, sinking into the pebbles.
I was plain from laughing so hard. He had the air of perfect innocence while recounting all this — and then he told another story of much the same kind, which we laughed at for form's sake, and also laughed at Krohn who has taken it upon himself to sweep the city of Nice.
The Sapogenikoffs make an impossible uproar — one is forced to shout as well, and it is atrocious.
I shall never forget this. In itself the expedition was not funny — but to hear it recounted by this man, to hear how we appeared described, to hear us called horrors, monkeys, caricatures, to hear our gestures recounted!
Sure of not being recognised, I had stopped before his window and looked at him through my spectacles with a frightful grimace.
I think he knows — but Collignon, who watched him the whole time, assures me he does not; and indeed he had an entirely natural air and gave no sign by word or glance of suspecting anything. I am dying of laughter.
Picture all of us at table listening to this story. Ah, mercy.
And as he speaks of Nina — there was one who kept lifting her veil to walk.
And he laughed because we laughed, and showed how she lifted her veil.
H[is] G[race] t[he] D[uc] o[f] Hamilton

Notes

Marie's private dedication/inscription: "His Grace the Duke of Hamilton." In English in the original. ↩