Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Monday, 7 June 1875

Volume the 34th
begun Monday, 7 June 1875 — finished Friday, 25 June 1875
Promenade des Anglais 55 bis, in my villa
They say, he who laughs on Friday will weep on Sunday. I laugh all week long, Fridays included, and I do not weep.
I write to Mme de Mouzay and her daughter asking them to come — we have so neglected them this winter.
At four o'clock everything is ready — Audiffret arrives with the break harnessed to four fine horses, and off we go. My aunt, myself, Dina, Marie, Olga, de Daillens, Yourkoff, Galula, and Audiffret. Maman, Collignon, and de Mouzay follow in the landau. We drive out to the banks of the Lou[p] (I don't know how to spell the name) — the road is cool and pleasant. I love seeing Audiffret known to all the peasants, and especially to all the peasant girls. They call him M. Émile, and he has the air of being the native son of the place — but it is not enough merely to be the native son, one must also look the part. I am not in the mood to write; it is late. Yesterday evening it was agreed: frolicking from six to seven, and indeed we go frolicking — everything is so jolly that in trying to run across a fallen tree [Crossed out: cut down that was there. my poor] I fall flat on my stomach, but not ungracefully, and spring back up at once with a great deal of agility, and of grace, I believe.
M. Émile has us play the little-papers game — that is to say, one writes a lady's name on a piece of paper, then passes it to someone else who, without looking at the name, must write a gentleman's name, then the paper is passed again and a third person, still without looking, must write where they are going.
Then in the same manner one writes what they say to each other, what comes of it, and what society says about it. Everyone knows this game, of course. One combination came out very droll.
M. Saëtone and Mme Prodgers had gone to Rumpelmayer's. "In my arms, baby," said Prodgers. — "Again, darling!" replied Saëtone. The result was: love. And society said: perfectly natural.
There were several others equally droll.
Audiffret called over a little shepherd boy and told him to give a bouquet to the most beautiful lady — and the little Paris awarded it to my aunt. Se non è vero, è ben trovato.
I flirt with Yourkoff, who doesn't quite know what that means and makes me laugh with his astonished eyes — and Girofla takes it seriously and thinks Yourkoff and I are engaged in a regular flirtation. Not bad at all. We dine on the meadow but, fortunately, with a proper table and chairs, not like at Spa. I am pleased to note several attentions from Girofla at dinner — he who is always disagreeable in such circumstances.
I am pale and not pretty.
We play forfeits again. Audiffret conducts himself like an angel. We appreciate his delicacy when it fell to Dina to kiss the underside of whoever was holding a candlestick: he went to fetch one, and at the moment everyone expected him to place it on his own head, he placed it on Marie's instead.
Maman admired this, and I said to myself: If only it were Gericke!
— Ah yes, if it were Gericke! Ugh, the foul and impertinent man!
On the way back, Girofla and I were seated beside each other — and again he conducted himself like an angel. Oh! If in the darkness I had the misfortune to be seated next to Gericke in a carriage!
Witness the kiss I received on my right hand returning from the picnic at Spa. Truly he is pleasing and well-bred. Yourkoff attempted a few risqué jokes and Audiffret did not rise to them, did not even smile.
[Written across the page: In admiring Audiffret's conduct I prove that I was a child with not the slightest notion of men, and of society least of all.]
What was stupid was that we told them — Audiffret and Galula — that we called them Girofla and Fiouloulou. We were forced to do so by that dreadful Yourkoff, who threatened to reveal the business of the English girls, which Nina had disclosed to him with inconceivable stupidity.
We had to extricate ourselves somehow and chose [Crossed out: the simplest] the least difficult course... Audiffret had some trouble swallowing his nickname, which is fortunate — I had feared he might take it too well. Fiouloulou laughed and amused us all, pronouncing the name in the most sentimental fashion imaginable while gazing up at the stars.
On the way back we sing. I sang Dormi pure and sang it well, doubtless leaning on the word Gioia. Then I sang the serenade from The Barber — Se il mio nome — equally well.
Then Yourkoff struck up Down our mother Volga and we all joined in chorus. And finally we entered the town at eleven o'clock in the evening howling and barking and caterwauling ferociously.
— Tomorrow at the sea baths? Audiffret said to me, quietly enough to make my ears prick up.
— I don't know, Monsieur.
— You never know when I ask you, he replied in the same tone, even more gently.
— I have lessons.
— Send your tutors packing, really, Mademoiselle.
— What is he saying? someone asked.
— Fatherly advice to a daughter, the man replies.
— Yes, said I — to send my tutors to the devil.
We leave de Daillens at her door, and the Sapogenikoffs and Paris at theirs, so that we return home alone with the two men from Nice.
It displeases me to see Audiffret keeping company with that little Jew Galula.
In helping me down from the break he pressed my hand so firmly that I blushed — fortunately it was dark — though in truth I had expected it.
And again the same upon saying goodbye. I expect it — and I like it. The man is young and handsome and pleases me well enough.
From the window I call Léonie.
— Ah, so this is the window! Audiffret calls up to me — he is only halfway across the street.
— No, this is the landing — mine is over there.
— The last one?
— But since you said you watch and see everything, my aunt has had the shutters lowered. Good night.
— Good night, Mademoiselle.
— Good night, Monsieur.
This young man pleases Maman.
— What a shame he is not a prince! she says as she goes to bed.
She and my aunt think I am in love.
Fools! No, not fools — for if I myself am astonished to be made as I am, they all the more may know nothing of it. Is it natural, indeed, that at sixteen one should have nothing but calculations in one's heart and head? I don't complain of it — quite the contrary.
Madame my mother is not pleased because I did not shine. I was out of sorts.
I am forgetting one thing.
Girofla, in singing every verse in existence, sang the one from the Brigands which begins thus:
There was once a prince
Fair as the day.
Further on it says that all the ladies died of love for him and one in particular, the prettiest, went so far as to come to court. But instead of "came to court" [vint à la cour], he sang "climbed the tower" [monta à la tour] — sending a smile to Galula as he did so.
My aunt opened her mouth to exclaim, but I pinched her so hard she fell silent.
Can you imagine!
Well, no — he does not know the English girls business; it is our escapade without disguise, and the coachman who served him, that he is alluding to.
Those good girls Marie and Olga described the coachman to him and recounted what the coachman told us about him — Girofla — only last evening.
In any case, it is wrong.
I am neither pleased nor displeased. A tepid, insipid day. I laughed — but I come home at peace.

Notes

A break was an open four-wheeled carriage with facing bench seats, fashionable in the 1870s. ↩
In Italian in the original: "If it's not true, it's a good story" — a common Italian proverb. ↩
"Dormi pure" — In Italian in the original: aria meaning "Sleep peacefully." ↩
"Se il mio nome" — In Italian in the original: aria from Rossini's The Barber of Seville, meaning "If you wish to know my name." ↩
"Le long de notre petite mère, la Volga" — French rendering of the Russian folk song "Вниз по матушке по Волге" ("Down our Mother Volga"). ↩