Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Tuesday, 21 September 1875

Yesterday I had barely been in bed ten minutes when a quantity of rhymes presented themselves and gave me no peace until I got up, lit the candle, and set to writing:
Let us come now
To the fiery lord of the castle
Young man, abracadabrant,
Sometimes rich, sometimes a pauper
His sweet name is Émile
He is so fresh, so rosy
This superb imbecile
Who thinks of nothing but his pose.
Every day of the week
Dressed as a proper Niçois [Draft: nicart]
He drags himself about
Through the streets at random
But when Sunday comes
In formal coat and tall hat,
Like Godard pulling his cuff
He cuts a very fine figure.
Without [Draft: wit] success and without conquest
He [Draft: thinks himself] poses as Don Juan
This handsome boy so stupid
[Draft: This pretentious and stupid creature]
And sometimes one is deceived.
They say that with every young lady
He straightway pays court
That he is crafty and faithless,
The lord of the Tower!
They even say that many ladies
From high society and the demi-monde
[Draft: have answered his flame]
Are ready to damn their souls
For this agreeable young man
For two hundred leagues around
He is said to be the most gallant...
But can one believe the world
The world is so malicious!
This is intended to replace what is in the Nice review, composed at Schlangenbad.
I have barely written this when my pen demands to write
more — what? Let us see.
Lament

Up there, up there upon the hill, Look well upon that handsome château — It is not some old ruin still But a château both new and fine. I had superb terraces With immense chestnut trees, I had a great mirrored wardrobe, A kitchen, and cooks galore, I had horses and carriages, A coachman in livery, I had fine adventures, I had titled mistresses, I had a father, a stepmother, Three sisters, and a dog — But one day Papa in his anger Fired! And nothing remains. I had a grey frock coat, I had polished shoes, I had the whitest of shirts, My fingers were laden with rings, I had a white cravat, Another green one, a top hat — I was so handsome every Sunday! I am more wretched than Hecuba. I had a numerous retinue, I had Andriot, Galula, I had a clay flowerpot — Pity poor Girofla. I had a cane in the latest fashion That I wielded like a rifle, I had in my room a chest of drawers — Ah, my God, how fine I was! I charmed all the belles, I gave dinners at my own expense — My arrows were cruel, yes — I was the great d'Audiffret! In the theatres, at restaurants, In the cafés I was the master, I had piercing glances — One can no longer recognise me.
I was astonishing, magnificent — I was everywhere the most dashing. Near the garden, on concert days, Everyone found me most seductive.
The grand Café de la Victoire, Since my château has fled from me, Has lost its star, its glory — I was its main support.
The London House closed its door,
And the Maison Dorée trembled,
And the wind carries off my song,
And the clock of the Tower moans.
Up there, up there on the mountain,
You see that fine castle well —
Now I have only castles in Spain — I am on the third floor of the hotel.
This lament is sung to the tune of "Madame l'Archi-duchesse."
"Where I am going, one knows nothing of it, ma'am!"
I shall never finish this lament — I have found more rhymes. I am going to copy it out in the next book. It amuses me, and above all it composes itself so easily that it is a pleasure.
[At the end of carnet 43 there appear six pages of draft for the preceding verses with small variants. These pages are crossed out.
The following verses from the draft were not retained by Marie in her definitive version:]
I had a millionaire relative
Who had, I believe, been a second-hand dealer
Who bequeathed me all his money.
But his fortune is forgotten.
I had a good-natured aunt
Who wanted to give me the crippled one.
I had an uncle in the old town
Who also gave me his coat [?]
But I am nothing but an imbecile
And of all that nothing remains
I ate through all these fortunes,
I gambled and squandered them,
And not one of them remains to me,
I am completely stripped bare. After a meal so copious, my capricious nature
Made a mouthful of the château as of a good fat
Tuesday
H[is] G[race] t[he] D[uke] o[f] H[amilton]
The Forty-Fourth Book
from Tuesday, 21 September 1875 to Saturday, 25 September 1875
Nice, Promenade des Anglais 55 bis, in my villa.
21 September 1875 — continued
Lament of Girofla
Lament of Girofla

Up there, up there upon the hill, Look well upon that handsome château — It is not some ancient ruin still, But a château both new and fine. I had superb terraces With those immense chestnut trees, I had a great mirrored wardrobe And a cupboard full of shoes, A kitchen, and cooks galore, I had horses and carriages, A coachman in livery, I had amorous adventures, I had titled mistresses, I had a father, a stepmother, Three sisters, and a dog — But one day Papa in his anger Fired! And nothing of it remained. I had a grey frock coat, I had polished shoes, I had the most beautiful shirt, My fingers were laden with rings, I had a white cravat, Another green one, a top hat,
I was so handsome every Sunday — I am more wretched than Hecuba. I had a numerous retinue, I had Saetone, Galula, I had a clay flowerpot — Pity poor Girofla! I had a cane in the latest fashion That I wielded like a rifle, I had in my room a chest of drawers — Good heavens, how fine I was! I gave dinners at my own expense, Yes, my arrows were cruel — Ah! I was the great d'Audiffret! In the theatres, at restaurants, In the cafés I was the master, I had those piercing glances — One can no longer recognise me! I was astonishing, magnificent, I was everywhere the most dashing, Near the garden, on concert days, Everyone found me very seductive. I had a millionaire relative [Crossed out: who bequeathed me]
But his fortune is forgotten. I had a good-natured aunt Who wanted to give me the crippled one,

I had an uncle in the old town Who also left me his estate — But I am nothing but an imbecile And once again I have nothing. I ate through all these fortunes, I wagered, gambled, squandered — I suffered many misfortunes — I am completely stripped bare. After a meal so copious I made a mouthful of the château — I am a most capricious being, And that was my last cake. The grand Café de la Victoire, Since my fortune has fled, Has lost its star, its glory —
I was its main support.
The London House closes its door,
And the Maison Dorée trembles,
And the wind carries off my song,
And the clock of the Tower moans.
Up there, up there on the mountain, You see that fine castle well — I now have them only in Spain... I am on the third floor of the hotel.
"Add sometimes and often delete." I always add and rarely delete.
I take my revenge through this sorry tale of Girofla.
We encountered him twice — in his tall hat he is so handsome that it irritates me.
We were at the Sapogenikoffs' but they no longer go out — one cannot draw them from home, and the lodging on the Promenade has gone to their heads, I believe.
I am bored at seeing no one.
The Sapogenikoffs take a wild interest in Girofla — their coachman is the source from which they draw their intelligence.
— Another fortune to eat through for Monsieur Émile, the coachman tells them, pointing to a drapery shop — Audiffret frères — they say it is his uncle.
What a lucky rascal. He and his father between them have eaten through two immense fortunes, and each time he is broke, an inheritance falls on him as from heaven.
The father had a house built — it displeased him, he had it razed. Then a stable — the same. Then a well — the same again.
It recalls Caesar having his magnificent villa razed. The father is a man after my own heart, and the son copies his charming extravagances in every particular. I love it — it pleases me.

Notes

In English in the original. ↩
"L'estropiée" — a disabled relative offered as a prospective bride. ↩