Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Wednesday, 22 September 1875

Yesterday as the day before, after staying some while in bed, I got up — but this time not to write verses, however poor they might be; I got up to have supper.
I wake in a most peculiar state, like the morning after the Niceois's departure. I am furious! I only stooped to him in the certainty of picking him up — and now he flies away like a leaf carried off by the wind! One draws closer, one thinks
one has him — but not at all! He is already far away. This chase has set my nerves on edge.
I am furious at having pursued something unworthy — and without success. Does one understand my meaning? If I had been beaten in a serious contest, I should have been distressed, very distressed, but I should have resigned myself in the end. But here! I only took any interest in it in the certainty of success. Oh! if only I had known! I thought I had only to give a sign — not even that, less still if possible!
"One should never make plans!"
And what shame before everyone, before all those close to me!
Fie, what a humiliating position. Good God! How I detest him for it!
I am dazed, and a new fear pursues me. The change in the Sapogenikoffs. Could they too, in order to follow the current… Oh! it would truly be extraordinary! To say nothing of their poverty — let us speak only of Yourkoff. Everyone looks askance at the arrangement; they refused to receive Paris at the club at first, and a remonstrance was made to the consul because he had introduced "a male kept-woman."
They who left Geneva because after the disaster the girls had been ill, and because in Geneva people were saying that they… — Oh! I cannot bear to repeat such infamy — that both of them had had a child! People said this! People said this of two little girls of sixteen and seventeen! Of two angels!
They whom we welcomed as our closest family. It would truly be too ugly!
And who knows? To do as Madame Howard, or to deserve an invitation from Madame Tutcheff, they will do it! It would set me against the whole of humanity — not as one usually means that — it would make me desire wealth and power three times over: to see all these people crawl at my feet, to crush them with my goodness and my haughty benevolence, to make them feel that — oh, no reproaches from me toward them!
But why am I so crushed!
What have I done to this world? Why does it persecute me from my very birth? It will kill me — for at such thoughts I become stupid, my eyes take on an idiotic expression, I want nothing, I am nothing, I am annihilated, annihilated — and I do not even weep.
Is that not shameful, my girl? Another would blush for it her whole life! And you — you are pleased! This refers to the evening.
But let us go first to the Promenade. First by carriage, then on foot with my aunt. She tired after half an hour and we sat on a bench — immediately Fiouloulou appears, saying that yesterday he and d'Audiffret had come to call, but seeing all the windows dark they dared not enter. A few minutes later arrives the magnificent fool, dressed as for the Bois, coming from the harbour where he has bought pottery jars for his olive oil. He is going to settle down. I could not help smiling at this, I who had said "an earthenware pot" as a joke — and now it turns out I had guessed it. I resolved immediately to clarify another point in my little song.
Cresci, the director of the Opera, passes by; Girofla seizes him and makes the introductions, talks of Italy, has me speak Italian, extols my voice to the maestro, declares that I must take lessons, etc., etc. Cresci, who already greeted me with bows before he knew me, will bow all the deeper now that his lord and master has introduced us.
The poor wretch was twenty thousand francs short of taking over the directorship of the theatre, and Girofla lent them to him on condition of repayment when profits allowed. So he is the god of this man.
The young man knows what is said of him, and before the Italian he conducted himself so as to confirm everyone in this impression.
— What does it matter to me, since I am leaving Nice?
— Then you will begin giving lessons to Mademoiselle, who has a magnificent contralto voice — then, turning to me:
— When shall it be, Mademoiselle?
This creature puts on airs of intimacy — but bah…
— First teach Monsieur to sing, I said to Cresci — and then we shall see. And I went off to join my aunt, who was already in the carriage.
This evening they come to us. How people tell each other everything — Cresci already knew from Saetone what sort of voice I have and how I sing.
I dress in white — Empire gown (not too Empire; that would be bold for my sixteen years), pink stockings, and Russian-leather mules. Before my mirror I nearly changed — I was afraid of being too adorned, for my face was so white and pink that it lent a particular brilliance to everything else. I do not change, and go down to the drawing room, where my aunt and the two Niceois are waiting.
— Is it true, Monsieur, that you have a particularly fine wardrobe mirror?
— Who told you that?
— Someone. But tell me — is it true?
— I do not know; I have a wardrobe mirror like any other wardrobe mirror — there is nothing extraordinary about it.
— Perhaps in your father's apartments? said Gaïuia.
— Ah! yes, that is true — he has enormous wardrobe mirrors.
— There, you see — I was quite right.
There is my other point clarified — and I take myself off from the drawing room to laugh at my leisure, while he remains there understanding nothing.
Each of them stole a medallion photograph — the Three Graces together — after many unsuccessful attempts.
We spoke of Smirnoff and his caricature, and as they absolutely insisted on seeing it, instead of sending the canvas downstairs I bring them up to my private study.
— It will be simpler, I said — you, Monsieur Gaïuia, take one candle, and you, Monsieur, another, and we shall go up.
And up we go — the staircase being covered in dust and fragments of plaster, the first floor being overrun by the masons — I lift my train, which does not displease me in the slightest; my feet and my Russian-leather mules demand eyes: they received four.
After examining everything while walking about the room with their candles, Girofla opens a cabinet and the first book whose title he reads is: Mémoires du maréchal duc de Richelieu. Good Lord! That is precisely what I did not want.
— Oh! ho! he said, in an expressive tone.
We go back down to the drawing room; at tea the man begins to tell — or rather, I make him tell — about his 1871 campaign.
He tells us how he stole bacon and geese from the peasants — the geese by seizing them by the beak to stop them from crying out.
I cannot picture him as a soldier, and I kept asking him the same things over and over, and he repeated them, and I laughed, and he laughed at my scant faith in his courage.
It seems he killed a Prussian. Just one!
I have recovered all my presence of mind; I am no longer stupid — I laugh, I even jest; I have recovered my familiar yet haughty manner; I am enchanted!
This morning I erased the tower, the horns and the tail, meaning to redo the man from life — but I could not manage it. This evening I have him put on his top hat and make him pose in every possible way.
— You will lose nothing by waiting — tomorrow you shall be in
your place. Do not laugh — come now, close your mouth! And naturally he opened it, laughed, then closed it — only for it to open again.
In profile now — full face — no, lower — push the hat down further.
— Have you seen La Belle Hélène? Fiouloulou interrupted.
— No, I say without turning, tilting my head first to one side then the other to better judge this face I have such difficulty copying — and also in order to look at him, for he is handsome.
— The thing is, the little one continued, there is in the first act an absolutely identical scene.
He is quite right. This is the place for the unflattering verdict on myself. I who was furious this morning am enchanted this evening. What do you expect me to do about it, since he amuses me, since I find him adorable! I hope I am at least being frank.
I no longer recall on what occasion he said:
— For my father, at the slightest noise, fires pistol shots at once.
— It must be dangerous to come to your house, I said.
— One evening I myself was received with a gunshot — I arrived without warning and, having the keys, let myself in, whereupon the gardener fired. For I had distributed old hunting rifles to all the servants.
How frightful.
I had meant to recount the English ladies affair, but that will be for later.
Then we speak of singing, and again:
— You absolutely must take lessons. I shall send you Cresci — are you free the day after tomorrow at ten o'clock? And we shall sing duets, etc., etc., etc…
Well — why not, indeed?
Tomorrow he is going to look with his Cresci and will tell me at the concert what they have found.
I, singing with d'Audiffret! For any other girl it might be dangerous — but I, armoured as I am!
No — it is very amusing.
Let us note here that there is always the jolt —