Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Wednesday, 20 October 1875

Bibi rises with the same disposition as yesterday — she is a little sad. But after two minutes it is quite the reverse. She goes to the pavilion and finds with visible satisfaction that she has given the word Bibi to everyone.
She receives a letter from Bibi-Marie who calls her Bibi and calls everyone Bibi. When I hear the others say Bibi at every moment, I feel proud, as though I had brought Bibi into the world.
"What is this Bibi?" asked Maman, astonished.
"Why, it is the word — or the name — of that scoundrel who loses his trousers at every moment," replies my aunt.
I have never noticed it. Walitsky imitates him in every way. My aunt says he tells stories in a ravishing manner. It is true — one always laughs.
What would I not give, good God, to be surrounded at this moment! He has gone away and I am alone. Oh! Rage! I would give all my diamonds to be, during these last fifteen days, very much surrounded and very much courted.
It is impossible — there are not yet enough people. I am not in fashion!
Ah! My God, how I wish I were! Only for these fifteen days here! Good God, I pray to You so! Oh, work a miracle. It is the only vengeance I ask — that I implore. Good God, Gentle Lord, Holy Virgin, hear my voice!
If I were in fashion, Bibi's defection would mean nothing to me — but he was the only one, he has gone, and I have no one. If I were in fashion, he would not have gone away entirely.
My God, make me fashionable. My God, I feel the full absurdity of this prayer, and I repeat it nevertheless. Good God, make me fashionable.
Yes, but what miracle could accomplish it? Because of Bibi, all the ugly Niçois used to follow me. No more Bibi — no more anyone!
I have a new passion: baccarat. I have a supernatural desire to go to Paris — for my dresses, which seem to me failures. But I shall say more later. It hailed, it rained, and finally one can go out. I was taken to all sorts of shops, which bored Bibi. Then Bibi goes on foot with the aunt; Bibi is in a dark, short dress and a grey felt hat; Bibi is a little pale.
"Blush in advance," the aunt tells her, "for here comes your beauty who loses his trousers."
The distance was not sufficient to contain a blush, and Bibi blushed at the very moment Bibi accosted the aunt.
Bibi begins by saying, by way of excuse, that he has been here only three days.
He walks with the ladies along the Promenade, and once again all eyes seem to devour this group.
What is the matter with them here? And what is there so extraordinary?
From the way Bibi was approaching, he was about to place himself beside Bibi, but the aunt by a skilful manoeuvre pushed him to the right and placed herself between the two Bibis. Bibi does not speak to Bibi, and Bibi is vexed.
When Bibi had gone, the aunt pretended to fly into a rage. She called him the one who loses his trousers at every moment, said that he had a scratched nose, called him a rogue, a villain, said that he had met us deliberately, that she saw clearly through his whole game, that Bibi was a disgusting scoundrel, an abominable creature, an impostor, a vile poseur, that he did all this deliberately.
As for Bibi, she comes home quite cheered and revived.
"Until this evening, Madame," said Bibi on leaving.
This evening Alice de Nevers, an opéra-bouffe by Hervé, is being given for the first time, and our box has been reserved for a long time — the stage box on the first tier, right side: Gioia's box.
I dress with more care than usual. A Marie-Antoinette coiffure, minus the powder. All the hair swept up, even the fringe in front — I leave only a few small wisps on each side. My beautiful forehead, so white, uncovered, gives me a royal air. And behind I let two long, wide curls hang down, waved and curled only at the ends.
A gown of pigeon-throat grey taffeta and a white fichu. In a word, Marie-Antoinette in full. I feel well and I look down upon the vile multitude from the height of my grandeur.
At the same moment I come to the front of the box, Bibi enters the stalls. The Sapogenikoffs are in a box on the dress circle.
Lighting a giorno. I am much looked at — and well looked at.
The impression produced on Bibi was favourable — I feel it. And at first he could not help looking at me like the others, but afterwards he stared very attentively at the stage, which produced a grimace that made him very ugly.
Bihovetz comes, Barnola comes, Coco comes, Walitsky comes, Fiouloulou comes. But Bibi was so occupied with Bibi that she could barely respond to what was said to her. It seemed to Bibi that she resembled La du Barry — it was probably only a feeling, just like that.
Bibi at each interval would go to sit at the back of the box, so that in the event of a visit she would not have to turn her head at every instant. But the last act comes, and this time Bibi sits in the armchair on the left, admirably lit by the nearby wall sconce — Bibi was radiant.
Bibi and Saetone are at the Prefect's wife's box. Do you see — Bibi posing as a serious man and going only to the Prefect's!
At the moment the curtain rises, these two beauties rise and within a minute are in our box. I receive them with perfect naturalness.
Maman had just left. My aunt remained with us.
On the Promenade I spoke to him and he did not listen; this evening I do not speak to him at all, and he speaks to me then.
He has a strange look about him;
"What a funny play!" I say. "I understood nothing."
"In a few days I shall tell you the story," says Saetone. "I shall come to tell it to you at your house."
"Oh! Yes — you will come when I am no longer there, perfidious one!"
"What — is it certain, then? You are leaving?"
"Good heavens, yes, Monsieur."
"But no," says Bibi — as though one had pricked him with a pin — "Mademoiselle will not leave."
I do not deign to answer. Saetone leaves. Bibi remains a few minutes more — I am polite, almost amiable, but cold. He turns about on himself and asks me if I still paint.
"Yes, always."
"And the four corners are finished?"
"Yes, they are all filled."
"And may one see them?"
"They are well hidden — up there, up there."
A few more words and Bibi leaves, pressing my hand. But neither this morning nor this evening do I feel any tremor. Which leads me more and more to believe that it came from him — for if ever there were to be a tremor in me, it would be now.
They gave an ovation to Hervé, but they also hissed. The piece will not go far.
At the exit we meet the Sapogenikoffs.
"You were superb!" Marie tells me.
Bibi is not at the exit.
Home again, I rush to Maman's room. The news had to be told.
We speak of Bibi and of me.
"It was after the explanation at the garden party that he began his manoeuvres," says my aunt.
"But what explanations?" cries Maman. "I am always asking."
"A silly thing," I say, "of the sort he says to everyone."
"But after all, did he tell you he loved you?"
"More or less."
"Well then, you should have answered him seriously — you should have said: 'Monsieur, you do not even know yourself whether you love me; you know me so little.'"
"Oh, yes — very good — and he would answer me: 'You are right, Mademoiselle — I do not love you at all.'"
You do not know this serpent, this monster — and you speak of him at your ease. But he is a griffin — he is a mythological animal, half I know not what, half man! I am sorry to grant him such importance; I prefer to pass over in silence people who aim at something else, to punish them.
Do you not understand, then, that I must not miss a single one of his movements, a single one of his manoeuvres, as my aunt says?
There are moments when I think he does not give a fig for me, and others when I believe he does everything deliberately — that he is manoeuvring.
He is the devil, I tell you, and this boy has given me bad blood!
"The scythe has met the stone," says Madame my mother, philosophically.
"Yes indeed — that is what makes it interesting."
And we chatter on and on, and my aunt recounts without too much embellishment all the principal facts that occurred during Maman's absence, and finishes by saying that the handsome one is a horror who does nothing but lose his trousers.
"And you will end by marrying him," says Maman.
"No — but one day we shall have something to do with each other."
"You hear that, Nadia?" says Maman.
Then we go down to supper, and there I deliver several speeches — I say what I think of the great affair.
[Written across the page: My fine friend, if I remember rightly, it was you who, in order to attract him, inaugurated the coldness and the disdain — and now here you are complaining! That this young man has withdrawn upon seeing your disagreeable airs is not unjust.]
"And you know, it is only the beginning with Gioia — I am certain I shall have her before me again. Oh! But the third time I shall make a scene — I shall slap her face. It is dreadful, is it not? But what can one do? You think it is agreeable to have her always there!"
I am enraged. But then, he too — a brutish, depraved creature — he prefers a female, a woman of the streets, to a respectable woman. It is infuriating, one must agree.
We utter such fine things until two o'clock, and at two I go to bed — but first I draw the cards. And the cards — those dear cards which have announced everything to me, even the reunion of Bibi with the Pirate (I had taken that for Dina's marriage) — well, those blessed cards tell me that I shall triumph. I draw them for Bibi, and: Bibi is grieved; Bibi thinks of me; the queen of hearts — she — is beneath his feet; he is anxious; the distance of the queen of diamonds — me — causes him great sorrow; he is furious.
I draw the cards for the Pirate, and listen: great vexation caused by a fair-haired young girl and a dark-haired king; money troubles; anxiety caused by the reunion of the fair-haired young girl and the dark-haired king.
As the cards told me all this I was going mad with joy, and my face was curious to behold. As for me, the cards say that I shall succeed and that I shall find my peace in the king of clubs.
Let us not forget the letter that was announced to me by de Daillens and which comes up with obstinacy — a letter that will come from a king of clubs, that will interest me incredibly, that will overwhelm me and give me pleasure, and that will be, in a word, a love letter. It is the cards that say so — not I. I-Bibi am so happy with these predictions that one cannot imagine my joy.
I go to bed three times delighted and impatient for tomorrow.

Notes

Alice de Nevers, an opéra-bouffe by Hervé (Florimond Ronger, 1825–1892), premiered in Paris on 22 April 1875. This was the Nice premiere, six months later. ↩
A giorno (Italian) — full, brilliant illumination, as bright as daylight. ↩
Madame du Barry (1743–1793), the famous last mistress of Louis XV — one of the great beauties of the 18th century. Marie continues the Marie-Antoinette period imagery. ↩
A Russian proverb meaning one has met one's match — the scythe, which cuts through everything, has struck a stone and can go no further. Marie's mother is speaking in Russian; Marie translates. ↩
Maman speaks in Russian. "Nadia" is the diminutive of Nadezhda (Hope) — Marie's aunt's name. ↩