Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Tuesday, 26 October 1875

It is astonishing — I never look at the castle anymore, and I have no desire to do so. Whereas before, that was all I did.
I have returned from the theatre; they were giving Alice de Nevers, which at second hearing I find charming. It will become, I think, my favourite alongside Girofle-Girofla.
I am both enchanted and troubled — dazed, smoke and vapour in the head; perhaps in writing these clouds will dissipate. Often in this way I don't know what I am going to write — almost always, really — and as I write my ideas sort themselves out.
First let us say that we called on Mme de Ballore, to whom we have owed calls for a long time. I don't like going the first time, but once I have gone it all flows naturally, and now I would gladly see these charming women without end.
We collect Giroflé, all in pink and with conquering intentions. I am in white, coiffed in my own style; and in front, my crown of martyrdom peering out beneath a curl in the classical manner. Bibi is pleased with herself, Bibi is at ease — the cards predicted she would enjoy herself.
Two minutes after our entrance into the stage box on the first floor to the right, Bibi makes his into the ground-floor box on the left. This left box has been rented for the season by him: Roissard, Saëtone and company. This evening it is full — Bibi, Saëtone, Roissard, Laurenti, Bounin, etc. All these beauties make a devil of a racket, as if they owned the place, quite unconcerned with the audience — that is to say, they did it with great affectation.
The first to arrive, as always, is Fiouloulou; and soon after the whole buona compagnia bursts into the box — Saëtone, Pépino, Barnola, and Bibi, the last of these entering, as is his habit, only after a few monkey-like antics at the door;
"How did it go, after the dance?" I ask my friend Ricardo.
"Not badly," he says, starting to bounce.
"What dance?"
"At our place, Sunday."
"What! You danced without us?"
"Alas! But it is your fault — why do you not come?"
Everyone crowds round Barnola and he was about to tell the story; but I follow him into the box's little salon and forbid him to speak — everyone is in this "little rose salon."
"Allow me to remove something from there," says Bibi, looking at my crown.
"No, no — it has been put there on purpose."
"But they are rosebush branches — thorns — but why?"
"They are not rosebush branches; it is enamel, and it is for keeping back the hair."
"Not at all — they are real branches."
Then everyone turns toward us and my crown is discussed.
It produced the effect I desired.
Little by little Saëtone, Barnola and Fiouloulou take their leave.
I take my place behind my aunt, and Pépino places himself behind me; facing me is Olga, beside her Bibi.
I ask once more for my portrait, as on Sunday, and with the same success. I observe with eagerness and pleasure that I continue to improve and comport myself better and better. I was polite with Bibi — but not one inch more. Pépino was my suitor for the evening; in the shadow one could not see well, his complexion looked better, and his large dark eyes produced a most satisfying effect — so that I even took some pleasure in looking at him.
There was further discussion of my horns.
"It is quite simply," says d'Audiffret, "that Mademoiselle has put on that, because there was already the rose — and so the rosebush was needed; you see, you see how I say charming things."
"Oh! But that didn't work."
"That actor," he says, "is the one who plays in La Tour de Nesle."
"I have not seen La Tour de Nesle — it has been forbidden to me, along with Le Procès Veauradieux. I regret it."
"Have you seen Le Procès Veauradieux?" asked Girofla seriously, looking me straight in the eyes.
"No, Monsieur," I replied, meeting his gaze with limpid and candid eyes, "Maman would not allow it."
"And you, Bibi," I say, turning toward Giroflé, "have you seen it?"
"No."
Bibi is a little put out by the scant attention he receives — accustomed as he is to monopolizing everything. He makes what use he can of Olga, rubs his head against the wall — he is a curious animal! He always has to wedge himself into some corner, or hang from some tree, or bang his head against some wall. Truly, he is amusing.
"What!" he says. "You won't let M. Barnola tell us what costumes you wore on Sunday! To us — to intimates!"
"I was not aware you were our intimates."
"What! When one has danced together in the garden of that good M. Domandy, one is intimate — it is for life!"
"If you had danced with us last Sunday, then indeed it would be for life," I say, laughing and without noticing the slightest allusion in his words.
Marie, Marie, you are an angel! You are behaving like — like un sucre! Ah, there it is — un sucre — I say it at every moment; yet another of Bibi's expressions. He has ruined my manners.
Oh! Don't worry — only at home; before the world I am the same.
Pépino is the last to stay; when he leaves, I return to the front of the box as filth rises to the surface of water. Oh! Oh! My girl! Moderate yourself — what horrors you say! Fi!
So I return to the front of the box, taking care to assume a radiant expression after my conversation with Pépino.
We are stared at exactly as if we were Princess Souvoroff, or something even more curious.
I said that I was both enchanted and troubled — enchanted because, well, you know why; and troubled because my aunt thinks I ought to have been more amiable with him. With these words she makes me doubt the wisdom of my conduct, of which I had been so pleased! No — I will not listen to anyone; let others be du sucre with him; I mean to behave as I have decided.
The devil! Let no one trouble my head, let no one hinder me! Everyone does as they please. I am polite, I am proper — let no one ask more of me than that!
"I have a decision — a great decision — to make," I say to Pépino.
"Aha!" Girofla interjects. "What decision — let's hear it!"
"I am wondering," I say, having waited for Pépino to ask what decision, "whether I should let this hair grow or go on cutting it."
"You would do well to shave your head entirely," says the Surprising One.
"Let it grow, Mademoiselle," says Pépino.
"You think so?" I say, without acknowledging the Surprising One.
But as everyone had heard his remark and was repeating it.
"What? What did you say to me? I didn't hear."
"I said you should shave your head — but on condition of giving me all the hair."
I said nothing and continue with Pépino. What could I have answered! His words can only be attributed to supreme impertinence or supreme anger. One does not hear the impertinent when one cannot crush them; and as for anger — as for anger — I cannot presume to believe him angry with me.
But let us suppose — one may suppose anything — oh! no: to an irritated man one ought no more to respond than to an impertinent one.
Giroflé stays for supper until one in the morning, and in the most charming way imaginable we say such charming things that truly those gentlemen who are perhaps supping at this very hour would say no more. But let us give ourselves credit: we said the most — how to put it? well — with such grace and veiling that one guessed more than one heard; and having guessed, one remained quite giddy at the way in which things were said, or merely shown — for often we say nothing at all, we exchange a glance and it is done, and we burst out laughing. If anyone could have heard, that person would have admired our manner as worthy of the finest suppers of gentlemen.

Notes

Un sucre — literally "a sugar lump" — Bibi's expression for something perfect, delightful; Marie has wholly adopted it. ↩