Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Sunday, 27 October 1875

One looks far for what is near at hand. Witness: Pépino.
Because of this wretched Bibi I have stained a nice white dressing gown with paint. I went to the first floor, opened the shutters and sat at the window, where I remained until I had seen Bibi at his window — then I went away; not altogether: I sat down in the corridor, and from behind closed shutters, through a little crack, I peered at the Surprising One, who showed himself several times, though he could not see me. I could plainly see the grey sky, but I did not expect such detestable rain! And I who —
I find my mothers at Nina's, and my aunt tells me she encountered Girofla twice: once at Desforges's, and again — this time merely a sighting — in the salon of the Théâtre Italien, dancing on one foot before Cresci and Saëtone.
A praiseworthy occupation!
I do nothing but reel off fragments from Alice de Nevers — especially a certain "Portez ar!... quebuses!" and the "Oui papa!" that Tiste's eight daughters reply to his "Portez, ar!"
And it so happens that Grand-papa is greatly vexed when I cry it out, which makes me laugh; everyone laughs, and I repeat it so often that by evening it is my aunt who answers: Oui papa!
I spend the day shouting, laughing, teasing Grand-papa — but not seriously; he himself almost laughs.
I would so like someone to call this evening. They are giving Girofle-Girofla — it is the first time we have missed it. I consult the cards; they are not as brilliant as yesterday, yet brilliant enough that I keep myself coiffed and nearly ready.
People speak so well of the man's face that I find him beautiful.
Yesterday, when he looked at me seriously, asking whether I had seen Veauradieux, I admired a pair of superb eyes — not those Italian eyes, dark and oily, but lively, brilliant, adorable eyes.
Let us say once and for all that he is handsome; add to his good looks the reputation that is made for him — preceded by that which has been made for, or has been made by, his father — and you will grant that he is interesting.
One day I said: "This boy will go far." And Maman spent the whole day asking me why I thought so, and where he would go, and so on.
He will go far — along the path of virtue.
I boasted of my conduct yesterday — there was nothing to boast of; if I appeared indifferent, it is because I was indifferent. For the moment they had all gone I became furious that my aunt had not invited them in; I tore off my gloves furiously, breaking all the buttons, and had quite some difficulty calming myself. Does no one understand that I am bored?
To spend an evening in the family — why, it is to the mind what a watering can is to a fire! What does one talk of? Household miseries, or — as a treat — Girofla. Arts, history — one doesn't even hear the words. I feel myself slowly going stupid. I do nothing. I want to go to Rome; I shall take up lessons again.
I am bored! I feel myself gradually wrapped in the spider's web that covers everything here. But I struggle! I read.
No one will come — ten o'clock has already struck. The cards told me as much. Ah, the cards. I yawn. I shall read and sleep.