Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Sunday, 14 November 1875

After church I take Giroflé, and after chattering together at my place, we go out with my aunt on foot. My aunt in a magnificent dress; I in white, but new and pretty — a plain white flannel dress, and yellow boots with openwork Greek-key embroidery.
The band was playing its last gasps when Galula and Godard join us; ten paces further on, Gautier and Chevalier do the same. By a clever manoeuvre on both sides, I find myself between Godard and Chevalier — "in the prefecture," as my aunt afterwards put it.
I am perfectly happy during the four times I walk up and down the Promenade in the company of these amiable swine. Godard has classical reminiscences, and I talk to him of Plutarch and Offenbach.
There is an incredible crowd, into which we plunge up to our necks. But it is very pleasant from time to time and in company.
I am happy! For all my enemies — I have many — have seen me surrounded. The malicious talk will redouble, but I do not care. They do me the honour of taking a great deal of notice of me and of gossiping about me at great length, for good and ill. Have I not always wanted this?
My Journal suffers, for I have begun to write a novel — and I shall succeed; thank God I am capable of everything I set my mind to. Two chapters in two days — that is moving briskly along. I read to Dina and my novel interests her. But I know how to judge for myself, even my own self, and I believe it will go well.
While we walked on foot, Bibi was driving about in his carriage — all stiff, all serious. And I was pleased, proud.
Of what, good God!
I am small and vain — that said, I continue.
I take care to express the desire to return to the carriage before my suitors express theirs to withdraw. They even begged me to do another turn. Very good.
They escort us to the landau — barely are we alone before Bibi appears as if from underground. He stops. That's more like it!
— Mademoiselle, you are — today — he said, looking at my dress.
— Is not this jacket pretty?
— Ravishing.
— But where are you? — one sees you no longer.
— Oh! I stay at home in the country — I am like this, quite cast down!
— Good God, what is the matter with you?
— I do not know — I am quite cast down.
— Throw away your rose, my aunt told him — it is withered.
— I picked it myself in my garden.
— But it is quite withered.
— Oh! My rose is like me — it is cast down.
— Everything is cast down, said Olga — only the top hat is not.
— That too, said Girofla — all manner of misfortunes have befallen it; someone sat upon it — but after all, it is no concern of mine; it is his affair.
That is all I retain of the conversation. I must be mad! Soon they will put me in the madhouse run by Saëtone.
Truly, I am going mad! Now my infatuation comes back — and the way the man spoke to me, the way he looked at me — through some indefinable something I seemed to see — no, it is too silly to say — in short, you understand me.
If you understand, you understand also what mood I am in. And the curious thing is that I do not love him at all.
But in the evening we learn some pretty things. Jeanne, the little daughter of Daniloff — a little devil of eight years old — says she knows the Audiffrets and has been to the Tower. I immediately sit her on my knees, the others gather round, and we question her.
Before saying what she told us, I shall say how greatly all the scoundrels here occupy themselves with me — under the chairmanship of d'Aspremont, it has been decided to crown Gautier because he is in favour.
Old Audiffret has removed his eldest daughter, Marie, from the convent. He keeps her locked up at the Tower. When one asks for M. Audiffret and his daughter, the concierge answers they are in Italy — one can only enter with a password. The daughter is in love with Gnom, the Italian tenor, runs after him, goes out alone, is accosted by men, blows kisses to her tenor.
Old Émile walks about his estate in a red flannel jacket and a large velvet hat with a white feather.
The daughter disguises herself as Rosina and as Almaviva.
— She is a fallen woman, said Jeanne.
She hates me, apparently — with the boarding-school mistress who takes Jeanne to the Tower, she says a heap of horrors about me; this fine opinion of me is formed by a quantity of little people who pour their gossip into her ears.
— She is a girl without name, without fortune, and without reputation, says Émile's sister about me — she is so poor she has only one white dress; she makes eyes at gentlemen and in her carriage looks at passers-by with great pride. Her family does not dare return to Russia. The kinds of young ladies who accompany her are little dogs and worse — she is going to tell Émile to stop going to her house; she is quite vexed that he made her acquaintance, and at the first opportunity she will speak to him about it.
There! Not bad at all.
Then the little devil Jeanne tells us that Mme Audiffret had shut her daughters in a convent so as to enjoy their allowances. Marie, speaking of her mother, says: dirty woman.
The baby resembles Émile — has quite his nose, and blinks like him — and Émile does not like it and says it is ugly.
In a few days Marie is going to declare to the judges with whom she wants to live, and to tell them about her mother's conduct. When old Audiffret learnt that Gnom pleased his daughter, he dismissed Gnom — but Marie disguises herself and follows him into town. It was the father who introduced her to this actor, taking her to the theatre with the singers, etc. etc.
Ouf! What a volcano, this family! They are all mad. What a family, good God, what a family!
Wretched girl!
Ah! You speak ill of me! Wretch! And people as black as that dare to speak ill of me! Maman spends the evening exasperating me.