Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Monday, 15 November 1875

I am furious.
The great day! The Opera! I am anxious all day long.
At half past three we leave. I am dressed in a white muslin gown — plain skirt with a large ruched trim at the hem, Mary Stuart bodice, and a coiffure to match the dress.
Madame my mother does not fail to exasperate me with all manner of remarks.
I arrive at the theatre ready to weep.
A very pretty house; Audiffret quite alone in his box, handsome as an angel.
Mignon, the charming opera, is admirably sung.
Truly I begin to think I am deluding myself. I am frightfully ugly! No — I am not ugly, far from it; I am certain of the contrary by the way people look at me. Everyone admired me — except the lord of the castle, whose eyes were incessantly fixed on the stage and who at each intermission went to visit the actresses and actors.
For a few minutes only he entered the box of Mmes Spang and Leech — two magnificent old women with their pretty daughters.
Bihovetz and Antonoff come to us — and that is all. I raged to see my mother and aunt quite crestfallen at having no one — they who had counted on witnessing my triumph before the Howards, etc.
Manara, my enemy, is in M. and Mme d'Aspremont's box — they talk of me and stare at me through their lorgnettes; the Danesis too, and everyone too.
Prodgers is next to us; I was speaking for her benefit and she listened to me with pleasure.
When Pasqua, the prima donna, began to sing "Connais-tu le pays" — the romance I sang before the Surprising One when we were on good terms — I stood up and listened standing; Maman and Dina occupied the front seats, and I had to rise to see.
The Surprising One did not even look at me — at least, I do not know: I see so badly; I could not make out the direction of his eyes.
— When they sing "Connais-tu le pays," Maman said some days ago, his heart will beat — if she pleased him even for an instant.
I do not know what that wretch's heart did — I know only that he did not even look at me and listened to Pasqua with incredible attention. Each year has its romance. Last year it was "On revient toujours à ses premières amours" — this year it is the air from Mignon. Both have ended sadly for me.
Towards the middle of the performance I begin to feel pretty as a heart — and towards the end the Surprising One begins to look at me, hidden behind Rosy.
At the exit I pass between a hedge of gentlemen who stare at me with eye-straining intensity — and they do not look at me badly. One can feel that.
My heart swells with pride and joy — for if one disdains me, many others do me justice.
I write like one possessed — I do not know what I am saying.
Léonie comes to undress me — but I send her away and lock myself in. For on returning I caught sight of myself suddenly in the glass. I looked like a queen, like a portrait that had stepped down from its frame; I could no longer say: Ah! if I dressed as they dressed in former times, I should be beautiful! I was dressed as they dressed in former times. I was beautiful. I sang before my glass. It always seems to me that others do not see me as I truly am.
That is absurd — everyone sees me; otherwise they would not look at me.
What a pity that instead of these little black letters, I cannot trace my portrait as I was. My extraordinary complexion, my golden hair, my eyes dark in the evening, my mouth, my figure. Those who have seen me know how I was.
While remaining simple as befits a young girl of my age, I was dressed as no one else. That is the difficult thing — to be like no one else without being extravagant or overly adorned.
[Crossed out: Once in my dressing gown I feel a great urge to we[ep], quite unhappy]
Then I feel quite miserable — I begin to sing "Connais-tu le pays," kneel down, and let myself fall to the floor in tears.
Why? Nescio. Lying on the floor is soothing.
In the final scene — a love scene — Pasqua had in her voice an accent that sent a shiver through one.
My God, I thought, lying there on the floor — I weep because I love; because my soul needs to love. I would wish at this moment that he would come in, open his arms, and — leaning upon his heart — I would want to die. For real, and with happiness!
There it is — she who kills by the sword shall perish by the sword.
It is I who love! She who spits at the ceiling spits upon herself.
I knew that if I went before my mirror, a quantity of pride would come to reproach me — which is why I remained stretched out on the carpet, suffering and happy at the same time.
How good it is to love! I wanted to be angry, I wanted to remain calm, I wanted to break everything in my room, I wanted to cry out — and I succeeded only in weeping.
No! No! I will not! I want no pride, no reproaches.
What does it matter whether he is worthy or unworthy! Let us not analyse, for pity's sake. I feel I am going to begin a long dissertation — but I will not; let it be another day.
Entirely given over to the sensation of the moment, I will hear nothing. I have said that I love! Is it exact?
Let us see. I sank without strength to my knees, I thought of the man, I felt myself miserable, desperate — and otherwise, I know not how; but it was a martyrizing feeling, and that feeling made me weep. I wept and I desired to die in [Crossed out: the man's arms] his arms.
Do you believe that this is love? I do.

Notes

A corsage Marie Stuart: a bodice style with a high collar at the back and a low square front, fashionable in the 1870s and inspired by portraits of Mary, Queen of Scots. ↩
Mignon (1866): opera by Ambroise Thomas after Goethe's Wilhelm Meister. Its famous aria "Connais-tu le pays?" became the emotional leitmotif of this episode. ↩
"Connais-tu le pays" ("Do you know the land where the orange trees bloom?"): the signature aria of Mignon, evoking a nostalgic longing for Italy. ↩
"On revient toujours à ses premières amours" ("One always returns to one's first loves"): a popular romance, likely a reference to a song from an earlier opera or chanson. ↩
Latin: "I do not know." ↩