Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Wednesday, 22 December 1875

[A few words crossed out]
Today is the afternoon party.
Damn rascal Biou!
No one mentions it; I do not either. This silence saves me a fit of despair.
The most atrocious thing is that it was spoken of to the Surprising One. Oh! — let us not despair for ten pages. It ruins my complexion.
I was on foot with Collignon, and the Surprising One was in a carriage; I walked on the pavement (that is, along the house side) — but my heel caught in my skirt, which forced me to take the carriage. We drive out with my Graces; then I take them home; and I was about to leave when Walitsky arrived.
"Are you coming?" I asked him. He did not answer, according to his charming habit.
"Come now, my dear — are you coming or not?"
At that very moment the Surprising One passed so close to the carriage that I thought he would stop — but he contented himself with bowing to me very low, with a studied smile, and continued slowly on his way.
You understand why I recount the smallest things in detail? Afterwards I may take the fancy perhaps of adoring this moujik — and I should be furious not to have noted everything.
Varpahovsky dines with us — he is beginning to seem amusing to me. Until dinner I feel very unhappy; after it I go to dress for the Opera.
I dress myself as I like myself best: an Empire gown, bare neck, no ornament, and nothing in the hair. What to call this toilette? Let us call it Olympus — it is a little pretentious, but bah! A fresh, radiant face — in short, as one paints those goddesses, half-naked, head tilted back, lips slightly parted to reveal small white teeth.
We arrive very late. The three Graces, Audiffret, Tournon, and Belle-de-Jour are at their posts. Ricardo comes to see us. For a whole interval Audiffret and Belle-de-Jour had gone out; I was already beginning to be bored when they returned. Tournon goes away altogether — I begin to be vexed. But all at once, at the last act, he returns.
"I am going to leave," says Ricardo, "for these gentlemen want to come — the other evening, after my departure, you had a full box."
And at once Tournon comes. That is all I wanted. He is ugly and worn — but perfectly correct and noble, while a certain person of my acquaintance "will not be able to say as much."
That person is too pretty this evening, which gives a rather stupid air to his long nose.
Tournon says that the soirées — of which one is pelted with invitations in Nice — bore him, and that he prefers the small gathering. If he knew what I think of what he likes! Yes — but he does not know, for I agree with him, and my aunt says to him:
"If you are not afraid of being bored in a family circle, I shall be very happy to see you at our house — and in the evenings too."
We leave the box together — but as the Comte has left his overcoat there he goes to fetch it. On the staircase the Surprising One comes to wish me good evening and descends beside me.
"How are you, Mademoiselle?"
"Very well, thank you — and you, Monsieur?"
"Very well."
"I ask because a lady found you very pale today, Monsieur."
"I am very well indeed."
"Tell me, Monsieur," I interrupt him, "are not the yellow boots the tenor wore tonight the same ones that Mme Pasqua wears when she sings Mignon?"
"Ah! — that I do not know!"
As we had descended the staircase, I left my escort there — exactly as he would have done himself — and entered the salon; my aunt and Dina followed me.
And immediately the Surprising One came towards us and beckoned his followers to come also. He must always summon someone — he has a mania for gathering a crowd around himself, like tooth-pullers and charlatans, and for holding forth to them — seated on his cane, gesticulating, and sometimes dancing.
Having exchanged a few words with these gentlemen, I begin to recite the recitatives from Il Barbiere; the Surprising One says something or other to me, and I answer him in phrases from Il Barbiere, looking at him with a very indifferent air.
Tournon is very amiable and I play the child. I tell him of the difficulties I had in obtaining a long dress. He compliments my toilette and follows me to the carriage, stumbling over my train and saying I no longer know what.
Well — consider: if I had seen Audiffret descending the staircase of the Théâtre Italien with Mlle de Gonzales-Moreno or another, and then going to find her in the salon, I should have become so jealous and furious that I could have rolled on the floor for half an hour.
But since it is I who have done it — behold the effect it produces on me. Audiffret has diminished by an inch — and I, who this very morning was weeping at the thought of leaving, now want to leave.
"Ed ha natura sì malvaggia e ria" — as Dante says.
When we return it is only eleven o'clock; I go to Maman and tell her of the evening. I am told that I am in love and live only through the man. I reply that it is Tournon who amuses me. I am told that Audiffret has my character, and that the best thing I could do is to marry him.
"Are you serious, Maman!" I say, seeing all the while that she is joking — "I, who want to go to Court, to be decorated — I to marry this little man!"
And Maman says it makes no difference, and that I think of nothing but that Shaved Magpie — that I live only through him. And I say he looks stupid and argue against Maman's idea — but the more I argue, the worse it is, for I am all inspired and laughing and animated.
And why — I ask! Faugh — what a wretched character!

Notes

Biou: Marie's affectionate-contemptuous nickname for Audiffret, a variant of "Bibi." ↩
moujik (Russian): peasant — Marie's mockingly contemptuous nickname for Audiffret despite his nobility; in Russian in the original. ↩
Empire gown (Robe Empire): a high-waisted dress in the Neoclassical style of the First Empire (early 19th century) — by 1875 a deliberate revival aesthetic, giving a statuesque, antique effect. ↩
Tooth-pullers (arracheurs de dents): itinerant quack dentists who, before modern dentistry, drew crowds in public squares with theatrical performances before extracting teeth. ↩
"Ed ha natura sì malvaggia e ria" (Italian): "And has a nature so wicked and evil" — Inferno, Canto I; Dante's description of the she-wolf, symbol of avarice; Marie applies the line to jealousy. In Italian in the original. ↩
The Shaved Magpie (Pie rasée): Marie's mocking nickname for Audiffret, combining the magpie's chattering sociability with "shaved" — a reference to his clean-shaven face, unusual in the bearded 1870s. ↩