Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Tuesday, 4 January 1876

Yesterday Maman had written to Botkine, the brother of the Empress's physician, and today he called. He is an ugly creature who occupies himself with painting.
After this visit we go out. Oh, what an ugly city — what impure air, what a deplorable mixture of ancient magnificence and modern squalor!
We went along the Corso, the Via Gregoriana, the Forum of Hadrian, the Forum of Rome; we saw the arches of Septimius Severus and Constantine, the Via Appia, the Colosseum. But everything is still indistinct — I cannot find my bearings. The Promenade of the Pincio is charming; the band was playing, but there were very few people there when we arrived. Statues, statues everywhere.
What would there be in Rome without St Peter's — and the whole city too, for that matter. I am glad to find it not too large; it will be easier to get to know. At the Promenade we amused ourselves finding the Saetones, the Audiffrets and the Prodgerses of Rome. The sun is not showing; it is heavy, sad weather. I want to visit nothing before I am settled.
The evening is spent doing card readings, writing letters to Audiffret, and talking about him.
[In the margin: On arriving in Rome I had no artistic feeling whatsoever — it was Rome that opened my eyes, and I have adored it ever since.]
— Émile called the Depraved, you shall not rot, but... oh! — then: On further investigation, you shall rot after all. Émile the Depraved, son of Léon the Dissolute.
Maman asks me what I would say if he married Miss Robenson. I would say nothing — I would simply rather see him dead.
It is strange — his marriage with his cousin from Marseilles would not affect me at all, but with a Robenson or a Bueno, with a foreigner in short, would put me in a fury. It is chiefly the looks and the what-will-people-say from the household that I dread in such a case.
If he marries, all my plans go to the devil again.
It is impossible that he should not come back to me one day or another, I said. One thing alone can make it impossible — his marriage — and that thing is about to happen.
That is exactly right — since all my plans must come to nothing, and without this marriage they would not come to nothing. Bigre de bigre! This conversation is making my fingers go cold. And with good reason — a thousand Robensons and all the devils! To have the very devil's own luck!
This stay in Rome feels like a four-month exile; it is with incomparable joy that I think of returning to Nice. Especially if the Surprising One does not marry. Oh, he will spit on me all the same. The cards say a great deal that is good about me — but only sometimes, by chance. That does not count then.
Oh! Nice, Nice! Is there in all the world a prettier city after Paris? Paris and Nice, Nice and Paris. France — nothing but France. One only truly lives in France. If I can manage to enter Roman society I shall love Rome.
The Palazzo Doria on the Corso made me blush — so vast and magnificent is it. Ah! woe is me!
I sent Collignon this note to be posted from Nice:
O Boreel! How ugly you have become — and how fat. Where is your style now?
The thing now is to study — since that is why I am in Rome.
Rome does not give me the impression of Rome. Can this really be Rome?
Perhaps I was mistaken?
To live in any city other than Nice — is it possible? To pass through cities, to visit them, yes — but to settle in them! Bah! I shall get used to it.
And all those people who remained in Nice — it seems to me they are staying in exactly the position I left them in and will not stir until I return. Alas! They are stirring without me, amusing themselves without me, and they couldn't care less about the creature in white!
I wish that, being out of sight, I were also out of mind. They say people are talking about me. I cannot imagine it.
I think only of May, when I shall make my entrance in Nice, when I shall go to the Promenade des Anglais, in the morning, without a hat, with my dogs!
I am here like a poor transplanted plant.
I look out of the window and instead of the Mediterranean I see dirty houses; I try the other window and instead of the château I see the hotel corridor. Instead of the Tower clock I hear the hotel clock.
It is wretched to have become accustomed to things and to detest change.
The worst thing that could happen to me is the Surprising One's marriage — I hope he does not commit this folly. Yet Prodgers has taken this business to heart; the marriage bureau is in operation.
Miss Robenson has not come back for nothing. Listen, frankly, it would be a detestable affair. Audiffret married — M. and Mme d'Audiffret! Mme Robenson-Audiffret! It is an ancient and sacred affair. In nomine Patris, Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
Then my return to Nice is ruined. But who makes me believe this nonsense? A word from Maman! How a single word can throw me into a revolution. I hope my fears are quite unfounded. That would be too wretched — to be treated so ill from every quarter.
No, I hope I am alarming myself needlessly. It would truly be too wretched. To think about a thing for so long, to arrange everything in one's mind, to imagine everything — and all for nothing! I should like to know what he thinks of me and what he thinks of my departure. Nothing, no doubt.
Oh! if only I could marry some prince — then I would return to Nice and make a triumphal entry! But no, it is decreed that nothing will succeed for me, that everything will fail me. And so I make no more plans — or if I do, it is with the painful conviction that they are useless. I dare desire nothing any more; I dare hope for nothing any more. Every time I was disappointed.

Notes

In Italian in the original: misera me! ↩
In Latin in the original: In nomine Patris, Filii et Spiritus Sancti — In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. ↩