Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 22 January 1876

Last evening I did the cards and they foretold unpleasantnesses — a vexation on account of a meeting with an old man or a churchman. And on the contrary I have had nothing but agreeable things. Very well — that proves to me for the tenth time how much they lie, and how foolish one is to attach the least importance to them.
Dina has her hair done by a hairdresser — so do I, but this creature arranges it hideously; in ten minutes I change everything, and we set off for the Vatican.
I have never seen anything comparable to the staircases and rooms we traverse.
As with Saint Peter's, I find nothing to criticise. A servant dressed entirely in red damask leads us into a long gallery adorably painted, with bronze medallions set into the walls and cameos. On the right and left are rather hard chairs, and at the far end the bust of Pius IX beneath which stands a handsome gilded armchair in red velvet. The appointed hour was a quarter to twelve — but only at one o'clock does the curtain open, and after some guards, officers in uniform, and besides several cardinals, the Holy Father appears, dressed in white with a red mantle and leaning on a cane with an ivory head.
I knew him well from his portraits, but in person he is much older — so much so that his lower lip hangs like that of an old dog.
Everyone fell to their knees. The Pope came first to us and asked who we were — a cardinal was reading the letters of audience and telling him the names.
— Russians? he says — from Petersburg, then?
— No, Holy Father, says Maman — from Little Russia.
— These young ladies are yours? he asks again.
— Yes, Holy Father.
We were on the right; those on the left side were kneeling.
— Rise, rise, says the Holy Father.
Dina made to rise.
— No, he says, that is for those on the left — you may remain. And he placed his hand on her head so as to make her bow very low. Then he gave us his hand to kiss and passed on to others, addressing a few words to each. When he moved on to those on the left, it was our turn to rise.
Then he stopped in the middle of the room and once again everyone knelt, and he gave us a little discourse in very bad French, comparing the seeking of indulgences at the approach of the jubilee to the repentance that comes at the moment of death — saying that one must earn heaven little by little, by doing something pleasing to God every day.
— It is little by little that one must earn one's homeland, he says — but the homeland is not London, it is not Saint Petersburg, it is not Paris — it is heaven!
One must not wait until the last day of one's life — one must think of it every day and not do as is done at the approach of the jubilee. Non è vero, he added in Italian, turning towards one of his suite, anche il cardinale [N.] lo sa.
The cardinal thus addressed began to laugh, as did all the others [Crossed out: priests] — it must have had some significance for them; and the Holy Father departed very content and very smiling, having given his blessing to the persons, the rosaries, the images, etc. I had a rosary which I locked away in a soap box as soon as I got home.
While this old man was blessing us and speaking, I prayed to God that the Pope's blessing might be a true blessing for me and that I might be delivered from all my griefs.
There were cardinals there who looked at me exactly as if they were Audiffret or Manara at the exit of the Opéra in Nice.
From the Vatican we go to have our photographs taken, in black veils. It will be a souvenir — and the veil suits me.
Then I return home, undo my hair, change my dress, and set about making a garment like that of Dante's Beatrice and a turban like that of Beatrice Cenci. The Mary Stuart and Marie-Antoinette coiffures are ready. On Monday I shall pose.
I am completely mad for flowing garments — I cannot bear to see a fashionable dress or hat; I must have a white classical tunic with a thousand folds following the figure, and a white turban on my head.
Dina serves as my mannequin — it amuses me.
[Word blacked out: That evening] I ask Maman to buy me two dolls — one blonde, one dark; I dress the blonde one as a Pope, and from the dark one Dina makes a Papess.
Since we have been in Rome, we laugh only at Galula — we chose him because he is a being of no importance whatsoever, rather more than a bat and considerably less than a man. This evening Dina promises to bring him a feather blessed by the Pope, so that he may become a vile notary.
I want to see the Pope again — and I shall see him again before leaving. He seems to me now an acquaintance. These cardinals behave with him as with a child, and I am certain he no longer occupies himself with anything.
Today were the races at Nice. How they must have enjoyed themselves.
Yet another proof of the mendacity of the cards. Yesterday I had a sort of sorceress come to tell my fortune. She told me to name the one I wish — I named Audiffret — and this woman told me that he cannot live without me, that he is dying of sadness and jealousy, that a wicked woman has been slandering me to him and that he is the most unhappy of men, that he thinks only of coming to me — for truly he cannot live without me — he adores me; but I think of another, and he is jealous, above all because this wicked woman has spoken ill of me to him, told him I loved another, etc.
Let all the sorceresses croak and all the cards burn! Nothing but lies.
These are the first races at Nice I have missed in four years — in 1870–71 it was the war; I have therefore attended the races in 1871–72, 1872–73, 1873–74, and 1874–75. Four years of races.
I shall not return to Nice in winter if my grief continues — if I want to go there, it must be as a queen; if I want to stay there, it must be as a mistress of the situation. And there I am worse off than the last flower-seller. So I do not want to go.
If I could live there as I wish, I would give five years of my life to anyone.
To be unhappy in Paris — that one can still understand. But to be unhappy in Nice! One can only love it by reigning there.

Notes

"Fis les cartes" — told her fortune with playing cards; one of several fortune-telling methods Marie practises: cards, placing a comb under the pillow, consulting the sorceress. ↩
Damask: a rich reversible fabric of silk or wool woven with patterns; red damask was the livery colour of papal domestic servants. ↩
The long gallery (the Sala Clementina, or one of the Vatican corridors): famous for its painted ceiling and decorations. ↩
"La Petite Russie" — Little Russia: the historical term for Ukraine, specifically the region around Poltava and Kharkov (now Kharkiv) where the Bashkirtseff estates were located. ↩
Indulgences: in Catholic theology, remissions of the temporal punishment due to sin already forgiven; sold or granted in exchange for prayers, pilgrimages, and charitable acts. ↩
The jubilee (jubilé): 1875 was a Holy Year proclaimed by Pius IX; pilgrims to Rome could gain special plenary indulgences. ↩
Non è vero (Italian): "Is that not so?" — a rhetorical aside to his companions. ↩
Anche il cardinale lo sa (Italian): "The cardinal knows it too" — Pius IX's aside to a cardinal in his suite; the name escaped Marie. ↩
Manara: a member of Marie's Nice circle, apparently known for his attentive observation of pretty women at the theatre. ↩
Beatrice Cenci (1577–1599): Roman noblewoman executed for the murder of her tyrannical father; immortalised in a portrait attributed to Guido Reni, showing her in a white turban, which Marie would have seen in the Galleria Barberini. ↩
"À l'antique" — in the classical or antique style: draped, loosely flowing garments inspired by Greek and Roman sculpture, as opposed to the tightly corseted fashions of the 1870s. ↩
The Papess (la papesse): the legendary Pope Joan, a woman supposedly elected Pope in the 9th century; Marie and Dina's game is a mildly sacrilegious joke, played the day of their papal audience. ↩
Galula's ambition to become a notary (notaire) is treated with contempt; the notarial profession, though respectable, was considered mundane and socially beneath the circles Marie aspired to. ↩
The Franco-Prussian War of 1870–71, which disrupted life across France; Nice had been French only since 1860. ↩
"The last flower-seller" (la dernière bouquetière): flower-sellers occupied the bottom of the social hierarchy in Nice's public spaces; being worse off than one of them is Marie's most extreme formulation of social humiliation. ↩