Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Friday, 4 February 1876

I have no inclination to go out; I am bored. We visit the gallery of the Palazzo Doria on the Corso.
Sapristi — how beautiful it is. There is a gallery with statues and large windows with red curtains that give an enchanting light. How happy these princes are! There are Poussins, Guercinos, Van Dycks and Titians of rare beauty. A portrait by Diego Velásquez is admirable in its naturalness. A Magdalene by Titian — my favourite painter — a true Magdalene, beautiful with exactly the right expression. And all these paintings are placed in magnificent rooms of richness and taste, so that the whole ensemble is truly astonishing. All visitors inscribe their names in the book, and I wrote: Mlle Marie Bashkirtseff, M. Saëtone, Miss Robenson.
At four o'clock, having resumed my white dress — that is to say, my normal form — I go to the Pincio with Lola.
No one else wished to come. Besides, we are very well together — she is just as mad and amusing as my Graces.
One encounters the Ruspolis ten times at the Pincio and nearly as often at the Corso. The elder pays no attention to me, but the younger looks. As for us, we cannot see them without laughing, and to appear seemly we pretend to be telling each other important things and look away. When it is already growing dark we go to Tua's, to talk about the domino costume and other things.
On the way home we talk nonsense, speaking of Ruspoli, whom Lola calls Sobaka (dog), of Soroka whom we cannot manage to see, and of Colonna, whom we have never seen, who perhaps does not exist, but whom Dina finds handsome after visiting his gallery.
It is funny — we always give feminine-gendered names: Girofla, Sobaka, Soroka... and Colonna. I was thinking what there ought to be on the ring that will serve as the sign of recognition for members of our society.
For the president: a column on a heart, [words blacked out: at the top] of the column a Soroka (magpie), across the column a key, and the initials T.A.E. — that is [words blacked out: to say, Thalia,] Aglaé, Euphrosine.
For the two founding Grace-members, Marie and Olga: the same, minus the initials. And for other members: only the column, the Soroka, the heart, and instead of the key and initials, a rose.
In the evening they speak of the scandal of the elder Audiffret with his wife, of all sorts of things from Nice.
I have been re-reading the entries from the days of the hero's presentation. I truly believe he pleased me very much — otherwise I would not hate him so.
Before all that, one must write to him this: ==Turpissimus omnium homo!=
After much deliberation we have finally got it! I need not copy it here — here is the draft.
After traversing the smoke of M. Milon de Véraillon's cigar, your soul sojourned for a week in the box office of the Théâtre Français [struck through: from which it was expelled with] — from which M. Piano had it ejected along with the old cobwebs, and, pushed once more by some diabolical breath, it fell into the Paillon near the Pont Neuf. But your Patron Saint, martyred in Africa in 250, was watching over it; for at that very moment the doorman of the Cercle Masséna, who was crossing the bridge on his way to the Hôtel de la Rose, recognised your soul — having often held it in pledge during your financial crises — and fished it out with his halberd (note the difference! Brother Ardigo descended himself to the torrent bed). The doorman thus fished it out and went to deposit it at the begging-house [struck through: where it sojourned for another week, after which lapse of time]. As the description had been circulated everywhere, we were informed where it was, and two brothers — the very ones who came to see you last Sunday [struck through: and whom you received so badly] and whose advice you refused to hear — went to fetch it and brought it back to us. For greater security and to avoid misfortunes that have filled us with bitterness, we have entrusted your soul to the care of Brother Ardigo, who never leaves it night or day, reading the prayers for the dying.
Hardened sinner — come and claim it.
I forget to say that I saw the Greek minister, and that the Comtesse de Reculât and Mme and Mlle Soukowkine were with us. No one could be received. My mother is in bed.
Scoundrel Audiffret! Re-reading my diary I remembered his mouth and closed my eyes to reconstruct his whole face. And I confess to my shame that this made me blush... and gave me pleasure.
Four days without letters. In thinking of what might have happened I had a great palpitation of the heart, and like the madwoman I am, lost my breath for a few seconds; then I went to Maman as though nothing were wrong — but my heart was still leaping and I was very agitated. And why? How foolish one is!
Despite all his coarseness, this [word blacked out: man] still interests me.
Before his memory I seem to forget that he treated us like the lowest riff-raff, that he turned his back on us as if we were creatures! Yes, despite all my pride, I forget all of that before his memory — and I continue to give him the leading role in all my bedtime stories.
One can easily understand how much I must hate him for his contempt, for his coarseness.
You will say perhaps that he acted quite naturally after the anonymous letters — yes, if he knows who wrote them. But how could he know? How would he dare suspect me capable of such filth?
And besides, he began to withdraw before the letters. No, no — it is dreadful! What a pity!
— At last, I cried on the day he was presented — not everything in my life will be vain desire and constant disillusion!
The 33rd notebook [Vol. V, lies open at page 92] and I read that sentence with the bitterness you can imagine!
I reread the time when all these Nice people, and Girofla at their head, ran after me. And then I believed that could last! I wanted to go to Italy, return for the races in Nice and triumph before the Prodgers, Robensons, etc.
Yes, all that is fine for others — and not for a wretched disgraced creature like me!
No — everything in my life is nothing but vain desire and constant disillusion!

Notes

Sapristi: a mild French oath (euphemism for "sacristie"), expressing surprise or admiration. ↩
Sobaka (Russian): dog. ↩
T.A.E. = Thalia, Aglaé, Euphrosine: the three Graces (Charites) of Greek mythology, the secret society's mascots. ↩
Turpissimus omnium homo!: "Most base of all men!" — Latin. ↩