Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Tuesday, 8 February 1876

Bigre — the visits to monuments and the two men beneath our windows. It is now that I need all my wits to record these weighty events.
The Colosseum visited in detail. We climbed to the very top. I was breathless — not from fatigue but from admiration for that fallen grandeur. The box of the Caesars, then that of the Vestal Virgins opposite. And at each box I stopped to say that perhaps there the smallest foot in Rome had walked, and there stood some Soroka — the handsome Clodius, perhaps — and the others took up the theme. Then we go to see the Palace of the Caesars; all the custodians are French, and I felt at home among my own people. They show us the fragments found in the most recent excavations. A Venus Genitrix without a head, but rather beautiful.
I immediately recognise my Nero, then Germanicus, then Vespasian and his wife Livia Augusta — if I am not mistaken, but I believe I am mistaken.
Then we pass through the palaces of Caligula, of Nero, of Vespasian. I am vexed to see how ugly the modern paving of the corridors is compared to the ancient. They show us frescoes rather effaced, but in which one can see admirable proportions and ravishing female figures, though small. Then the old coins, fragments of glass, pottery, and a heap of curiosities very interesting to see for educated people. From there we go to the church of San Pietro in Vincoli, where the true chains of Saint Peter are preserved — then to a place infinitely more profane: the Apollo.
They are giving Ruy Blas and there is not a single box on the bel étage. The ground floor is too unpleasant.
It hails, it rains — but at six o'clock the two Sorokas are at their post. The sky clears a little after dinner and Domenica, Lola, and Dina go out; in this way it will be more proper — no one will go to laugh and ogle from the windows. Dina is so foolish — one has only to provoke her and she will do the most improper things on earth. But they return, and once more Dina, coquettishly draped in a black veil, goes to pose at the window. It is absurd!
It rains, and Soroka, soaked to the bone, climbs into a coupé and has himself walked at a slow pace in front of the hotel, while his poor Galula, pressed against the wall with his head thrown back, never takes his eyes off Maman's window — whose shutters alone move — through which he can from time to time catch a glimpse of my own person, and always of Dina.
It is exceedingly charming — as the Surprising One would say.
— Let us go out! cries Lola.
And we take a cab and go — I in a grey hooded mantilla. The little Galula came very close to watch us get in and to hear what we said to the coachman. After that I lose sight of Soroka — the detestable Galula remains alone until ten o'clock, until the light disappears from the salon.
Soroka has no doubt gone to the theatre, for tonight is the terza sera. The prima sera and the terza sera belong to the aristocracy; the second and fourth evenings are for the canaille.
I say only one thing. These two creatures have shown rare patience for two days — perhaps even longer, for I believe they have been following us in the street for two weeks. Well! I was saying, then, that... yes, I was saying that they have done everything in the world to make themselves noticed; and they have succeeded. Now, if they no longer come to stand beneath our windows for hours at a time exposed to the worst weather in the world — if they no longer stare at me at the theatre — I shall rage like a madwoman. Such is my character. It will be foolish. And any Soroka can make me rage by behaving this way. I would be very careful not to say so aloud.
— "I was at the Opera," writes my aunt, "Audiffret came in, peered at our box through his glass, and left immediately."
She also says she will not be able to come soon — but that she desires nothing, provided Marie is well, provided Marie is happy; as for herself, she would give, without hesitation, a moment of her life for that.
These are very laudable sentiments — only they are of no use to me, and I am wretched all the same, alone. I go nowhere; I moulder in the shadows; I am seventeen! Bigre! No — I do not want to speak of it; I should weep, and that would help nothing.
The Sorokas, the view of the Aventine, Palatine, Capitoline, Vatican hills, the ruins of the temples of Romulus (now a church of Saint Theodore), of Saturn, of Jupiter Stator of which only the site remains, the Arch of Septimius Severus, the temple of Janus — which was open in time of war only — all this fills my head, and yet I am bored. I want to go into society! God! What a martyrdom! There is nothing in the world more hateful than this position!
Oh! Always crying out, always complaining — and always in vain!

Notes

The Vestal Virgins: priestesses of Vesta who maintained the sacred flame of Rome; their box in the Colosseum was one of the most prestigious. ↩
Publius Clodius Pulcher (93–52 BC): a notoriously beautiful and scandalous Roman politician, Marie's ironic stand-in for a Roman Soroka. ↩
Venus Genitrix: "Venus the Mother-goddess," ancestress of the Julian line; a standard sculptural type. ↩
San Pietro in Vincoli: "Saint Peter in Chains" — the church on the Esquiline Hill famous for housing both the chains of Saint Peter and Michelangelo's Moses. ↩
Terza sera (Italian): the third evening subscription — one of the two aristocratic nights at the Roman opera. Prima sera was the other; the second and fourth evenings (seconda sera, quarta sera) were for the general public. ↩
The temple of Janus Geminus in the Forum: its doors were opened during wartime and closed in peacetime. Marie has the usage reversed. ↩