Sunday, 27 February 1876

What is the matter with me that I keep dreaming of the Pope? Two nights in a row. Yesterday I saw a well covered with white foam, but water gushed from the well and washed away the foam, and I saw two buckets (I do not know how one spells it) seesawing — in one of the buckets sat Pius IX, and in the other I was preparing to climb. Tonight it was the Pope again — he spoke to me, he walked on my arm, I led him to a place I do not wish to name; then he sat on Maman's bed, removed his stockings, and I put them in my pocket. And so on all night.
Now the protestations, the timidities, the outbursts of
anger, the tenderness of Bruschetti come back to my mind.
Drive to the Borghese, drive to the Pincio, drive to the Corso — and everywhere Bruschetti with his magnificent horses and his postilion in a wig.
Antonelli — nowhere!
Listen, my children — I have just been looking at the card of this future pope, and everything in it pleases me: the letters that make up the name, the coronet, the card. Everything is agreeable. Marie Bachkirtseva creavit in mentem suam Petrus Antonellius. I hope that is Latin!
It is a pity, though, that those who interest me are not interested in me. I know very well that Antonelli has stared a great deal — it was that very fact that first revealed him to me — [words blacked out: but he] looked because I happened to be there, and has never gone out of his way to see me, has never stirred — in a word, it is very tedious.
How, I thought this morning — how! Is it possible that he does not find in me what I find in him! How! Is there no way to draw him to me!
It is disgusting — upon my word of honour! And it seems to me that by the force of desiring, of willing, one can draw him through the magnetism of thought.
I wanted to go to the Opera. You can see plainly that all my fine resolutions are merely pretty. Not a single step! Yes, very good.
When shall I succeed in persuading myself that all this is useless! If he wanted to see me, he would know perfectly well where to find me. Ah — I know it; and I wanted to go to the Opera not for him, but for myself, because it gives me pleasure.
Let us establish an axiom. Antonelli does not give a damn about me. Amen.
What revolts me is that Bruschetti dares to desire that I should love him, and dares to hope in his imagination for a heap of things that throw me into violent furies.
Think of it — a kiss from that man!
Tiger and hyena!
I hate above all else bestiality! I do not separate the heart from the body — but the body alone is an abomination.
We have made the acquaintance of the Neapolitan banker, Chevalier Altamura. This morning he left his cards, and this evening, after dining at the table d'hôte, he is invited up to us. I appear only for a quarter of an hour and leave the ladies to all the ineffable pleasures that a table d'hôte dinner and a conversation with the banker Altamura can produce.

Notes

"This future pope": Marie's ironic nickname for Pietro Antonelli, nephew of Cardinal Giacomo Antonelli, implying he too will become a cardinal or pope.
Faulty Latin: roughly "Marie Bashkirtseff created Peter Antonelli in her mind" — the grammar is incorrect (nominative Petrus Antonellius should be accusative). Marie herself adds the humorous disclaimer. In Latin in the original.
Magnétisme de la pensée: thought-magnetism — a popular spiritualist concept of the 1870s, derived from Mesmerism, holding that concentrated desire could exert a psychic influence on another person.
Table d'hôte: the common table at a hotel where guests dine together at a set price — less exclusive than private dining, but a standard fixture of Roman hotel life.