Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday 18 March 1876

I have written a letter to Monsieur my father, of which here follows the copy. I put as much submission into it as possible. He will rage over it, I hope. [This letter was removed from the manuscript for publication: Lettres de Marie Bashkirtseff, Ed. Charpentier-Fasquelle, 1891.] See p. 180.
I have also written to Ricardo:
"How wise and good to follow is your counsel regarding the sons of Romulus!" I tell him. "But how late it comes!… Do not make rash conjectures!"
I also tell him in the strictest confidence that I have received two proposals of marriage — begging him to tell no one, so that he will whisper it in everyone's ear.
I dressed in black today to astonish the Roman populace. We finally visited the casino of the Villa Borghese. I saw Canova's Princess Pauline. I took the measure of her foot to compare it with mine, and mine is smaller by at least three centimetres.
I should like to be sculpted thus. To be sculpted clothed is absurd! Visits to the villas of Rome are not favourable to thoughts of Pietro.
I cannot reasonably consent to become the wife of a man who has nothing. My present position is disagreeable in the highest degree, but I have the hope of change — whereas in becoming Countess Antonelli everything would be finished for me and I should have to languish in modest circumstances, envying and raging.
He had been charged yesterday with finding out whether our tickets were valid for today's session of the Chamber of Deputies. This morning he wrote the following letter. Read it. You have read it? Good. As for Torlonia's horses — I have a means of extricating myself from the matter very politely. I write at once to my aunt asking her to send me the following telegram:
Rome, Hôtel de la Ville, Madame Bashkirtseff.
I have purchased two horses for Marie. A magnificent opportunity. Try to return.
Romanoff.
Not badly imagined.
But I must say I am disappointed. Among all these people there is no one for me. And I, who thought Pietro might be of use to me!
Certainly — before the annexation of Rome to Italy. But his position now is quite awkward.
To go to court is to cease going to the Vatican — and how can one renounce the Vatican when it is from the Vatican that all his well-being and all his greatness derive?
Petruccio arrives at half past ten; I was in the middle of undressing; I threw on my dress and went to the salon, exclaiming:
"Can one really arrive so late!"
Let us not forget to say that I dined at the table d'hôte — the Muliterno family was there. It is for them that I neglected the advice of Plutarch:
"To mingle at table with strangers is not the act of a sensible man."
"You think it late! But in Rome it is like this — and I have just seen Torlonia who went to a soirée; he told me he would stay a quarter of an hour and then come here."
I immediately left the salon to arrange my dress — the curls on my brow, to lace the corset I had left loose, so to speak — Torlonia was coming, the handsome Torlonia — do you hear?
And he did not come! Dog of dogs. I had not a single moment alone with Antonelli — that annoyed me. I like to hear him say he loves me, to feel my hand in his. I would give I know not what to be alone with him somewhere far from everyone; he too would wish it.
Since he told me everything, I dream more than ever — I write two words and stop, elbows on the table and face in my hands, thinking; I love him, perhaps.
It is above all very late at night — when the fingers of hands and feet grow cold, when the room is cold, when I am tired and half asleep — that I believe I love Pietro. Especially when I forget the splendours of the Doria and Borghese villas.
Why am I vain — why am I ambitious! Why am I reasonable!
I am incapable of sacrificing entire years of grandeur and satisfied vanity for a single moment of pleasure.
"Yes," say the novelists, "but that single moment of pleasure suffices to illuminate an entire existence with its rays!" Oh! Not at all. Now I am cold and I love; tomorrow I shall be warm and I shall not love. So it is on such changes of temperature that the destinies of men depend.
And let us not forget to say that I waver between two men, Antonelli and Torlonia. He is sent away at half past twelve; I go quickly to my room, which opens onto the small salon through which he had to pass. And at the moment when he is standing before my door, I open it to call Léonie.
"Ah! This is your room."
"Yes — this is my room."
"Good night," he says, taking my hand and holding it in his while asking me ten pointless questions to prolong the time — while Walitsky examines the staircase like a discreet man.
I went immediately to tell Maman. I recount everything. I have not recounted the kiss on the cheek. That, no — I can still feel that timid and troubling kiss. He was afraid of me; his voice trembled, and I relished the spectacle. It is the most amusing spectacle in the world — and one that makes one forget, for an instant at least, everything.
I love to love — and I love to be loved.

Notes

Casino — in the terminology of Italian villas, a casino is a small pleasure-house or subsidiary building within the estate; not a gambling establishment. ↩
Canova's Pauline Borghese as Venus Victrix (1808) — the famous semi-nude reclining sculpture of Napoleon's sister Pauline Bonaparte (1780–1825), wife of Prince Camillo Borghese. ↩
Pietro Antonelli's position in Roman society was complicated by the political divide: the Antonelli family owed everything to the papal court, yet the new unified Italian state demanded allegiance. Going to the royal court meant breaking with the Vatican. ↩
Petruccio — Italian affectionate diminutive of Pietro; the Italian equivalent of "little Peter." ↩
Table d'hôte — the shared common table at a hotel where guests dined together at fixed hours on a set menu, as distinct from private dining in one's rooms. ↩
Plutarch, Table-Talk (Quaestiones Convivales) — Marie paraphrases the classical injunction against dining with strangers, which she is flouting in order to be near the Muliterno family. ↩