Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Monday 27 March 1876

I play Beethoven. Plowden sits beside me and listens while speaking to me of many things. Pietro cannot find a place for himself — he throws himself headlong into conversation with Dina and tries to hear what we are saying, but in vain, for we are speaking English. I was equally attentive to both, and both were displeased: when I spoke to Pietro, Plowden blinked and fidgeted; when I spoke to Plowden, Pietro rolled his eyes and was visibly furious. One to my left on the floor, the other to my right on a chair. At the end of each musical phrase I lowered my eyes now toward the one, now toward the other. It would all be most interesting if there were spectators.
If I went into society I should certainly enjoy being courted — but at home it only serves to keep one up until one o'clock. No, I am ungrateful: without these men I should die of boredom. But in all of this Pietro is my favourite — he is so amusing. [Blacked-out words: For instance] this evening [blacked-out words: he says to me:]
— You love Plowden? Plowden is your love?
— Yes — and who is yours?
— You know very well — but it cannot be when there is no correspondance (read: reciprocity).
He said this hoping for a reply — I know what reply. But he got none.
A few words were said about the Boyds — about Blanche, who has married Lord Henry Paget (who will be Marquess of Anglesey after his uncle's death), and about Berthe, who was in love with the Duke of Hamilton. Plowden knows them all very well.
Ah! It is like a thunderbolt — my one true love floods back into my heart, [cancelled words] my great expectations flood back into my mind. I am miserable, miserable, miserable. Tomorrow I shall not go out! I need twenty-four hours of solitude, of writing, of lying prostrate on the floor, to calm myself, to stun myself, to shame myself into seeing my folly for what it is. How I have come down! No — I have not come down; I still want what I always wanted. Millions, grandeur and celebrity!! I shall work until I drop — or I shall have what I demand.
Frappez et on ouvrira, demandez et on donnera. These are the words of Christ — they cannot be empty words. God! God! Will You never make me happy! Cannot You satisfy the thirst of my vanity! Do You not hear my prayers! Not these present ones — now I am corrupt, unworthy — but those of before. Those which I offered You from morning to night, when I prayed for the Duke!
Have pity on me — take me into your grace!
Pax vobis, the Pope has written — he guessed truly; it is peace that I need: everywhere and always tormented, envious, miserable!
Why am I only of a simple noble family!
I am bursting with envy, with rage, with despair!
Such is my state that I cannot write!
I shall not go out. I have locked myself in. It is four o'clock. I can find no words to describe my torment; the pen does not obey my fingers; I am stupefied, dull.
I love the Duke of Hamilton. I am astonished that I could have mentally lowered my pretensions!
Ambitious as four hundred devils — I was stupefied when I thought in ordinary terms.
Let us be very careful not to commit some incorrigible folly in one of these stupefied moments. I should dash my head against the wall on recovering my senses.
Into society one must go! Into society one must go! Into society one must go! To achieve that — let us go to Russia.
My God, Lord, take my soul in mercy and do not thrust me away without pity.
I have never said a word about the Duke. He is the only man whose name I have never pronounced while laughing. Everyone knew I was in love with him — but I never said a word about it to anyone.
Komi, Hôtel da te VUIi, io min.
Dear Father.
You have always been prejudiced against me without my having ever done anything to justify that prejudice. I have not, however, on that account lost either the esteem or the love which every well-born daughter owes her father.
I consider myself bound to consult you in all serious matters, and I am persuaded that you will take in them the interest which such affairs demand.
I am sought in marriage by M. le comte B... Maman will already have told you this;
but only yesterday I received the proposal of M. le comte A., nephew of Cardinal A...
I consider myself too young for marriage — but in any case I come to ask your opinion and I hope you will give it. Both these gentlemen are young, rich, and have everything required to please. They are a matter of indifference to me.
In hope of a reply to my letter, I subscribe myself with the deepest respect and the greatest esteem.
Your devoted and obedient daughter.
Gloriae Cupiditas
H.G.t.D.o.H.
Livre 56^ème^
depuis le lundi 27 mars 1876 jusqu'au dimanche 9 avril 1876 — Hôtel de la Ville, via del Babuino, Rome
I would wish someone to suppress all these repetitions about Torlonia and Antonelli — they would disgust readers from continuing.
Towards five o'clock, duly stupefied, I went out — tempted by a magnificent sun.
I saw Antonelli walking on foot with a gentleman and a lady of the Court — and I became a little jealous.
I was glad to see him arrive at my deliverance — for Bruschetti, with a courage unparalleled in nature, had approached my carriage door. After a few minutes Torlonia, Plowden, and Sorgagli arrived. Maman had said a few words to Pietro about an excursion to Albano; Pietro went to speak of it to Clemente; the latter proposes going tomorrow — Pietro cannot tomorrow, nor can Plowden. But no one listens to anyone; there is laughter, chatter, mockery of the wretched Bruschetti, who departs before everyone else. Then Torlonia teases me with this execration:
— Yes, he says, a very fine count.
— Well then, contessina — no, Comtesse Bruschetti, I mean — tomorrow we go to Albano.
Zucchini has the misfortune to pass by at that moment.
— Here is your lucky charm, says Torlonia.
And I laugh in earnest — z...z...z... Zucchini makes me merry.
Pietro begins and the others imitate the fly in chorus.
Torlonia is drunk today. I should very much like to know whether he is the same with everyone. So insolent, so free! I am always displeased with myself and with the entire world after a Torlonia encounter. He says to me a heap of insipid, common civilities. The devil take the drunken scoundrel.
I was pretty — but that matters little; I do not please the vile drunkard. What a pity to be drowned in liquor at the age of twenty-four.
There are two or three ladies dressed in white like me. How stupid it is to imitate!
Maman and Walitsky dined in the trattoria of the Russian artists with ten artists.
I dined with Dina at home, complaining of Torlonia without cease. It is all the more vexing in that the wretched drunkard pleases me!
All the artists from the dinner come to us in the evening. I was quite ashamed of it when Pietro arrived. I again conducted myself like an imbecile — I did nothing but isolate myself with him; but I care not a whit for what anyone may think: I had things to say to him.
But first let us finish with the unpleasant. The Albano excursion is ruined. Pietro cannot go, nor can Plowden; Torlonia would not, saying that to enjoy the country one needs a large party. I find this very impolite and very mean.
I had, then, to speak with Antonelli — and he too had things to say to me. A heap of things.
We almost quarrelled.
— I want to know why you said that impertinence to me at the Valle.
— There is no I want with me!
— And I want.
— And I do not want!
He ends by going down on his knees and entreating me. So I tell him — and he is more offended still by this supposition than by my abrupt words.
— That is to take me for the lowest of scoundrels — without breeding, without anything! How could you suppose I could so far fail in respect to you! — etc. etc.
He is devilishly right. I was mad, no doubt.
He begs me to give him an answer.
— I know who will succeed with you: a man who has a great deal of patience and who loves you a great deal less.
I can no longer write. I know only that I was very happy scribbling away at a sonata and feeling his arm around my waist and his chin on my shoulder. Can one possibly permit such things! It is impossible — but it gives pleasure.
— Do you not believe that I have a passion for you?
— I believe it — without that I should have sent you away long since.

Notes

We are speaking English — In English in the original. Marie switches to English deliberately to exclude Pietro from the conversation. ↩
Blanche Boyd married Lord Henry Paget (later 5th Marquess of Anglesey); Berthe Boyd had been romantically linked to the Duke of Hamilton. Both are acquaintances in Marie's social orbit. The mention of the Duke of Hamilton triggers the emotional crisis that dominates the rest of the entry. ↩
Frappez et on ouvrira, demandez et on donnera — "Knock and it shall be opened unto you, ask and it shall be given" (Matthew 7:7). Marie quotes the Vulgate/French Bible in her prayer. In the original. ↩
This line appears to be a cipher or intentionally obscured address notation in the original manuscript — possibly the heading of the letter to her father. Not decoded in the source. ↩
Comte B. = Comte Bruschetti, who has been proposing marriage throughout carnet 055. ↩
Comte A. = Pietro Antonelli, nephew of Cardinal Giacomo Antonelli. Marie conceals both names behind initials in her letter to her father. ↩
Gloriae Cupiditas — Latin: "Desire for Glory" / "Lust for Glory." Marie's personal motto, here written as a kind of colophon to the carnet. In the original. ↩
H.G.t.D.o.H. — "His Grace the Duke of Hamilton." The abbreviation is in English in the original. Marie closes the carnet with this coded declaration of her true aspiration. In the original. ↩
Livre 56ème — "56th book." This and the following paragraph are the heading of carnet 056, which Marie writes at the close of carnet 055 as a colophon, noting the dates and location of the next notebook. ↩
portière — the door or window of a carriage; Bruschetti has ridden up to speak to Marie through her carriage window. ↩
contessina — Italian: "little countess," a teasing diminutive. Torlonia mockingly addresses Marie as the future Countess Bruschetti. In the original. ↩
trattoria — Italian: a modest eating-house or restaurant. In the original. ↩