Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Wednesday, 29 March 1876

I said that Pietro had not yet trampled everything underfoot for my sake.
— I love you, he said to me — I would do anything for you!
— The Pope will curse you, the Cardinal will curse you, and your father will curse you.
— Ha! What do I care for all those people when it comes to you! I don't give a damn for anyone when I choose! When I love you!
— You do care about them — and I care very little about them.
— If you loved as I love you would say what I say. If you had a passion for me as I have for you, you would not speak as you speak — and you would see in all the world only the one you love!
Well — that does seem rather like something from my own prescription. What do you make of it?
I shall leave, go to Russia, try to arrange everything, and come back to Rome. During my absence he may forget me a little — but on seeing me again he will love me all the more. I do not wish to commit myself to anything, because I may find better than Antonelli.
I spent the day finishing the portrait of the Pope. It is done, and a success. So much the better. I began it yesterday and finished it today. I did not go out, and in the evening, having dressed my hair like a Greek courtesan with a gold fillet across my brow, I settled down to read Shakespeare in the salon.
— Mademoiselle, said Fortuné, coming in — Count Antonelli and the Duke Torlonia.
I felt such a corkscrew in my heart that I knocked over a chair and ran to my room to catch my breath.
And Maman in bed! But it made no difference, for there was neither Torlonia nor Antonelli. It was a trick of Walitsky's. I was so furious I would have beaten him had he been within my reach. Scoundrel!
Toward ten o'clock Antonelli arrived in reality. I was bored — or rather Walitsky and Dina bored me; Dina especially, with her knowing little looks, her continual pretexts for withdrawing and leaving us free! I detest that! I have no need of such obligingness. The girl is in love with Pietro and silently jealous of me — which infuriates me.
— Don't show me the Pope's portrait again, he said — the other evening you showed it to me and I had such bad luck!