Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Wednesday, 26 April 1876

[Ed. note: a drawing of the heart pendants by Marie appeared here in the diary.]
I am waiting with enormous impatience for the hour to go out, when suddenly it begins to rain. I go only to collect my hearts — they have come out very well; here is the faithful likeness, and the exact size. That one is mine, the President's; those of the members are the same minus the key, which exists only for mine. This heart is to be worn on a cord of raw silk. And when a member renders us some signal service, she may wear it with a wide yellow ribbon, en sautoir. On the back of the heart there is a glass for my portrait — but the heart being hollow, one can put a great many things inside, with the portrait serving as a lid. In mine I have already placed my own portrait.
Indeed, that is the rule: one may wear only one's own face, though one is of course free to put whatever one wishes inside.
I have no cord yet and my heart is suspended by a blue ribbon. It gives me the look of a nun, and that look sends a chill through me.
It is still raining and the Baron Visconti is announced. That charming man, so witty despite his age.
Little by little Antonelli's name came up while speaking of Odescalchi's marriage.
- Why, Madame, said Visconti — little Antonelli, as you say, is not a match to be scorned but one to seize with both hands. For that poor cardinal is going from day to day — he no longer walks and life is leaving him — so that one of these days each of his nephews will become a millionaire. And Pietro Antonelli will consequently be a millionaire.
- But the cardinal has a daughter.
- Yes... but the daughter is already splendidly established — she has nothing to do with it, therefore. It is the nephews who will inherit.
- You know, Baron, I was told that the young man had entered a convent, said Maman.
- Which young man? asked Visconti, almost annoyed.
- Why, the young man, you know...
- Pietro Antonelli, I said.
- Ah! no — he is thinking of quite other things, I assure you.
Then they spoke of Rome, and I said how much I loved it and how much it cost me to leave it.
- Well then, stay.
- I should like nothing better.
- I am glad to see that your heart loves our city.
- Speaking of hearts — have you seen mine?
- I beg your pardon?
- Look, I said — and I showed him the heart.
- That is a good heart, he said.
- A nun's heart, you know, I added, laughing — they are going to leave me in Rome in a convent.
- Oh! said Visconti, also laughing — I hope you will stay in another way; we shall find a means.
- Which?
- Would you like me to find one? It will not be difficult.
- Very well — find one.
- Find one, repeated Maman.
- And I shall find one, said Visconti, pressing my hand firmly.
What do you make of that, wretched readers?
Maman is radiant; I am radiant. It is a veritable aurora borealis.
We are almost making plans. Maman is worried about the rough way I treated her favourite yesterday. I laugh...
The sun comes out as if to consecrate my gaiety, and we go out.
Good! The Muliterni and Odescalchi on the Corso! The weather is so lovely that I cannot stop myself from singing softly.
And there is Petruccio — I bow with a smile.
How the devil could I have said so many foolish things yesterday? I know how. I was in the habit of uttering a few impertinences to him every day; for twenty-five days I had to keep them to myself, and all together they came out yesterday evening and produced an enormous gibberish.
We had stopped near a shop when Rossi came up, and I was charming in the way only I know how to be. That is to say — when I set my mind to it, it is something quite adorable.
God, how full my heart is! Not the silver one — the real one.
I am so afraid — I fear everything. It is nearly nine o'clock; I am beginning to grow agitated.
This evening, contrary to all expectation, quite a numerous gathering: Plowden, Simonetti, Botkine and Pastmikoff, and Antonelli no doubt.
I did the honours with great animation, and my silver heart is commented upon in every possible way.
It was Simonetti who stayed the longest — until one o'clock, I believe — and at ten minutes past one there was no one left but Pietro. While Simonetti chatted with Maman, Dina, and Walitsky by one table, I remained with Pietro by another, and we reasoned about love in general and Pietro's love in particular. He has deplorable principles — or rather he is so mad he has none at all. I was truly distressed by what he said, for he spoke so lightly of his love for me that I do not know what to think. Besides, he resembles me so closely in character that it is extraordinary. It was his debts that had kept him so far from Rome — as proof he offers to bring me his lawyer's letters. He repeats that he loves me, adding however that it comes and goes, that he is incapable of loving seriously. Then I lecture him and he agrees with me and tells me his least thoughts — which is not good, for many things are thought that are often not very agreeable to hear.
Visconti's words are present to me and I conduct myself accordingly.
At last we say good night and separate — but the locket on my heart opens and it must be fixed; Pietro stays to fix it, and in a moment I do not know how we find ourselves in the corridor. And now I beg you — do not read what I am about to write. I had thought until now that this book was very moral and that in time it would be given to read in schools and boarding schools. Listen — I advise you not to read further, for you will be disappointed in me, and that is all.
I do not know how it began, but within five minutes we were no longer quarrelling. Ah! yes — I remember.
- Good night, I said to him.
- I am waiting for the doctor to give me a cigarette.
- I shall give you one — and I went to Walitsky's room, which is at the far end of the corridor near my door; only two doors open onto this corridor, Walitsky's and then mine, and it gives onto the main corridor which is lit.
He followed me, then; I do not know what was said, but within five minutes we were no longer quarrelling — we had come to an understanding — the devil take me if I know how.
- You are wrong not to tell him you love him, Maman had said to me after Visconti's visit — after all, it commits you to nothing.
I was, then, under the influence of that advice. Let us see — let us try to remember — it was scarcely an hour ago and I can recall nothing of what was said.
He was very close to me; and having quite reassured me, he came even closer and took my hands and my waist.
- I shall never say foolish things again, he said — since it pains you. But what would you have — it is my character that must be excused; I am mad and thoughtless; I say whatever comes into my head. But I swear I love you and have always loved you — besides, you guessed it yourself; you knew it very well, did you not?
I answered nothing but did not push him away.
- Do you love me? he asked.
Same old wretchedness... Then he drew me towards him — do not read on, there is still time! — and kissed me on the right cheek; Visconti's words and Maman's were still in my ears; instead of pushing him away, therefore, I yielded to him and putting both arms around his neck... Good Lord — he put his head on my shoulder, kissing my neck... on the left... and... how horrible! I have been for the first time in a man's arms!
- You love me? I asked then.
- Oh! yes — and I shall love you always.
- No — let me go; what I am permitting you is wrong; I am behaving badly... Go away.
But far from releasing me he pressed me in his arms and looked at me in such a way that I said:
- You know what I told you on the subject, the other evening still... no one, not even...
- Yes, but for me it is different — I love you and... do you love me?
- Why! if I did not love you, would I permit you all this!
Not to say that I love him would be to accuse myself of something worse than mere frivolity.
God, how difficult all this is to say! Let us continue as best we can since it must be done. I no longer know how, but he committed himself to marriage — he at least; I was silent for the most part.
- You are leaving Thursday?
- Yes — and you will forget me.
- Oh! that I will not! I shall come to Nice.
- When?
- As soon as I am able.
- Now.
- I cannot.
- Why?
- Ah! you do not know all that.
- Well then say so — say it at once; I wish it.
- My father would not allow me.
- But you have only to tell him the truth, and then he will not think you are going to Monaco.
- Of course — I shall tell him I am going for your sake, that I love you, that I want to marry. But not at this moment — you do not know my father. He is very kind to me just now; I have just been forgiven, but I dare not yet ask for anything.
- Speak to him tomorrow.
- I shall not dare — he is kind, but I do not yet feel confident; think — for three years he has not spoken to me! In a month I shall be in Nice.

Notes

Fichus lecteurs — Marie's characteristically familiar-contemptuous address to her imagined future audience. Fichu = damned, wretched (mild expletive). ↩