Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 29 April 1876

So here I am in this blue room for which I was sighing — and in which I sigh still.
The Sapogenikoffs came to see me and asked to see "my conquests." There is no one who does not give preference to Pietro.
The weather is fine — I must go and see what society there is, and then to the shops for several things for my room.
I must arrange a studio, an oratory, a library. That can only be done on the return from Russia, from which I shall bring money.
By the way — and Audiffret? What are we to make of him? Absolutely nothing. He has not been seen for a month; he divides his time between la Pointue and l'Olive and never shows himself on the Promenade.
Besides, poco m'importe — I am occupied with my small, quiet love for Pietro. I truly believe that lips are connected by invisible threads to every part of the body and the heart. His eyes were in mine and his half-parted lips were waiting for mine, not daring to go and seek them. That hesitation charmed me and I put an end to it. But just picture me with a man's kiss on my lips! I not only suffered it but shared it. It was, besides, the first and the only. I had neither the will nor the courage to kiss him on the face — that would have been common and middle-class — and while he kissed me, trembling, I contented myself with closing my eyes and putting my arms around his neck, for I was very much afraid that reaching beyond the thickness of that doorway alcove we might be seen by Walitsky, who might appear at any moment.
It is funny enough all the same — and no one suspects it; everyone believes me just as rigid and pure as ever, and wonders why I did not tell him I loved him, since it commits one to nothing. See how wrong they are!
Here is how the family is composed. First and foremost there is Cardinal-Deacon Giacomo Antonelli. This great personage had four brothers, of whom one — the one who was director of the bank — died without children, leaving his fortune to Pietro's father. Three therefore remain: one has no children and will have none; the other two do. The first has a son who, married for eight years already to the daughter of the Countess Garcia, has no children and will have none — so that branch is out of the question. And finally there is Count Louis Antonelli, married to Countess Camille Folchi, by whom he has had three sons: Domenico, Paolo, and Pietro. According to the new laws, the eldest will inherit half and the other half will be divided equally between the two other brothers.
The cardinal has made a will in which he leaves everything to his brother Louis; the others, having no children and being wealthy in their own right, will receive nothing. Louis is also very rich — but he has three sons.
Now you are acquainted with the situation. And now I shall go and dress. M. Sapogenikoff is here and regards it as the most natural thing in the world that his wife should be in mourning and should have transformed Yourkoff's room into a chapel, where before an altar formed of saints' images and constantly renewed flowers she retires ten times a day to pray and to look at the poor man's bed, which she has made ready each night as if he were to come and sleep in it. This man is either the vilest of men or an angel of heaven. Nina is puffy and yellow; she takes no nourishment except potatoes and tea. While we were there Barnola came, saying he had only learned of our arrival that morning and was on his way to our house when he saw our carriage here.
Nina, Marie, my aunt, M. Sapogenikoff, and Walitsky go to our house, while I, Maman, Dina, and Olga go to the concert. It rains a little, but Saëtone Gautier (Pépino's brother) and two other horrors are at their posts. They are so squalid and hideous after the gentlemen of Rome that I do not know what to say.
Saëtone — that horror whom I used to call Uncle Saëtone — comes to welcome us back. We receive him politely, out of respect for ourselves, and because such a creature merits nothing but an indifferent indifference.
- And your portrait, Mademoiselle — the one you promised me, which you did not give, saying I must come and see it — and as it happened I could not come — when will you give it?
- Ah! Monsieur, I said, smiling — you did not come to fetch it, and I gave it to someone else, so that I have no more to give you.
- Now that is what one calls speaking, he said, taking it as a joke — oh ho! that is truly a reply... but it will not stop me from coming one of these days to pay my respects.
- We shall be delighted, Monsieur.
With a few well-chosen words about our amusing stay in Rome and the manner in which we were fêted there, the former Uncle Saëtone will be able to form conclusions which he will not fail to broadcast.
- But you will be staying in Nice? he asked.
- No doubt we shall come back from time to time — but I love Rome so much that I am going to try to settle there altogether.
- Altogether? said Andriot, with a meaningful look — does that word attach itself to the heart I see there?
- Oh! not at all, I assure you.
- But oh! ho! even so...
- I know nothing about it, in truth.
- You know nothing — but I venture to suppose a great deal, and...
- Quite wrongly, Monsieur — truly quite wrongly, I said, laughing from the tips of my lips.
- No matter — that altogether has a certain effect on me...
The boor — the devil take him!
My God! How far human malice can go! When Yourkoff killed himself, the people of Monaco shut him up in the morgue and would not admit he was there except at the consul's demand and upon the production of the letter that the wretched man wrote to Nina announcing his death. The letter was received at eight o'clock the following morning and Marie immediately left on the eight o'clock train for Monaco. Then they made the difficulties I have just described — but she managed to see him, accompanied by the consul, by Doctor Tchernichoff, and by the peasant Antonoff. When she saw him there, cold and dead, she knelt, wept, and kissed his hand twice, as is the custom. Who would not have done as much in her place? The child has an excellent heart and suffered from the dreadful despair of her mother — who would not have been moved in her place? For after all Yourkoff had been fifteen years in the household; though often disagreeable, he was good; he loved those little girls whom he had known when the younger was barely two years old. They were accustomed to regard him as a relation, and Marie, seeing him dead so suddenly and of so terrible a death, was pale and trembling and wept with all her strength.
And do you know what was said? It was said that Yourkoff, after having been the mother's lover, had become the daughter's, and that pursued by the jealousy of the first he resolved to kill himself.
Poor little girls — angels of patience and indulgence, who live quietly at home, outside society, never putting themselves forward, simple and modest — and someone finds a way to burden them with the most atrocious slanders!
My God and Holy Madonna — I am so horrified by this unworthy slander, beneath all contempt, that I pray You, Lord, to have pity on me! Who knows what is said about me!
It chills me, I assure you.
We all dined together, and afterwards, remembering old times, I went with Olga to my room and, at her request, I told her things about Rome — or rather read from this journal. I was pleased to see her as interested as if by a novel, and it flattered me.
She is still in love with the brother Emile — seeing which I read her the letters from the monks and the shoe-shiners and she was enchanted by them and began chattering and telling stories about this handsome peasant.
Well — what else is there, let me think? Yes — there is a conversation with Dina, whom I went to find in her bed before going to my own.
We reviewed Pietro's prospects. It is quite certain that the dissolute cardinal will leave everything to Count Louis — not to mention that the said Count Louis has already inherited from his banker brother and will inherit from his other brother.
The Garcia father-in-law will leave his fortune to his son — but his son has no children, and his wife, born Garcia, is too stout to give him any. The Antonellis are counting on that inheritance too. But since it is good to take a pessimistic view of things so as not to be disappointed but rather pleasantly surprised, let us set that aside and speak only of the cardinal and the other brother. Certainly those are royal fortunes — but there are three sons. Pietro will have only the fourth part, since the eldest receives the half. And then for that to happen the cardinal must die, and his father must die — and his father is only sixty-four, and being very robust he may easily live another ten or fifteen years, perhaps more, for they die old in that family. Until then the sons will be in complete dependence. And for nothing in the world do I want to marry into a family — I who grow impatient at the least appearance of resistance here at home where I am the mistress. I want to marry only to be in my own home or in my husband's, where he would be entirely at home in his own turn. I want my own palace, my own carriages — in a word, to live independently, and this is a very respectable desire, for it guarantees the happiness of husband and wife and the peace of the whole family. How many wretched people owe their wretchedness only to that life between father and mother — Maman is living proof. It is a pity, for Pietro is very nice.
Then Dina tells me how much she regrets my aversion to Bruschetti. Bruschetti is rich, a count, independent — and coming to Nice he would make all the people here die of envy, people who made the devil of a fuss over the arrival of Loëbecke and my cousin Paul. The arrival of Bruschetti here, with his horses and his smart entourage, would cause a sensation. He is looked down upon in Rome by the essentially Roman coterie which regards every man from the provinces as an intruder — and yet after a few years Bruschetti would be more than welcome there. Whereas in Nice people fight over a Roissard, he would be looked upon as a god. I agree with Dina — but I could not have acted otherwise. I am sorry that Bruschetti is so odious to me, but it is stronger than I am. If he were only slightly bearable I should ask for nothing better. But vanity flattered is not stronger than this insurmountable aversion, and I should have no pleasure in it — tormented and miserable.

Notes

Poco m'importe — Italian/French hybrid: it matters little to me. ↩