Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Thursday, 4 May 1876

I have been in Nice not a week, and yet it seems to me I have been here a month.
There is a requiem mass for the repose of Yourkoff's soul, after which Marie came to see me and we reasoned about marriage and love, seated on my little terrace looking at the Promenade, perfectly deserted.
She was astonished at my refusal of Antonelli and I replied that Miloradovitch being richer, I should prefer him, and would therefore get him attached to an embassy, from which, with his wealth, he could easily become ambassador — even to Rome.
— And then, said Marie — you would have admirers galore.
— Oh! I replied chastely.
— No, no, she said, a little confused — I mean nothing wrong; they would court you, that is all.
— My dear, I said, to put her at ease and because I meant what I was about to say — my dear, let us not, the one before the other, mount on our stilts of virtue.
— Ah! very well.
— Few women marry with the firm resolution of deceiving their husbands.
— No doubt.
— But, I continued, they arrive at deceiving them. It is not their fault, nor the husbands'. One does not begin to love because one wills it, nor does one cease to love at will either. Neither the woman nor the husband can be accused of it. So long as one loves one is faithful — but... afterwards...
— That is true.
— As for public opinion — ah! my dear, what a deplorable and malicious wild beast society is. It blames the reckless and slanders the prudent. A woman who has lovers is ill-regarded, and she who has none has them attributed to her at will.
— Like Maman and Yourkoff...
— Yes, precisely, my dear — your mother; but I do not blame her. She had no lovers, I added, laughing — she simply took a second husband to whom she was very faithful; she would therefore have only to be accused of bigamy, that is all. You know, when I was at your place in Geneva, I did not want to believe it — the husband was there, so perfectly in accord with his friend Nicolas and with his wife, and your mother concealed it so little that it seemed to me impossible there should be anything more than friendship.
— Exactly, said Marie — it was Papa who threw suspicion off the scent; but you know, until Geneva I knew nothing of it — it was that dear Spitzbart who opened my eyes. I was furious and wrote to Papa — and God, what a scene there was at home!
— I can imagine!
— It was Papa who threw things off as I told you; besides, Papa is an angel — he did it for us. He could have thrown both Maman and Yourkoff out of the window, but he kept silent out of love for us, and that is why we must love him all the more, is it not?
— Yes — but to tell you the truth, I do not understand your father.
— Yes, I know — he may seem a contemptible and vile man, but when one knows what he has suffered one respects him like an angel.
— I can well believe it.
There are curious customs for you. I have never heard the like and probably never shall.
Towards four o'clock I went to dress — with Marie, who is after all a good girl. We were having tea when I was called to see Mme de Wykerslooth, who had come. We show the house to this charming woman, and after she has gone we walk on the Promenade. Marie goes back to finish the packing which she is supervising. And I, dressed all in pink with my family, go to the concert, where our carriage is accosted by Pépino and Galula. I have nothing against them — they have always been the same. Ah! by the way — Emile has been requested by the mother of la Pointue not to come to her place any more, since, not deciding to make a proposal of marriage, he was compromising her. It was Ricardo who told us this. He came today to say his farewells. He leaves tomorrow.
The true season of Nice is in May. The weather is beautiful enough to drive one mad. After an inevitable quarrel with Papa I went roaming in the garden by the light of a very young moon, to the song of the frogs accompanied by the murmur of the waves that gently break on the pebbles. Divine silence and divine harmony.
They say wonderful things of Naples — as for me, I am sorry but I prefer Nice, even in that here the sea washes the shore freely, while there it is stopped by a stupid balustraded wall — and even that wretched edge is obstructed by shops, stalls, filth and... filth.
— Think of me sometimes — as for me, I shall do nothing but think of you.
Forgive him, my God — he did not know what he was saying. I permitted him to write to me and he does not even avail himself of that permission. Will he at least send the telegram he promised Maman?
In a moment of expansiveness he has told a friend of his plans and his love — Torlonia or Zucchini — and they have shown him all the madness of it; especially Antonio Z-z-Zucchini — well, he has good reason to distrust marriage. And Pietro, guided by such excellent counsellors, will have struck his forehead, exclaiming that he was mad, insane, to have wanted to tie himself hand and foot at the age of three-and-twenty, and the poor little species of love for me will have flown away, leaving at most a memory, a regret.
Do you know what this is called? What? Why, this! Well — it is called... Not at all — I do not know what you were about to say, but I say: not at all! It is called, simply and trivially, bad luck — and there you have it!
I am too lazy to rage and too preoccupied with Russia. A week ago today we left Rome.
If you think that what I have just said about Pietro is a mere supposition, you are mistaken. I believe in his love for me as much as in mine for... for Larderei. And even that is saying something!
Loftus is in love with Leech — and has been since last summer when I saw them both at Wiesbaden. He follows her everywhere. And I encourage him in every possible way; I beg him to come to Nice — and he does not even stir.
He did tell me — when I cited it to prove he did not love me — that he was not his own master just now; that he was not his own master by his own will. He had been leading an impossible life and had just obtained forgiveness and made his peace — all of it on account of me — and that at least during the first period of that peace he must obey passively, to merit a little confidence that they had long since grown unaccustomed to granting him. That he had not yet spoken officially of anything, for though he was fêted by the whole family, he was still far from being at ease there. And that he owed this disagreeable constraint to me, for it was I who had inspired him with the idea of reforming, of living honestly. Without me he would have gone on doing dreadful things and being threatened three times a week with being turned out of the house.
- I would have been very glad to be turned out, he added — for then they would have given me the means to live and I could drink and stupefy myself in freedom. But you have changed all that. On seeing you I wanted to live differently and consented to endure everything in order to be at peace again with my parents, for I have thought of you seriously.
The trouble with all this is that it is too sensible to be true. I understand that one should do what he did, that one should submit in order to obtain what one desires — but I do not understand that one should not be anxious about the woman who is going far away, who may meet other people, who... one never knows what may happen. It is true that he made me swear to love him.
— Swear, he said.
— I swear, I said.
— The way you say that!
And indeed I said it as though someone had asked me if I wanted some galantine and I replied: Yes, I'll have some.
I said it as I felt it.
Setbacks have made me philosophical — instead of lamenting over what has not succeeded I prefer to think of something else and try elsewhere. I assure you that is very wise. Besides, I do not lament because I believe Pietro is not a serious loss. Ah! if it had been Doria, I would weep for three weeks and perhaps even three years, as with Hamilton. If what Visconti said were true I might perhaps be angry.
Ah! I must see about the frame for the portrait of Pius IX and give it to the nuns.