Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Wednesday, 21 June 1876

Until my departure I am taking singing lessons every day. Maman has gone to Monaco; my aunt stayed behind, for I told her to stay — and, sensing my boredom and my grief, she never opposes me.
At dinner a sort of council was held to judge which men are guilty and which are not. My aunt would not hear of the moral... innocence of Pietro and placed him among the debauched men of Rome. We reviewed them all. Doria and Bruschi were declared innocent, while Torlonia, Don Alphonso, Belmonte, Pizzardi... Oh! For there are men who are innocent — morally speaking, of course. There are those who are so even while being physically debauched, for they employ none of those petty wiles and great villanies like Monsieur Émile d'Audiffret — who sees evil everywhere, who attributes a double meaning to every word, who calculates his least gesture.
Apropos of Pietro Antonelli, the Cardinal was discussed. For Pius IX is very ill — people are already speaking of his successor, and the venue for the conclave has been chosen. Collignon suspects something; so I appeared enchanted and related how Cardinal Antonelli will become Pope and I shall therefore be his niece — otherwise I do not wish to hear of it. Niece of the Pope!! And in truth if the Cardinal were to become Pope, it would be a great misfortune for me — I should never console myself; I should never forgive my family for having given cause for malicious gossip and preventing me from becoming the Pope's niece! No — I hope the successor of Pius IX will not be named Jacques.
Collignon went to walk in the garden; I sat beside Dina and began by announcing a great headache — which is true. — In truth, I said, I do not understand what is happening with Antonelli. — How so? asked Dina, who knew very well but wished to provoke an explanation and please me by sustaining the conversation I wanted. — He does not come, I said. — I tell you he is still at the seminary. — And why? — Debts perhaps... — No, everything has been paid. — Ah? — Yes, no doubt; besides, he cannot be at the seminary — that is nonsense. — And if they have shut him away? — And why? I asked, fixing her with a look. People know; his parents know that he proposed to me and that he was to come to Nice. — He will come later, no doubt... — He knew I was going to Russia in a month; the month has passed. — Then I do not understand. — Well, my dear, one does not make a proposal in the air like that — you understand. — Yes, but... — But I know... I only want to know what was written to them from Nice. I should be most curious to know...
My aunt, entering at that moment, was careful not to ask "What?" to catch up — she guessed well enough, and quietly went to sit by the window. — But what could anyone have written? asked Dina. — Nothing, said my aunt. — No — one need only write the truth. A scandalous lawsuit, scandals at Nice, received nowhere. But any one of those three grievances suffices to topple people. No doubt you live outside everything, and in a city like Nice you do not understand that — but serious, settled people do not look upon such things with so indulgent an eye. — Antonelli is a wretched scoundrel — he will have lingered with women of easy virtue. — Oh, my aunt — you are beginning to talk nonsense; such things are only fit to be said at dinner, in front of everyone. — Well, if it is that, it is not worth speaking of! It is even pointless to think about such (a word), such (another word). — My aunt, I know very well that you know more charming expressions of that sort than I do — so I do not wish to compete, and it is worse than pointless to say ugly things. I only repeat... — Nothing could have been written — we do nothing. — There it is! That is precisely it — if you did something it would be better. One need only write the truth; I have given you three pieces of scandal, and with any one of them alone one can give respectable people pause. — It is not that, Dina interrupted — Antonelli could come if he had wanted to, especially now. — Especially now, he could not. — Oh, my dear. — No doubt they have summoned him and told him it was impossible. — He would not obey... — Before. Now it is different; now he is well-behaved; they will have threatened to disinherit him... and that is serious... You see, I continued, addressing my aunt — you say there are those who go nowhere and yet marry; but staying home from whim or from necessity are two different things.
Besides, you can plainly see one does not marry — Antonelli is not a match for me; everyone knows it — but suppose I meet a suitable man and the same story repeats? Be careful, Madame — I am not disposed to suffer such affronts on account of your conduct! — On account of our conduct! — Yes, on account of your conduct. You give me nothing and you take everything from me! You cause scandal! — Scandal! — I should think so — do you suppose Madame de Camprien knows nothing and does not go about the town telling everything? — Oh! cried my aunt in triumph — let someone tell you, let Maman tell you what was said to Madame de Camprien: they told her we were refusing!
— Madame, you are talking nonsense. I understand that you pass over this unhappy adventure in silence — very well; you do not speak of it at home and you believe no one speaks of it, that Madame de Camprien keeps everything to herself. And all the talk she has made about the town — for she has told everyone — and do you think she does not know the end, the dénouement? But if such a thing happened to Mademoiselle Skariatine, or Boutowsky, or Howard, or Leech, you would be the first to shout from the rooftops: there you have it — a scandal; she was refused by her fiancé, she was abandoned, she was unwanted. You would speak of it — and you hope others will deny themselves the pleasure. — But you gave him no promise. — No... but it makes no difference. — You told him in a year. — Yes, I told him that if I marry him it will be in a year — but I did not say that in a year I would give my consent. One waits a year for certainty. But how do you expect me to say: in a year I shall say yes or no? Even Bruschetti would not accept that when I said it to him — and the next day he wrote to me asking at least for a word of hope, of certainty. I neither accepted him nor refused him — and you understand that is enough. Not going into society — I can still accept that; but to submit to such a disgrace! There is no greater one for a young woman.
My aunt was stammering something — for I had never explained myself on the subject of Antonelli. — You think it easy to swallow such a thing, I said with bowed head — you give me nothing and you expose me to scandal. For it is a dreadful scandal. If you pass it over in silence at home, the others do not follow your example. You are the first to comment on the breaking-off of Patton's niece's marriage — and you think the Pattons know nothing of us and do not talk! You close your eyes and believe no one sees you. But all of this falls on me; it is my reputation that suffers! And what do you give me in exchange! All your ugly business falls on my head. Ah — you think it easy to swallow; one must have no illusions: I am thoroughly and scandalously abandoned — and you think that... Ah! God.
Dina looked at me in astonishment — she had not understood how I was taking the thing, and could not get over hearing me lay out the ugly position exactly as I saw it, and as everyone saw it without daring to say so even in a whisper. My aunt found nothing to answer and bowed her head.
Oh! Let these brutes understand the truth once and for all! I speak jokingly of the convent and of death — but there may come a day when I speak of them without laughing. Do not push me to despair. Let them understand once in their lives that one cannot live like this, that one has no right to neglect public opinion when one has children. They care about nothing — but me, me! I who have done nothing — it is on me that everything falls!
Despise prejudice, vanity! But a simple life! And how to live! Between four walls, all the time, all one's life! Dresses and... dresses! For in the end — why does one live?
To do good, you will say — to remain tranquil, to make others happy and oneself happy; then to love an honest man and be a faithful and gentle wife to him. Ah — I have you there! Very well, very well... But since all of that is denied me!
Nothing, nothing, nothing! I do not ask for a frivolous and worldly life — I may desire it, but that is no one's business — I want only an ordinary life like that of all respectable people! That is not the impossible!

Notes

Cardinal Giacomo Antonelli (1806–1876) was the Cardinal Secretary of State under Pius IX — effectively the second most powerful man in the Vatican. Pietro was his nephew. ↩
Jacques = Giacomo, the Cardinal's given name. Pius IX died in 1878; Cardinal Antonelli predeceased him in November 1876, just months after this entry. ↩