Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Friday, 11 August 1876 (30 July) — Saturday, 12 August 1876 (31 July)

Everything was ready; Yssayevitch had said his farewell; the Sapogenikoffs were with me at the station — when... oh, tedium! the money ran short. We had miscalculated. I was obliged to wait at Nina's until seven in the evening, so that Étienne could obtain money for me in the city.
At seven o'clock I departed — tolerably humiliated by the adventure, but agreeably moved at the moment of departure by the appearance of a dozen Guards officers followed by six soldiers in white with flags. This brilliant young company had come to see off two officers who, with government permission, were leaving for Serbia. Serbia is causing a veritable desertion — since the Emperor refuses to declare war, all Russia subscribes and rises in heart for the Serbs. People talk of nothing else; they exalt the truly heroic deaths of a colonel and several Russian officers. One cannot but feel moved by pity for our brothers being quietly slaughtered and cut to pieces by those dreadful savages of Turkey — a nation without genius, without civilisation, without morality, without glory.
And to think that I cannot even subscribe!
An hour before arriving, I put my book aside to take a good look at Moscow — our true capital, the truly Russian city. Petersburg is a German copy — but since it is copied by Russians, it is nevertheless better than Germany. Here, however, everything is Russian: the architecture, the carriages, the houses, the peasant on the edge of the road watching the train go past, the little wooden bridge thrown across a sort of river, the mud on the road — everything is Russian, everything is cordial, simple, devout, loyal.
The churches with their cupolas in the shape and colour of an upturned green fig produce an agreeable impression as one approaches the city. The porter who came to take our luggage removed his cap and greeted us like friends with a wide smile full of respect. How far we are from French effrontery and German gravity — so stupid and so heavy.
I did not cease looking out of the window of the carriage that was brought round for us to go to the hotel.
It is cool — but not that damp, unhealthy coolness of Petersburg. The city, the largest in Europe in area, is old; the streets are paved with large irregular stones, are themselves irregular; one goes up, one goes down, one turns at every moment amid houses of few storeys — often only one — but tall and with wide windows. The luxury of space is so common here that no one notices it; they do not know what it means to pile floors, rooms, and inhabitants one upon another.
The "Bazar-Slave" is a hotel like the Grand Hôtel in Paris — one finds there even the great circular restaurant which one looks down into from the first floor as from a balcony, a theatre hall. But although perhaps not quite as luxurious as the Grand Hôtel, the Bazar-Slave is infinitely cleaner and infinitely cheaper — and especially in comparison with the Hôtel Demouth. The house porters are dressed in a black jacket, trousers tucked into boots that reach to the knee, and an astrakhan toque.
In general one sees a great many national costumes — all the people wear their own dress; one does not see the odious German jacket; and German signs are rarer — but there are some; I say so with regret: there are.
I was charmed by the choice of cab — the drivers beg you to take them with such eagerness that one fears, in giving preference to one, to mortally wound the other. At last we got into a kind of excessively narrow phaeton, and then a steeplechase began. The paving stones, the tramway rails, the passers-by, the carriages — we went through all of it swift as the wind, jolted at every moment and often nearly flung from the carriage. Étienne groaned with anxiety, and I laughed at him, at myself, at our wild race, at the wind that lifted my hair and rosied my cheeks; I laughed at everything, and at every church, every chapel, every icon-niche I crossed myself devoutly in imitation of the good people in the street. What disagreeable surprised me was the women in bare feet. I went to the Solodomikoff arcade to buy a white lace frill; I walked about there with my head in the air, hands dangling, mouth smiling — as if at home. I want to leave tomorrow; I can buy nothing; I have just barely enough to arrive at Étienne's.
Catherine II's triumphal arch is painted red with green columns and yellow ornaments. Despite the extravagance of the colours, you could not imagine how pretty it is — besides, it is in harmony with the roofs of the houses and churches, which are almost all of green or dark-red sheet iron. This naïvety of exterior ornament fills one with satisfaction, making one feel the wholesome simplicity of the Russian people. And the nihilists are already undermining it! Mephistopheles corrupts Marguerite. Propaganda is doing its infamous work, and the day this good people, excited and deceived by senseless Gambettas, rises up... it will be terrible; for if, in times of peace and calm, they are gentle and simple as sheep, in revolt they would be ferocious to the point of frenzy, cruel to the point of delirium.
But love for the Emperor is still great, thank God, and respect for religion also. There is something touching in the devotion and loyalty of the people.
On the square of the Grand Theatre roam whole flocks of grey pigeons; they are in no way frightened by the carriages, and the wheels pass within two inches of a pigeon without its being troubled... You know, Russians do not eat these birds because it is in the form of a dove that the Holy Spirit is depicted.
We inquired for Plevako, our lawyer — he has been in Paris for two weeks. I inquired after Botkin; Botkin is in Petersburg.
I wish to visit nothing this time — Moscow is worth a week. Returning with money I shall see all the historic sights. I only caught a glimpse of the Kremlin, for at the moment it was pointed out to me my attention was absorbed by a cab whose exterior was painted in imitation of malachite.
Among the names displayed in the vestibule I read that of Princess Souvaroff. I immediately sent Chocolat to ask if she would receive me; Chocolat returns to tell me that Her Highness is out until seven o'clock.
Étienne is asleep and I write in the salon.
So it seems I shall not see Plevako — it is confoundedly tiresome. To see him was one of the purposes of my journey. Besides, personally it is a matter of indifference to me.
On the back of the luncheon bill is printed a desperate appeal to the Russian people and clergy from the Moscow Slavic Committee. This heart-rending proclamation (do not play on the word — it is too sad) was given to me this morning on my arrival. I keep it here: it will be in a hundred years perhaps a curious document, and for the moment has too little importance for anyone to think of preserving it.
[Attached document]
This appeal has stirred my soul. Why does no one go and ask the Emperor for war? If the whole nation, rising up, were to fall on its knees before the Emperor, beseeching him to go to the aid of their brothers delivered to the fury of savages — who would dare say no?
But the nihilists — there is the misfortune. Once the troops were withdrawn, they would rouse all the convicts and ne'er-do-wells and stage a little Commune to begin with.
If I were the Emperor I should have a tribune erected in the middle of the Champ-de-Mars in St Petersburg, and from that tribune I would speak to my people in person; I would explain all the misfortunes that threaten them if they allow themselves to be tempted by the gilded, filthy tongues of the revolutionaries; I would tell them simply what prevents the war — the fear of seeing their houses burnt and pillaged, their women and daughters murdered; in a word, the same horrors that the Turks are committing over there would be committed here, but by Russians against Russians, by Christians, and under the abominable disguise of good intentions. Pillage to cries of Fraternity, and murder to howls of Liberty! For after all — granting that the progressive gentlemen are in good faith — how is one to suppose that those who join them at the moment of action are honest men? No — it is impossible; and the greater part of them are those men without faith or law who take their share of the feast in a revolution as in a war or a robbery in the middle of a forest. All those dreadful creatures who dare not show themselves by day and show themselves only at night in the glare of fires and to cries of murder.
You see — to be here, in the heart of one's country, a country so beautiful and of such promise, and to feel it threatened by all these horrors!... I should like to take it in my arms and carry it far away, like a child whose eyes one closes and whose ears one stops so that it may not hear blasphemies or see filth.
But I was saying... Ah! yes — I was saying that if the Emperor harangued his people at Petersburg, at Moscow, at Nizhny Novgorod, and at Kiev in the manner I described — himself in person and simply — all Russia would swear fealty to him and keep its promise! But apart from tenderness and loyalty, one need only tell the merchants (and they are not a minority in Russia) what awaits their trade, and interest and avarice would do what sentiment could not.
God! How could I have kissed him on the mouth! I — the first to do so! Mad, execrable, corrupted creature! Ah! that makes me weep and shudder with rage! Turpis, execrabilis!
He thought it was entirely natural for me — that it was not the first time, that it was a habit acquired! Vatican and Kremlin! I choke with rage and shame!
A cup of consommé, a warm kalach and fresh caviar — there is an incomparable beginning to a dinner. The kalach is a kind of bread, but one must go to Moscow to have any idea of it; and Moscow's kalach is almost as famous as its Kremlin. For a portion of osetrina I was given two immense slices that would be divided into four portions abroad. Furthermore I had a veal cutlet of fifteen square centimetres surrounded by peas and potatoes, an entire chicken, and a saucer full of caviar represented "a half-portion." Étienne began to laugh and told the servant that in Italy it would serve four. The servant — tall and thin as Gianetto Doria and motionless as an Englishman — replied, without moving and without changing expression, that this was the reason for the small stature and thinness of Italians; but the Russians, he added, like to eat well — which is why they are strong. On this the impassive brute deigned to smile and walked out like a wooden doll.
Quantity is not the sole merit of food here, for it is of the most exquisite quality; when one eats well one is in good humour; when one is in good humour one looks at happiness with more joy and at misfortune with more philosophy, and one feels agreeably disposed toward one's neighbour. Excessive greediness is a monstrosity in a woman, but a little greediness is as necessary as wit, as coquetry, as dress — without counting that fine and simple food maintains health, and consequently youth, whiteness of skin, and roundness of figure. Witness my own body. Marie is quite right to say that for such a body one would need a face twenty times prettier (and note that I am far from ugliness). When I think of myself at twenty I smack my lips — when I shall be more developed... At thirteen I was too plump and people gave me sixteen years of age, regretting that I would grow no taller. Today I am slender, fully formed however, remarkably arched — perhaps too much so; I compare myself to all the statues and find nothing as arched and broad in the hips as myself. Is it a fault? But the shoulders require one more line of roundness. So I was saying — yes — that I asked for tea; I was served a samovar, twenty-four lumps of sugar, and cream for five cups. Both exquisite. I always liked tea, even bad tea. I drank five (small) cups with cream and three without. In the manner of a true Russian. My figure is no larger for it. You know, my breasts are too small and so firm that... you will not believe it, but no matter — I shall say so nonetheless: through my chemise and a thick cashmere dress lined with flannel and silk, the outline of the extremities shows as if one had placed two broken stays at the tips, as cocottes do. It is not the corset that does it, for my corset comes only just below the chest. It is extraordinary but so true that, to avoid the indecency of these two... how to say?... which deform my bodice, I am obliged to place over them a batiste handkerchief folded in four. With the winter dress lined with flannel that is sufficient; with summer dresses I use a handkerchief folded in eight.
True Russians and their two capitals are entirely new to me. Before going abroad I knew of Russia only Little Russia and the Crimea. The rare Russian peasants who came to the country as itinerant merchants seemed almost foreigners to us, and we used to mock their dress and language.
I may say all I like — it is no less true that the lips have been darkened since the profaning kiss.
Wise men, cynical women — I forgive you your smile of contempt for my affected ingenuousness. But in truth, do I lower myself even to admit incredulity? Must I swear again... Ah! no — it seems to me I do enough in telling my least thoughts, especially as I am not obliged to. I take no credit for it, for my journal is my life, and in the midst of all pleasures I think: how much I shall have to tell this evening! — as if it were an obligation.

Notes

The Serbian-Ottoman War of 1876: Russia had not yet officially intervened, but thousands of Russian volunteers — including the famous general Chernyayev — had crossed to fight alongside Serbia; the episode is a central backdrop to Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. ↩
The onion domes of Moscow's churches, painted in green, gold, and other colours — a distinctive contrast with the Western classical architecture of Petersburg. ↩
Astrakhan toque: a rounded cap made of curly Astrakhan lambskin, characteristic of Russian livery and traditional dress. ↩
Mephistopheles corrupts Marguerite: Marie's analogy from Goethe's Faust — the nihilists play the Devil, corrupting the innocent Russian people as Mephistopheles corrupts Gretchen. ↩
Gambettas: Léon Gambetta (1838–1882), the republican politician and architect of the Third Republic, was a byword among conservatives and monarchists for dangerous republicanism and demagogy. ↩
Fyodor Plevako (1842–1909): one of the most celebrated Russian barristers of the era, renowned for his oratory; apparently involved in the Bashkirtseff family legal dispute. ↩
Turpis, execrabilis: Latin: "Shameful, detestable!" — Marie's self-condemnation in the language of religious and moral censure. In Latin in the original. ↩
"Vatican and Kremlin": Marie invokes the two supreme sacred spaces of her world — one Catholic, one Orthodox — as witnesses to her outrage; the juxtaposition is a kind of oath. ↩
Kalach (Fr. calatch): a traditional Russian white bread of fine wheat flour, baked in a distinctive padlock shape; a Moscow speciality. ↩
Osetrina (Fr. assetrine): sturgeon flesh, one of the great delicacies of Russian cuisine. ↩