Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Monday, 21 August 1876 (9 August) — Gavronzi

At Kharkoff we waited two hours. Alexandre was there. Despite my telegrams, he was practically stupefied to see me; I detected embarrassment in his manner but held myself well. He has no idea what I am or why I have come — he flatters me, he bows. He is a thorough scoundrel, and if I have trouble ahead it will be with him. [Words blacked out: He told me] of my father's great anxiety, who was terribly worried thinking I would not come to him. He went to implore Alexandre not to accompany me, and instead sent Paul so that I should come to Gavronzi — he did nothing but inquire after the telegrams I sent my uncle to know where I was in my journey. In a word, the greatest eagerness to have me, if not out of love then at least out of pride. Alexandre made a few remarks that landed close to home, but my policy is to remain neutral.
On Monday he will be in Poltava and we shall talk. He arranged for me to have a private compartment by introducing me to Colonel Menzenkanoff of the gendarmerie, who ceded his own. I feel myself at home here — everything and everyone knows me, or knows my family; there is nothing ambiguous in one's position and one walks and breathes freely. But I should not wish to live here, oh no!
This morning at six we arrive at Poltava. No one at the station.
On arriving at the hotel I wrote the following letter — bluntness often succeeds:
I arrive in Poltava and cannot even find a carriage. A hired cab! Come at once — I shall expect you at noon. Truly, this is not a fitting reception.
Marie Bashkirtseff.
The letter had scarcely gone when my father came rushing into the room, and I threw myself into his arms with a noble slowness.
He was visibly satisfied with my appearance, for his first concern was to examine my person with a kind of eagerness.
— How tall you are! I did not expect that. And pretty — yes, yes, good, very good, indeed.
— Is this how I am received — not even a carriage! Did you receive my letter?
— No, but I have just received the telegram and came running — I had hoped to arrive in time for the train, I am covered in dust — to come more quickly I took young Eristoff's troika.
— And I have written you a pretty letter.
— Like the last telegram?
— Almost.
— Very good... yes, very good.
— That is my way — people serve me.
— Like me! But you see I am as capricious as the devil.
— And I as two.
— You are accustomed to people chasing after you like little dogs.
— And they must chase after me — without that, it cannot work.
— Ah! No, that will not do with me.
— Take it or leave it.
— But why treat me as "my father." I am a bon vivant, a young man — that is all!
— Perfect, and all the better.
— I am not alone — I am with Michel Eristoff and Paul Gorpintchenko (the son of his sainted sister).
— Show them in.
Eristoff is a perfect little dandy — execrably entertaining, stupid, ridiculous, bowing low, swallowed up in trousers three times the natural width and a collar reaching his ears.
The other one goes by Pacha — his family name is too difficult. He is a strong and sturdy lad, light chestnut hair, clean-shaven, Russian in appearance, square-set, candid, serious, agreeable but taciturn — or perhaps preoccupied, I cannot yet tell. I knew him about ten years ago when I used to be brought to visit my father.
Prince Eristoff, a buffoon and a brute but rich, was induced — the devil knows how — to marry, some seven or eight years ago, Nathalie, my father's second sister, hunchbacked, ugly but kind. He died after six months, leaving his princess two sons and a daughter from his first marriage. Prince Constantin is my aunt Tutcheff's lover, and Prince Michel is an eighteen-year-old scoundrel who sponges off Papa and relates his brother's amorous adventures.
I established myself at once as a relation and a welcome acquaintance. But I arrive after the fair. The town is deserted — it is tiresome. I was awaited with immense curiosity. [Three lines cancelled]