Monday, 21 August 1876 (9 August) and Tuesday, 22 August 1876 (10 August)

How far removed is life here from the frank hospitality of Étienne and Marie, who gave up their room to me and served me like slaves¹. But then it is a very different matter. There I was in friendly country, at home; here I come braving established relations and trampling beneath my little feet hundreds of quarrels and millions of disagreeable things.

My father is a dry, worn, wounded, and flattened man — flattened from childhood by the terrible general, his father. Scarcely free and wealthy, he launched himself into the world and half ruined himself.

Puffed up with pride and childish vanity, he prefers to seem a monster rather than show what he feels — especially when he is moved by something — and in this he is like me.

A blind man could see how delighted he is to have me, and he even shows it a little when we are alone.

At two o’clock we set off for Poltava. My father, myself, and Pacha — then Paul and the little prince.

That very morning we had already had a skirmish on the subject of the Babanines, and in the carriage my father permitted himself to insult them in the name of his lost happiness, blaming Grand-maman for everything. The blood rose to my face and I told him sharply to leave the dead in their graves.

— Leave the dead! he cried — but that is to say, if I could take that woman’s ashes and...

— Be silent! You are impertinent and ill-bred!

— Chocolat may be impertinent — not I!

— You and all those who lack delicacy and good breeding! I will not have people speak in this manner. If I have the delicacy to hold my tongue it is absurd that others should complain. You have nothing to do with the Babanines — concern yourself with your wife’s affairs and your children’s, as for the rest do not speak of them, just as I do not speak of your own family to you. Appreciate my good manners and do likewise.

All the while I was speaking I felt the most profound admiration for myself.

— How can you say such things to me!

— I say them, I repeat them, and I regret having come here — for you do not know how one should behave toward those who come to visit.

I turned my back on him for I was choking with tears and rage at my own weeping.

And when my father began to laugh, embarrassed and confused, trying to embrace me and draw me into his arms, I redoubled my admiration for myself and offered him the most vigorous resistance.

— Come now, Marie, let us make peace — we shall never speak of it again, I shall never speak of it again, I give you my word of honour!

I resumed my natural composure but without giving any sign of pardon or goodwill, which caused Papa to redouble his amiability.

My child, my angel (I am speaking to myself) — you are an angel, positively an angel! You always knew how to conduct yourself but you were not in a position to do so; now at last you are beginning to apply your theories to reality! You are worthy of everything — I adore you.

We had tea at the hotel. In Poltava my father is king — but what a dreadful kingdom!

My father is inordinately proud of his two cream-coloured horses; when they were brought round with the town carriage I barely deigned to say “very pretty.”

We drove around the streets — deserted as Pompeii. How can these people live like this! I am not here to study the town’s customs, so let us move on.

— Ah! said my father, if you had come a little earlier there were people about, one could have arranged a ball, or anything at all. Now there is not a soul — the fair is over.

We went to a shop to order painting canvas. This shop is the rendezvous of Poltava’s fashionable set. But we found no one there.

In the town gardens, the same. My father, I do not know why, will not introduce me to anyone. Perhaps it is fear of too sharp a criticism. I awaited the arrival of Miloradovitch with impatience. While waiting for dinner I took Paul’s arm to walk a turn in the gardens and inquire whether Miloradovitch had been notified.

— I sent to his house, said Paul, and he will come presently — here, I suppose, not finding us at the hotel.

I had taken my brother aside to find this out, because it seems to me that my father knits his brow and thinks I have plans... and that displeases me.

In the middle of dinner there arrived my old...

Six years ago we were in Odessa — Maman saw Mme Miloradovitch often and Gritz came to our house every day, played with Paul and courted me, bringing me sweets, flowers, fruit. People laughed at us, and Gritz declared he would never marry any woman but me, to which some gentleman (I no longer remember who) never failed to reply:

— Oh ho! What a boy — he wants a minister for a wife.

The Miloradovitches accompanied us to the steamboat that was to take us to Vienna. I was excessively coquettish; I had forgotten my comb and Gritz gave me his, and at the moment of farewell we kissed one another with the parents’ permission.

“Happy days of our childhood,

When we said, maman, papa!

Days of happiness and innocence,

Ah! how far away you are already.”

— You know, adorable cousin, Gritz is a little stupid and a little deaf, said Michel while Miloradovitch was climbing the steps to the restaurant gallery.

— I know him well, dear dandy; he is no more stupid than you or I, and he is a little deaf on account of an illness — and above all because he puts cotton wool in his ears for fear of catching cold.

Several people had already come up and shaken my father’s hand, burning to be introduced to the daughter arrived from abroad — but my father did nothing, pulling faces of disdain. I was already afraid he would do the same with Gritz.

— Marie, allow me to present Grigori Ievitch Miloradovitch, he said.

— We have known each other a long time, I said, extending my hand graciously to my childhood friend.

He has not changed at all — the same brilliant complexion, the same dull gaze, the same small and slightly disdainful mouth, a microscopic moustache. Perfectly dressed and excellent manners.

We looked at one another with curiosity. Michel was making sarcastic faces. Papa blinked his eyes as always.

I was not hungry at all — it was time to go to the theatre, which is situated in the garden like the restaurant.

I proposed that we stroll a little and go afterwards. The model of all fathers rushes between Gritz and me, and when it was time to go to the theatre he hurried up and offered me his arm with alacrity. A true father, upon my word — quite like something out of a novel. It amused me and vexed me a little, although I recognised all the propriety of such conduct and all the respect it earns a young lady from the young men.

An immense stage box in the first tier, hung with red cloth, facing the prefect’s box.

A bouquet from the prince, who spends the day making declarations only to receive in return — “go away, my dear” — or else — “you are the flower of all dandies, my cousin.”

Few people in attendance and an insignificant play. But our box alone contained a great deal of interest.

Pacha is a curious man. Candid and upright to the point of childishness, he takes everything seriously and says so exactly what he thinks, with such simplicity, that it sometimes seems to me he must be concealing beneath this good-naturedness an enormous spirit of sarcasm — and yet there is none at all. He sometimes remains ten minutes without saying a word and when spoken to shakes himself as if waking from a dream; and when one smiles at a compliment of his or says to him — “how kind you are!” — he takes offence and retreats to a corner saying: “I am not in the least kind — if I say it, it is because I think it. Another time I shall say nothing if you do not believe me.”

I moved to the front of the box to gratify my father’s vanity.

— There it is, he would say — there it is, here I am in the role of a father now! It is amusing. But I am still a young man, I am!

— Ah ha! Papa — there is your weakness. Very well. You shall be my elder brother and I shall call you Constantin. Agreed?

— Perfectly!

— Very well then, Constantin — pass me the opera glass.

— With pleasure. Very good — yes, very good.

You see, blasted readers, what a blasted father.

Miloradovitch and I very much wished to talk alone, but Paul, Eristoff or Papa would intervene as if on purpose. At last I settled into the corner which forms a sort of separate little box giving onto the stage and permitting one to see the actors preparing. Michel naturally followed me, but I sent him to fetch me some water and Gritz sat down beside me.

— I awaited you with impatience, he said, examining me curiously — Paul gave me several false alarms, and I thought you would not come at all, as last year.

— Yes, so people believed — and yet here I am.

— You have not changed at all.

— Oh! That grieves me — I was ugly.

— Hm...

— No, no — but you are always the same.

— I can see perfectly what this glass of water is about! whined the prince, handing me one. I can see it perfectly!

— Not like the one you are bringing me, which you will spill on my dress if you lean so far.

— You are unkind — you are my cousin and you are always talking to him.

— He is my childhood friend and you are a charming gommeux of a day.

— Ah! It is true... gommeux — yes, gommeux.

I turned back to Gritz, leaving the other to place himself behind me; and paying him no further attention, we occupied ourselves only with one another. Then the memories began. It turned out that we both remembered the smallest things.

— I was courting you, then.

— Yes, that is true.

— We were both children, but how one remembers all of it — when we were children... together, is it not so?

— Yes.

Gritz is an old man in spirit — it is so strange to hear this rosy-cheeked young man speak of serious, domestic, practical matters. He asked me whether I had a good lady’s maid, and then:

— It is good that you have studied so much — for when you have children.

— What an idea.

— And why not — am I not right?

— Yes, you are right.

— Education and even science are necessary for a woman, he added.

— There is your uncle Alexandre, my father said to me.

— Where?

— There, opposite.

Indeed he was there with his wife.

Alexandre came to our box and my father sent me to Nadine’s during the next interval. This dear little woman is pleased — and so am I.

When I returned to our box I was once again enclosed in my corner by my two cousins, my father, my brother, and my friend. Then Nadine came to us.

During an interval I went into the garden with Paul and my father came running after me and took my arm.

— You see how agreeable I am toward your family — it proves I know how to behave.

— Very well — but it is as I told you. Whoever wishes to be on good terms with me must do my will and serve me.

— Ah! No.

— Ah, yes! Take it or leave it. But admit that you are fortunate to have a daughter like me — pretty, well-formed, elegant, witty, educated. Admit it.

— I admit it — it is true.

— Ah ha! And not to mention that you are young and everyone will be astonished to find you with such a daughter, eh?

— Yes, I am still very young.

Vain, childish, without backbone. That is what he is.

They played a waltz and he began to dance with me in the box.

Gritz, like the other young men, is his companion in debauchery.

— Papa, we are going to have supper in the garden.

— That is not proper².

— Indeed not! said Gritz, leaning sideways on his armchair while I leaned from the other side.

— People will say that Mlle Bashkirtseff supped at night at the restaurant.

— Really, Papa — with her father, the Marshal of the Nobility whom every dog in town knows, and who is the leader of Poltava’s gilded youth. Indeed — scandalous!

— But the horses are waiting...

— That is precisely what I wished to speak to you about — send them away and we shall return by cab.

— You in a hired cab — never!

— Then have the four horses harnessed — those you came with from Gavronzi, said Gritz.

— Well — but supper is not proper.

— Papa, when I descend from my own rigidity and find a thing proper, it is absurd that others should think differently.

— Hm... yes... very well... hm — do as you wish then.

It humiliated his youthfulness to find himself between Gritz and me as though between his children.

— Constantin, I said — you are a good boy; do as I say and we shall enjoy ourselves together.

— Ah ha ha! — and Constantin began to laugh. Alexandre was delighted to see that I was not being humiliated. All our family fear the humiliations and sarcasms of the Bashkirtseffs. I prove very well that I do not.

— You know, we shall sup — but it is solely to please you; I am weary of these amusements.

— I quite believe it. Men are all like that! They grow weary and expect women of seventeen to be as blasé as they are — women who have not yet experienced anything of life.

— Hm... yes, very well — enough.

We supped in a private room (required by Papa out of respect for me).

Bashkirtseff father and son, Alexandre and Nadine, Paul, Pacha, Eristoff, Miloradovitch and I. The latter did nothing but drape my cloak over my shoulders, assuring me I would catch cold.

We drank champagne — Eristoff called for bottle after bottle in order to give me the last drop. Miloradovitch played the reasonable one, seeking my approval which I granted without hesitation.

Several toasts were proposed and my friend, taking his glass, leaned toward me and said softly: “to the health of Madame your mother” — and as he was looking me in the eyes with an intimate air, I replied also in a low voice, with a look of frank gratitude and a friendly smile.

A few minutes later I said aloud:

— To Maman’s health!

And we drank again. Miloradovitch watched my every gesture and was visibly trying to conform to my opinions, my tastes, even my jokes. I took pleasure in changing them to disconcert him. I drank only half a glass, but as the last drop of each bottle was always poured for me, I appeared to be drinking constantly — and my father remarked on it. I told him the truth and he said: “Ah! Good.”

Pacha has received the nickname of philoslave³ from the prince. The prince is a wretched good-for-nothing.

Miloradovitch listened to me and finally cried out: “Ah! but she is charming!” — with such naivety, such naturalness and pleasure, that it pleased me too.

Nadine returned in the calèche with Papa and me, and while the men, Gritz excepted, continued drinking at the hotel (the ladies had made them ill at ease), I went to Nadine’s and we went to bed together to gossip at ease. Papa entered seriously into his role — he sent Chocolat to me three times to say I would be exhausted if I did not go to bed immediately.

I sent for Alexandre and we discussed business until five in the morning, and from five to six Paul came and we talked about my father.

— Dear Moussia, my uncle was saying — you have enchanted me; your dignified conduct with Bashkirtseff has delighted me. I was already worried for you, but if you continue in this way, you will take him in hand — I assure you of it.

— Yes, said Paul — if you stay only a month, you will have him in your power, and it will be a true happiness for us all.

It is agreed with Alexandre that at the beginning of September I shall go with him to make a tour of my properties and we shall settle all the affairs. I shall prepare my father for it — I shall go for three weeks and return to him again before quitting Russia. I should think so, by Jove!⁴ I shall mention casually that all my aunt’s properties belong to me. Such things will have a salutary effect on him.

He took a room beside mine on the right, and in my anteroom he had his servant sleep.

— I hope she is well guarded, he said to my uncle — you know, I am a bon vivant, a man who enjoys life; but from the moment her mother entrusts her to me, I shall justify that trust and fulfil my duty in a sacred manner.

The following day — this morning, or rather this afternoon — at one o’clock, the same company (all without exception) lunched together. And I took tea beside a window (the walls are so thick that the window embrasure forms a real table) with Gritz.

Yesterday I borrowed twenty-five rubles from my father for the pleasure of returning them to him today.

We set off in the same order as yesterday. Miloradovitch accompanied us to the post office where I was to collect some photographs, but the office was closed.

We had barely been out in the fields a few minutes when my father suddenly asked me:

— Well then — shall we fight again today?

— As much as you please!

He took me brusquely in his arms, wrapped me in his cloak and rested my head on his shoulder. And I closed my eyes — that is my way of being tender. We remained like that for some time.

— Now, he said — sit up straight.

— A cloak then, for I shall be cold.

He wrapped me in a cloak. And I began to talk of abroad — of Rome, its pleasures, its society — taking great care to let him understand that we were exceedingly well placed there, speaking of Monseigneur de Falloux, Baron Visconti, the Pope. I expatiated on the society of Poltava.

— To spend one’s life losing at cards to rogues, ruining oneself in champagne among riffraff in taverns. To stupefy oneself, to grow mouldy! Whatever one does, one must always be in good company!

— Ah, come now — you seem to be saying I am in bad company, he said, laughing.

— I! Never — I am merely speaking in general, of no one in particular.

I said so much and more that he finally asked me how much a large apartment cost for giving entertainments in Nice.

I told him the price.

— You know, he said, if I were to come there and set myself up for a winter as... well... yes, people would see things quite differently and the situation would be altogether different...

— Whose situation?

— The birds of the air, he said laughing, as if stung.

— My situation? Yes, that is true — but Nice is a disagreeable town, there is nothing there but riffraff. Why should you not come this winter to Rome?

— I — hm... yes... hm...

No matter! The first word has been launched and it has fallen on good ground. What I fear are the influences — that is, Mme Tutcheff’s influence. I must accustom this man to me, make myself agreeable, indispensable, and ensure that this aunt finds a wall between her brother and her spite. I have begun today. I am quite at home here, I don’t interfere with any of his habits; I chat, I tell stories, I lecture — he listens to me with satisfaction and smiles. He is pleased to find me capable of talking about anything at all, and just as we were going in to dinner and I was finishing a sentence about chemistry with a certain Kapitanenko — an officer of the Guards, retired, dulled by provincial life and universal mockery, a young man and the household jester — my father rose from his chair and said:

— It’s true, Pacha, she is most learned.

— You are joking, Papa?

— Not at all, not at all, but it is good, yes. Ah! Very good indeed, hm, very good.

You see plainly, you blasted readers, you see plainly that when I am not wretched as the dust of the road, you see plainly that I love nobody and that Antonelli is as remote from my heart as... as Gritz. I am impatient — he is coming tomorrow. He is the only one here, and I cannot live without amusement.

And then... and then there is Gritz. Well... God is good, very good to me.