Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Tuesday, 22 August 1876 (10 August) — Gavronzi

— But Papa, said Paul, who then sent that telegram that Marie received in Petersburg, signed with my name? For it was not I.
My father was somewhat flustered.
— Well, he said, I must confess — it was I; you see I am found out at once, but... it makes no matter, what does it prove? Only that I desired... well, it proves... good — yes, very good.
— Yes, very good, and all the better, I said.
I set about dressing and let him come in so that he might see my linen and everything. My figure enchants him — the vain man is proud to show off. We were ready, but he wished to wait for the servants and luggage so that the procession might be more imposing. A four-horse carriage, a calèche, and a hooded droshky harnessed to a madly spirited troika for the little prince.
My genitor watched me with satisfaction and was restraining himself with the greatest effort in order to appear calm, even indifferent.
It is, besides, in his character to show nothing of his feelings.
Halfway I climbed into the droshky to fly like the wind. The little horror makes me laugh. After [words blacked out: twenty-five minutes we] had covered ten versts. Two versts still remained to Gavronzi and I rejoined my father's carriage so as to give him the satisfaction of an imposing entry.
The hunchbacked princess met us on the front steps.
— Eh! said my father — how tall she is... and interesting, is it not so? Eh?
[Words blacked out: One must believe] he was pleased with me to risk such an effusion before one of the sisters.
A steward and others came to congratulate me on my happy arrival.
The estate is picturesquely situated — hills, a river, trees, a handsome house and several smaller ones. [Words blacked out: All the] buildings [words blacked out: perfectly maintained, the garden well tended; moreover the house was entirely refitted and refurnished this past winter]. One displays great style while affecting simplicity and an air of: "it is always like this."
Fine bronzes, Sèvres and Saxon porcelain, objets d'art. In truth I had not expected all this here. But a touch of bad taste. Champagne at lunch, naturally. An affectation of both aristocracy and simplicity that borders on stiffness. Ancestral portraits, proofs of ancient lineage — which I find entirely agreeable.
My father poses as a wretch abandoned by his wife — he who asked only to be the model of husbands. [Words blacked out: A large portrait of] Maman painted in her absence, tokens of respect for the memory of lost happiness, and surges of hatred against Grand-papa and the Babanines who destroyed that happiness.
Enormous pains taken to make me feel that my arrival changes nothing in the inhabitants' daily habits.