Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

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

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 slaves. 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 perhaps — but 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.