Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Tuesday, 2 September 1876 (21 August) — Return Journey and Strategy

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 [words blacked out: 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