Friday, 3 November 1876 (22 October)

Heart-rending letters from Nice, affairs in a tangle here, no solution, and my father!
I am caught between two fires. Bashkirtseff says I am driving him away? Paul has fed him invented nonsense and goes in for gossip to earn his favour. I can still understand repeating what people have said, but inventing, lying like a coward! That is what revolts me!
Michel, Gedanoff and all that rabble were gathered at Bashkirtseff’s, where I went too when Abaza arrived, then Zabarinsky; Mme Zabarinsky is in the country. My father is embarrassed and apologises for his company.
I went out with Nadine, hoping the cold air would calm me. My father’s vile obstructions, the strained position of my family, Paul’s lies!
We went to a Mme Tregouboff, Domenica’s daughter by her first marriage. Domenica and Lola are staying with her. There we were able to gather the news. They say (M. Tregouboff being an eyewitness) that when the concert was over, groups formed as always, and Metchnikoff, the public prosecutor, I believe, exclaimed:
— How the devil could Bashkirtseff have produced a daughter like that? I would have thought him incapable of it; she is a pearl!
At that moment Bashkirtseff came in and they went up to him to congratulate him as if he were the author of a successful play. He did not understand whether they were complimenting him or something else, and stammered so much that it was almost a bark that came out of his mouth instead of words.
written across the page
This was told to Alexandre, who repeated it to me. In Poltava they say M. Bashkirtseff yaps when he is moved.
I said my final goodbyes and came back to the hotel to go out with the hero, who is raging, no one knows why.
My position is as taut as a violin string.
My father has changed strangely; he says the worst things about me, he quibbles with me. Oh! if it were not for... how I would send him packing!
I am so pulled about and plagued on every side that I do not know what I am writing.
I dined with him, Paul, Pacha, Gedanoff; I tried to be gentle, and I was. One may as well leave a pleasant impression. I play the hypocrite, I gnaw my fingers.
And all this is useless; my father is a contemptible man! Fatherly tenderness... humbug; sense of duty, humbug; tender feeling, gratitude, sympathy, humbug, humbug and humbug!
To take pains for a man of wood! To wear oneself out for a heartless monster!
I met Count Elstone-Soumarokoff in the corridor...
I do not remember him in Petersburg, but long ago I saw him dancing with the Grand Duchess Marie, then a girl of sixteen, at Livadia.
I was watching an imperial ball in the Crimea through the window.
One more thing I shall owe my father!
Those things, trivial and vain as they are, vex me most.
I am writing in front of my looking-glass. My poor face! Tired, tired, tired!
O Rome, O insult, O shame!
My God, my God, avenge me, make me forget, save me!
I am staying until tomorrow; I let (?) my father leave this evening; we parted good friends. Paul stayed with me, but he is a spiteful, nasty boy; to please papa he does not come to us and stays I do not know where, over there.
I do not understand what is going on. All these intrigues, all these sullen looks!
Pacha has left too, and that is good; perhaps he will talk some sense into the old madman.
I wonder what has happened? There is no way of getting on when all one thinks of is needling each other.
So that is where I stand. Not even as far along as on the first day.
Kapitan father and son, the others... who? no matter, I saw them, but that is not what I mean.
I do not understand what my father wants... meanwhile he contents himself with having me asked for money to feed his coachmen, and with not paying my bill. Obviously it is done with some intention? He wants to be rid of me? And don’t I want to be rid of him! Good God.
I am hurrying back there, to my own home, and there I shall live in black velvet, since God wills nothing else.
And I rage! Ah! if only I were taken into society, if I were shown to proper people... if...
Stay in the mud, accursed creature! If you were like the others you would have too much success, and the social balance will not allow it.
Rage, destroy yourself, compromise yourself!
How are reputations made? Why, this is how! The scenes over yesterday’s dress are, I would bet my head on it, known to the whole town and commented on!
Worn out, hounded by everything that is vile, suffering, exasperated, disillusioned, deceived at every moment, a cry of pain escapes me... of course, one is not made of wood, and the world condemns!
There, didn’t we say so! There she is, that is what she does, that is what she is like.
Condemned to the eternal torment of an eternal longing... O discouragement, O weariness, O despair!
My God.
I will not complain any more.