Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Sunday, 19 November 1876

I went to bed with Maman and, instead of tender words after so long an absence, nothing but a torrent of complaints escaped my lips. The thing is... while undressing I caught sight of myself by chance in a mirror.
— Look at those fine shoulders, I said — and to think that I am condemned never to wear a décolletage... I lay down in a fury, beside myself, and began in a low voice a litany of complaints — which soon ceased, however, as I fell asleep.
We were in the drawing room with my father in the room next door. Antonelli's name was mentioned — it was said that after gambling at Monaco he had gone to Serbia.
— I shall find out, I said — from the fortune teller or from Alexis.
At this, Maman told me I ought not to concern myself with "that creature," that "suckling pig," that "piece of filth," that "child."
Child... and other things she said clearly meant that Antonelli was an insignificant child, a depraved greenhorn who had behaved badly and to whom I had attached too much importance...
Nothing more wounding could have been said to me. And for the hundredth time, I am humiliated!
The weather is wretched, I have a headache and feel as though I am in a heavy, hateful dream.
My parents seem not too much at odds. My father imagines that kissing a hand is enough to make everything forgotten, and so he makes himself agreeable.
Towards evening we were so well reconciled that a spectator — had there been one — might have seen on the enormous beds of the Grand Hôtel: Monsieur, Madame, myself and Dina, and even Prater.
Prater was so glad to see me!
After dinner the talk turned to bringing me out into society. I am too lazy this evening to recount everything. Suffice to say that my father is a fairly wicked gentleman who gives the appearance of consenting, of accommodating himself, while fully intending to slip away and concern himself with nothing. He plays the attentive husband to his sick wife — it costs nothing, especially for two days.
Georges honoured us with a visit. Dina kept herself shut away so as not to see him — I quite understand, after all those infamies.
The Cardinal is dead.
The greatest insult one can offer me is to say that Antonelli is a depraved, frivolous, insignificant young man.
So it has all been nothing but a mockery!!!
Again — for the hundredth time — I repeat my cries of indignation! I need his life or his honour. If I could only believe that Antonelli is a man and not a nobody, I should already feel relieved.
I think of Pacha more than ever — I am ready to beg him on my knees to exterminate that infamous creature for me... Oh no, not infamous — but contemptible, odious, disgusting!
What shame — and how I am punished... punished for what? For what? Because I wanted to love? Because I touched with my lips the lips of the man I thought to make my husband and to whom I was prepared to remain always faithful — if not out of eternal love, then at least out of respect for God and for myself!
And you expect there to be honest women — you great heap of idiots, monsters, depravities, and villains!
In truth the swine is not worth such magnificent rages, and the more I lose my temper, the more furious I become... because I am losing my temper.
I shall live in Rome between study and reverie. I shall not go out; I shall see no one.
Buried alive.
Alive, young, passionate, hungry for pleasure and life! Buried — yes, rather than being as I have been until now: noticed and tarnished and humiliated at every turn.
Indeed it is worthwhile being what I am in body and spirit — to live in seclusion!
Oh my God, since You condemn me to this torment... no — it is that I deserve it.
Forgive me.

Notes

Prater — one of Marie's pet dogs. ↩