Tuesday, 21 November 1876

Yesterday’s delicious melodies have gone to my head and taken a certain form there... I am thinking... Oh no, not of that filthy Antonelli, but of someone who took my first kisses and who by that very fact is inevitably linked to all my thoughts... until a new... someone...
You know what Walitsky told Maman. Antonelli made him his confidant — well... you know... he spent every night with prostitutes! Straight from my house!!!
While fitting me, Caroline talked of the handsome Capoul, who is not handsome. I went on to Reboux’s, where I went on being amusing, as at Caroline’s... and at last came home dead tired... and out of sheer despair and misery I laughed about Capoul and lay down on Maman’s bed to chatter and declare that I was furious at not being a society lady.
— For I want Capoul... Oh, in my drawing room only.
Rice came to see me.
crossed out[words crossed out]
I took one of my father’s visiting cards and, having written these few words across it, sent it to Cassagnac.
— “I have just come back from Russia and should like the pleasure of introducing you to my mother.”
Signed: Marie Bashkirtseff
But — away with all of that! I want, I want — do you hear me — I want to love someone. I want at last to know what this Love is that makes the whole human race do and not do so many things.
Do you want verses? Here then:
I have never loved — I burn with desire To be quickly informed Of what love means. I want to know at last What this great mystery is That makes the human race Do so much and leave so much undone.
Well, frankly — not because they are mine... I am always fair — but frankly, these are very... bad verses.
But truly, I am not laughing when I say I want to love... and it seems to me that I shall love soon... at least
To what purpose? No matter! I dislike always hearing love talked and sung about without understanding any more of it than if they were talking or singing in Dutch! The other day I boasted to Pacha that I could speak on any subject — I even challenged him to find a topic on which I had no knowledge; he could not find one... and Love? I can reel off the crudest sophistries, but I haven’t the faintest idea.
And my girl — you are like Offenbach’s La Belle Hélène, who sings: “Divine love, ardent flame!” With the refrain: “We must have love, / Though none were left in the world!”
But it is not that love — which the Ancients demanded of Venus (Offenbach’s Venus) — that I am asking for.
I am asking for... the sacred fire... to light my cigarette? Fie! I no longer smoke.

Notes

Paul de Cassagnac (1842–1904) — Bonapartist journalist, deputy from Gers, editor of Le Pays. Famous duellist and political polemicist. Sending a card uninvited was highly unconventional for a young woman. ↩
From Offenbach’s La Belle Hélène (1864). The aria “Amour divin, ardente flamme!” with its refrain affirming love’s necessity regardless. ↩