Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 16 December 1876

Our isolation at the Skating rink infuriates me — there was Belle-de-jour and Markoff, but that is hardly society! I skated toward the end and not too badly, and since my skirt was necessarily short, people came to look at my feet "from every corner of the earth." Young and old alike. My feet and my figure are, in fact, quite extraordinary. [Written across the page: People stare at me, and my exceptional position thereby becomes all the more strained.]
Mme Anitchkoff happened to be in the carriage with us; I had her repeat once more what Howard had asked.
— And she named Antonelli?
— What Antonelli? No. She named the other one.
— Who?!
— Bruschetti.
— Bruschetti?!!! Oh, really now. This gives me such delightful cheerfulness that I dare face a dinner at the Anitchkoffs'. They are slovenly and they eat slovenly. There was also Lubimoff's brother, a young man of twenty-two, decorated in Serbia, comme il faut but not handsome. M. Anitchkoff is touched by my amiability; I sang and talked. M. Anitchkoff is mine henceforth, and his wife is delighted — I believe he did not care for me much before. I was frank, familiar, gracious, wild — as I never usually am. The approbation of a man like M. Anitchkoff flatters me and does me honour.
Young Lubimoff is dazzled; we all go home; I continue my charmer's role with Pelikan, who tells me:
— Before, you were not like this at all — truly you grow better every day. Even with me you are kind and caressing; in a year you will be perfection itself. I played the piano, and Pelikan, who is deaf, is enchanted by my playing. Since Lubimoff is meant for Dina, I have no fear of being too charming — on the contrary. It may perhaps decide her to marry.
— Mademoiselle, he said as we were coming down the stairs from Mme Anitchkoff's, I am very glad you are leaving.
— Bah?
— Yes.
— And why?
— It's a secret.
— Come now.
— Truly.
— Tell me.
— No, later. And later that evening I said to him aloud that he should beware of me, for by playing at being in love one becomes so in earnest. And he played along. I was extraordinary.
And when they had all gone, my over-excited spirits plunged so low that I went to Maman's room and made a scene of complaints and threats. Another winter, and always the same thing ‖! I saw in the drawing room the visiting cards of Monseigneur de Falloux, Rossi, the ambassadress, her cousin, Antonelli, Mme Soukovkine, the Comtesse de Reculât! All of it was a mirage. Rome drives me mad, and it would be sheer folly to go there badly placed — it would kill me, to live poorly in Rome, oh!!! And I adore Rome. Nice is a squalor, Paris a public café. But Rome... one finds there both a capital and the intimate, gossipy life of a spa town. There are not, as in Paris, a dozen different worlds. One either belongs or one does not! But I am accursed! I do not know where to go, I do not know what to do — I am going mad.

Notes

Skating — in English in the original. ↩