Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Friday, 2 March 1877

This morning Prince Giovanni Borghese, of Rome, arrived at our hotel with a companion said to be a priest, silk drawers, extraordinary shoes, two sponges, a rubber bath, and a chest of drawers like mine.
— Listen, Rosalie said to me, I am very fond of Larderei but this one has more chic.
I am pleased to have another name on my tongue besides Larderei's, which begins to vex me a little; so — we swear by Borghese alone.
Nasimoff sent a note saying he needs to speak with Maman.
I do not know why we all took fright — he had to come and tell us what it was about before we recovered ourselves.
It is simply a new acquaintance who may prove very useful: Mme Fabbricatore, born Gandinne-Levkovitch, one of the foremost names in Poltava, and who married for love, in a second marriage, a baritone whom she managed to raise up and have received in good society.
And then — this is more curious — I am offered in marriage the Prince of Serignano, from Naples, excellently connected and not a penny to his name. The offer: entry into the highest society in exchange for money. It is serious.
It is disgusting.
Away with you, starving rabble! How I detest Naples.
Nasimoff also offers the brother of Ruffo, who is to marry the Mestchersky girl. And that makes two. Faugh! Mercenaries.
From today we have a liveried servant.
On the Toledo we encounter Altamura, who climbs into the landau — which leads us to return home. Maman made great overtures to him in hopes of marrying off Dina, and as he absolutely refuses, these are wasted efforts and perhaps a compromising friendship.
The redskin coughed, wept, laughed, and sneezed throughout the entire dinner.
This evening we went to a concert given by the two famous Neapolitan pianists, Palumbo and Cesi. We were more or less the only ones in full evening dress, and the hungry Italians devoured our diamonds with their eyes.
Mme Fabbricatore, knowing us by sight, spoke to me first. I had recognized her — she with her two daughters and her husband, seated behind us.
Maman recalled old acquaintances, neighbors, relatives — Mme Fabbricatore is from the area around Poltava and Maman knew all her family.
The two daughters are between nineteen and twenty-two, dark, tall, not very pretty.
Zuave was there — seen full-face he is ideal. He is a poem that begs to be deciphered. One would give a great deal to know that this creature... suave, there is no other word for it, had chosen you for his eternal adoration. In profile he loses, especially with a cigar in his mouth. He is the son of an Englishman and an Italian; his father died leaving two children; the elder son is ugly; they have a pretty name, I believe — Count de La Feld.
On returning we learn that Doenhoff went with the other gentlemen of the suite to fetch us at the Skating, where there were games and where we were supposed to go.
He sent us bouquets.
I make fun of Larderei, of his kept woman, of his daughter. I find pleasure only in conversation with my lady's maid; she refuses to believe that I am in love with Larderei although I do nothing but tell her so, and it is precisely for that reason that she pities poor Larderei, whom "Mademoiselle has chosen as her laughingstock."
Ah! the poor girl — she little suspects that this accursed Florentine [One line and a half cancelled] has carried off my gaiety.
There are to be chariot races in Rome in the Circus of Romulus — Pizzardi, who drives best in Rome, will be there with his fine horses, like Apollo... and Larderei, who might have done better, speaks to me of whatever I wish, but she is washing the swaddling clothes of his daughter!
God forgive me — it seems to me he delivered her himself.
Borghese comes home in the morning, they say. I envy these men, upon my word. They roam about at night, they amuse themselves, they love, they are gay. The men who please women only marry when they cease to please. How do you expect women to be virtuous?!
They are right. Alas!
And yet I have the greatest horror of depravity. For all... love without true love is a filthiness, and fills me with horror!
You know, Larderei has gold-capped teeth — his teeth having been worn down from so much eating of money. Well, this dental defect does not diminish him, and all my thoughts are with him.

Notes

Marie transcribes Rosalie's elided servant speech: plus d'chic for plus de chic. ↩
Marie's nickname plays on suave — she glosses it herself. ↩
Marie's wordplay: manger de l'argent means both "to spend money lavishly" and, literally, "to eat money" — hence the worn teeth. ↩