Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 31 March 1877

Half past ten — if before eleven you are at the Chiaia, you know what will happen to you. I was in bed, and at five minutes to eleven I was on foot in the garden of the Chiaia — which is called, as all the dogs know, Villa Reale, or by abbreviation the Villa. After an hour of forced walking, here I am. Now I must write several times a day.
— There are at the Hôtel du Louvre two very pretty Russian young ladies — he said to M[aman], and then turning to Dina: — What a ravishing hat you have, Mademoiselle! And you are admirably well coiffed — those curls, it is ravishing.
Do you understand? And you should know that it almost kept me from sleeping last night.
Walking with Rosalie I was quite witty, and I strive with all my strength to maintain myself in the mood of last evening. I feel the approach of this annihilation as camels sense the coming of the hurricane in the desert.
— Monsieur le comte has come in and gone to bed, Rosalie told me yesterday.
His arm must hurt, I thought — and upon that, an unreasonable desire to go kneel beside his bed and watch over his sleep, or serve him if his arm prevented him from sleeping. It is a complete overthrow of all my ideas about... a heap of things. And I can say it boldly — it has never been thus. I have no will, no desire to do anything whatsoever.
I used to strike poses and cry: I am mad about him! Now I detest having it spoken of — because I am always afraid of something.
— What a charming man, said Maman — he is the first young man almost accomplished that I have encountered abroad. Only what a pity — the Righis and the Melissanos will devour him. Naturally it would be madness to regard him not only... but even as a man of the world like all the others.
That last part of the speech always follows some joke of Dina's about my love. That last word I have just written wounds me — I detest speaking of it tragically and cannot laugh. If I ever pleased him, in these two days he has lost all his illusions. I am disgracefully disagreeable. He no longer has his wild air — he is serious and correct. So much the worse — before he made me laugh, now he almost makes me weep. I detest myself for these sentimental phrases, I hate myself for these... stupidities! It is so ridiculous! A little less passion, if you please.
Bijou is lodged in a room quite at the bottom — like a concierge's lodge near the service entrance.
The calling cards of Zunica and Marini.
I wanted to stay at home, but having seen Larderei go by arm in arm with the officer and greet Maman who was passing at that moment with the Fabbricatores, I signal to them and, putting on my hat God knows how, [Words blacked out: I want to leave. Ah! yes the Fabbricatores go back in] and Doenhoff comes! A quarter-hour of fever!
At last I see him! It is not for laughing and out of habit that I use exclamation marks — it is because I am breathless, beside myself. He is there with that fine officer who is dreadful and whom I detest — a species of leech! — and Melissano. — Melissano tormented me all day to be introduced to you — he said. Thanks therefore to Melissano, that monster comes in. With my poor eyesight I recognised him from an enormous distance.
Maman — oh! always the same! Maman goes up to dine! Imagine — to dine! If that is not stupid. I was at table — oh, fury! — when in the mirror facing me I saw the door half-open and reveal Bijou's pale face, and behind him Monsieur le Singe. Monsieur le comte exchanged some grimaces or other with Madame my mother. And there we are. It was over. I go downstairs.
— Ah! Mademoiselle, you missed it! The gentlemen were here — they looked so disappointed! Monsieur le comte came in; he told me at last: "If you are very good, I shall have little Charles come to you." — He said that! Profound delight.
— Yes, and he tapped on that chest with his cane and asked if that is where you keep your letters and everything you write. I told him no, that it is in the white box, and he said that one of these days he would steal it to read it — and then, he said that tonight it is very fine at San Carlo, but that he would go to the Skating since these ladies are going, and that he would introduce the Prince de Melissano there... in short. — In short, it is an outrage!
They did not come to the Skating — I had the two nuisances, Caracciolo and Melito, Santasiglia, Campomarino, and Marini. I skated, then sat on the highest step where the chairs are, and people grouped around me — a sort of Gavronzi staircase... One appears witty cheaply [Word blacked out: therefore] by speaking easy French, especially in Italy. Those who were with me have nothing to complain of — but I!
Ah! if it is like that! Will it last? Rosalie says that Bijou went out an hour before us, saying: — I am not going to the theatre — I am going to the Skating.
Well, what can I say! I am struck with ill-luck. A spell has been cast on me — one must believe in the gettatura!
Listen — I am annihilated; I have never been thus, I have never thought of a man as I think of this one. It is not that he seems good to me... but he seems perfect to me. Audiffret was hard; Antonelli had a host of faults that I felt keenly — indeed, as you know, he had only rubbed off on me. But Larderei... it reaches the point where I reproach myself for placing his name among the others, and I find him... perfect.
I cannot hear him spoken of — it puts me into extraordinary states, and when Maman doubted a complete break with la Righi, adding that Marcuard and the leeches were perhaps working to bring them back together, I left the room in earnest — saying in earnest that I could not listen to such horrors. It is unbelievable! And barely written, I think I have invented or exaggerated. More than that — listen:
— Why do you always speak to me of la Righi! Will no one leave me in peace! It is outrageous!
And I sat down near the drawing room table, ready to weep — and if Dina had not half-opened the door to ask me something I know not what, I would have wept. I am going to weep this instant — no — and perhaps it would do me good.
Why did he write to me! I had forgotten — it was nothing more than a trifle to tell my chambermaid with variations. Why — come now, why these letters! He was first! And now! The best thing would be to leave the day after tomorrow. I have nothing yet to forget... The cards always say no!
What good is complaint — my tears will change nothing. I am condemned to be unhappy. This still, then artistic glory — and if I fail, rest assured, I shall not live to moulder somewhere in domestic virtue.
I no longer want to speak of love, because I have worn that word out for nothing. I no longer want to invoke God — I want to die. My God and Lord Jesus Christ, let me die! I have lived little, but the lesson is great. Everything has been against me. I want to die. I am incoherent and ravaged like my writing. I detest myself like everything that is wretched. To die, my God, to die. I have had enough.
I do not love Larderei — but it is one more grief, a shame, a I-no-longer-know-what.
A very sweet death — to die singing some beautiful aria of Verdi. No spite awakens now as before — before I wanted to live on purpose, so that others should not enjoy and triumph; now it is all the same to me. I suffer too much. Why did he write to me!!

Notes

Monsieur le Singe: "Monsieur the Monkey" — Marie's scornful nickname for one of Larderei's companions (the dreadful officer). ↩
Gettatura: the Neapolitan belief in the evil eye; the power of certain individuals to bring bad luck by their glance. ↩