Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Monday, 9 July 1877

Mme de Bailleul takes us to the famous Dona Estephana, Portuguese card-reader.
And here, word for word, is what she told me — though she began by saying that the cards could reveal only the past and the future as they immediately attach to the present. Which is, in short, the person's own hand, since the people within one's hand influence the cards. The future belongs to God. And several other very sensible and honest observations.
— A great many troubles — oh! very many. Bad cards. You are tormented. A chaos in your mind. There is a young man who occupies you — you almost love him. He has caused you, causes you, and will cause you a great deal of grief — but you love him and he loves you very much. Only he is very badly surrounded and very badly advised. A small man^1^ in particular was working against you with him — but they have grown cold toward each other, and for the moment he is with an old one. This young man does not take advice, but unfortunately it is always the last person to arrive who has the upper hand with him. His character is — how shall I say? — wild, enraged, mad; he has been duplicitous with you, but at heart he is not bad. He loves horses… oh! it is a true passion.
[Written across the page: You had moments when you said you wanted to die!
You thought — well then, since it is so, I want — I should like to die!]
What preoccupies him are his horribly tangled affairs — he is, I tell you, quite like a madman, he is… just like that, all in a fury. But his affairs are sorting themselves out little by little. Here they stand. Ah! Here is another. He is a serious man, between thirty and forty. A perfect character — distinguished, a gentleman, a man of the world; reasonably wealthy, excellent position; he is not quite in civilian dress — he wears a kind of uniform. You are not married, or if you are, the other young man is your husband, the one you love. No! You are not married. And between you and the wild young man there is a rupture, vexations, estrangement. You committed^2^ imprudences — a rash act, an extravagance on his behalf. And he is not grateful for it — oh, not at all. And for your future it is not toward him that you should look. It is toward the serious man. He will draw near to you without thinking of marriage, and will end by proposing — and you may marry him. It would be a marriage more of honour than of money. Do you see! Swords all around the young man — never any calm with him — whereas around the other, what beautiful cards!
Now here is curious… you suffer neither from the heart nor from self-interest — you suffer on account of your position. It is your position that troubles you, and these griefs will last until the arrival of the serious man, the perfect character. He can make them cease in an instant, if you marry him. He is very highly placed. Beware of rash acts! You^3^ have committed one that made a very bad impression on the young man — do not commit the second one I see here! Because you are capable of it: when you want something, twenty-four hours is too long to wait — you work yourself into states! You make yourself unhappy through your imagination; you live by imagination.
Oh! You are an artist — you paint, you are a musician, you have an incredible dexterity in your hands. There is the imagination again! You have imagined three passions for yourself — you have imagined that you have loved^4^ three times, or else you will love three times. But I tell you again: it is always the mind — the heart enters into it very little. You will make many conquests.
You will live past ninety. All told, you have a lucky hand. [Crossed out: She read first from the cards, then from the hand.] You will triumph soon — you will emerge victorious; but the satisfaction of the heart will come only after that of self-esteem.
She was reading half from the cards, half from the hand.
Several things are accurate — everything is accurate, and none of it is mere commonplace.
— 1. Melissano or Torlonia.
— 2. Aquarium, Monaco.
— 3. Audiffret, Antonelli, Alexandre.
I do not explain the rest — it is too clear.
I do not know why I was agitated while listening to the sorceress — and remain so still, at my suppliers' establishments, who are martyring me.
Mme de Bailleul — or Bayole — has gone off I know not where, and my aunt, the baronne, and I go to the Bois. This prediction has not failed to vex me the entire time, and that categorical no chills me as everything does that is, or seems, irrevocable. I saw the Gonzalès, father and son — and finally Cassagnac! I cannot imagine how he managed to recognise us, after so long a time — and besides, I was in mourning dress, from a distance, on the Champs-Élysées. He looked quite surprised and bowed very low after a slight hesitation.
This prediction vexes me to the point of bringing back some of those truly very disagreeable moments, as at the Hôtel du Louvre. And back at home I fell into rather melancholy reveries, and ended by rising and standing in the middle of the room, saying to myself: Well then — no matter — I shall have him all the same! He does not love me; it will be dreadful to beg for his… attention — but I want him to the point of humiliating myself!
In my daydreams I always end by picturing him in love — consequently, entirely different. The prediction recalls me to reality; and reality is Alexandre as I have known and loved him… whence tender memories that humiliate me. For in the end, nothing is more embarrassed, more humiliated, more wretched than a scorned woman. Let us say no more of it.
Have you read the letter from my good friend Marcuard?