Wednesday, 5 September 1877

We repeated the excursion to Schwalbach, this time by carriage, and saw the same people as yesterday. I was indisposed and we came home early.
We were to go to Wiesbaden, where Lautrec awaits us having spent money (he is very miserly) on tickets for the ball of artists, scholars, etc., which takes place this evening. Maman is ill and I am glad not to travel.
I have received the photographs from Walery. I am in an ideal Mignon costume, seated on rocks.
To M. de Marcuard:
"This photograph is so pretty that I cannot resist the wish to show you toward what a charming person you are failing in courtesy. And I, who had assigned you a place in Hell among the sospesi, where Virgil is found, and all those who cannot go to paradise despite their virtues yet cannot be sent to Hell and who are suspended between the two — you deserve to be beside Lucifer himself, at the bottom. Would you be angry about the trinity? No, wouldn't you.

Italian: the suspended ones, Dante's Limbo.
Marie Bashkirtseff
P.S. If you know anyone with nervous complaints, send them here; Maman finds the waters of Schlangenbad most beneficial."
I enclose a photograph with these inscriptions: "Portrait of my only love" — then "Mignon lamenting Italy on the rocks of Schlangenbad, which are as hard as stones."
I have not yet sent this new jest.