Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Monday, 7 January 1878

I am obliged to return at half past nine because the Prince de Bourbon is to arrive at ten — just time enough to make my toilette.
He is not stupid — quiet, a good artist, and speaking tolerably well on almost everything. Nothing of the dandy about him. Not a single compliment.
I was charming and very lady-like — nothing of the sleepwalker.
Paul says he would very much like me to marry "to prove to Constantin Pavlovitch... for he believes in nothing."
La Fayet was there as well, and was more presentable.
Mme Sinanidès' coiffure reminds me of Rome.
To believe or not to believe in an artistic future? Believe, or do not believe — there is nothing else. So one may as well try; two years are not death, and in two years one can resume the theatres, the travels... I want to become famous! I shall be.
I truly seem to have a choice, so much do I hesitate. What am I giving up in order to work? A half-Bohemian life, detestable, full of... all that you know — and is all that sufficiently compensated by a few successes?
[One line cancelled]

Notes

In English in the original. ↩