Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Friday, 1 February 1878

I went to call on the Mouzays and to play Popaul. The Hungarian woman's name is Mme Boje. She is married to M. Boje, a former chamberlain to the King of Sweden. No known income, a fair amount of money. She studies singing and pays forty francs a lesson; she has tried to receive company, but for some time now all the virtuous Swedish ladies have stopped going. Not much wit — vulgar jokes. Twenty-five years old, looks thirty. White skin tending toward yellow, and parchment-like — not old parchment, but new parchment. I shall learn more from my Swedish ladies at the atelier.
Cassagnac has taken my aunt's letter for one from Dina and replies accordingly — he says that as he is dining tomorrow with the Queen of Spain he is unable to come. It is his illustrious valet who carries his letters; if the Hungarian woman has informers in the wretched Bonapartist's household, she must find it amusing that someone comes here so often.
Very well! I had counted on Saturday. I am disappointed. [One line cancelled.]
[Friday, 1 February 1878] "Tell me, extraordinary man — for whom did you take my aunt's letter? It appears you are accustomed to writing to young ladies! To compensate us for your double refusal, come at least in the evening to cast a ray of light upon these poor young ladies who prostrate themselves at your feet.
You would be the most charming man on earth if you were willing to write and address to us on Saturday these simple words, to Blanc:
Blanc! do not be violent with the Hungarian woman!
If you do not come on Saturday, come to dinner on Sunday — without you the young ladies will eat nothing."
All the same, for a minute or two I was — as it were — vexed.
One must not grow accustomed in this way to seeing people... for it seems I have the habit (?) of seeing Cassagnac.
I am a little at a loss — I do not know how to put it — since, as you know, I try not to say more than I ought, and to give to words and things their just weight.
That Berthe who unmasked herself! What a vicious fool.
How can one seek out compositions and model when one is thinking of the Hungarian woman?
No — hear me seriously: whatever one wishes, but!... let the work not be disturbed. For two weeks my conscience has not been clear — it is wrong, because it torments me.
Good God, provided no... distraction befalls me. It would be so foolish and so tiresome — so tiresome. This distraction could only come about if my elder brother were to be rough with me: it is strange but it is so. And if he is not rough with me, it may be worse — I shall grow accustomed to him. No, have no fear: never anything other than: a little more than a brother, a little less than a... lover.
And besides, what have I to do with this demi-god on the wane — this man of married women? Let us wait at least for marriage. No — not that either.