Thursday, 13 June 1878

When I am managing well my family strew obstacles at my feet under the pretext of doing good. They would be excusable had I not said ten times what I said today: namely, that I beg, implore and if necessary order them to leave my acquaintances and friends in peace; to make no advances, no professions of friendship; not to tell gentlemen that one has an exceptional sympathy for them and considers them as sons; not to invite them and not to make touching declarations to them. Such things are occasionally understood by chance — but in society in general they are strange and ridiculous.
[Written across the page: Such things set my nerves on edge to a degree I shall never be able to express!]
When Madame my mother meddles with someone I may as well cross that person's name from my list. "It is no longer a conviction — it is a superstition." I told her so this evening. One can put up with it for everyone else — but the people I find, that I seek, that I obtain — those, for God's sake, let no one touch them! Today has overturned several of my calm ideas and covered them with black. I no longer even feel like telling Mouzay about M. Rouher. To Cassagnac's letter, which ended with: this week, is it not? — a reply was sent! a reply was sent: Thursday, is it not? Such things are heartbreaking! And it was all hidden from me; only they waited for my dear treasure, and my dear treasure did not come. Cassagnac has always been the same — but since some gossip from Blanc, or perhaps simply from caprice, he has kept himself at a distance; from that moment I gave him up entirely, and from that moment they imagined I loved him, and what is particularly insulting is that they carefully concealed this, taking great care not to say the contrary! If I sing a sentimental romance, it is to him
that it is addressed; they sigh looking at me and say aloud that I shall never love anyone, and then they look at me as if to say: You see, we are not geese — and... besides, we know you do not love him.
They are poor children frightened by my reproaches and my troubles. But how these poor children aggravate situations!
With an exceptional being like Cassagnac... relations are delicate and difficult when one is neither a useful woman, nor a pleasing woman, nor a great lady. I would have managed it — but they have taken the means from me. My distress is proportionate to the interest I had in this gentleman.
And my vexation at my family is proportionate to my distress.
M. de Jobal came to see me at the studio.
I worked as usual — these few days of semi-holiday are over; I have just received a lash of the whip and am returning to duty. For a moment I felt like writing a note to Cassagnac:
Monsieur, throughout your entire existence no one has apparently ever told you seriously that you are a complete pig by virtue of being so ill-bred. Otherwise you would have corrected yourself, for you are intelligent enough to understand the necessity. Out of what remains of my friendship I now come to tell you so.
Marie Bashkirtseff.
But I reflected that a foolish thing had been done that is, after all, no concern of mine.
You will never know to what extent it goes... For instance, my mothers, not seeing Cassagnac, had lost hope — but one encounters him; he bows, he speaks; and home they return, wild with suppressed joy, building a thousand chimeras like M. Joyeuse in Le Nabab, telling each other with little mysterious airs that this Popaul is really very strange — he certainly behaves like a man in love — do these two monsters not resemble each other, she and her Popaul?
You can feel how painful, how vexing this is — especially when one cares a little. If I were luck personified, it would not matter; but I had withdrawn so well from my first approach, everything was going so well — but what was needed was prudence, precautions to guard against my ill fortune...
Oh, certainly! First Berthe, then my family.
... I shall manage — just as formerly I had the
feeling that I would not manage, I now have the inspired certainty that I shall. My troubles are drawing to their end — I feel it. Provided my family does not help me. I want to act alone, absolutely alone, and if I have a piece of advice to seek, I shall seek it from God and from my genius, who always counsels well when I listen to it.
Poor Multedo, who no longer dares to present himself after the tickets affair — I had forbidden him.