Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Thursday, 20 June 1878

The Grand Review — which I do not attend, having tickets, but... I can say nothing; I am so agitated and so extraordinarily disturbed, without being able to account for anything. Each hour that passes... besides, I have declared openly that I want to break off this marriage. How! I do not know. I should like to tell everything in order. At eleven o'clock I am at the Gavinis — no, later — I can say nothing.
Well — at the Gavinis I tell them that a young Swedish friend of mine is devastated by Cassagnac's marriage. That she is rich and pretty. Gavini says he will undertake to arrange matters provided
the Swedish girl gives him her authorisation. The Gavinis are going this evening to the Queen of Spain's; I tell him the Swedish girl will be there too. At two o'clock I go back to their house on the pretext of bringing them a pineapple I am supposed to have received from Nice — this is to sound the ground for myself. But on this occasion, despite the presence of a lady and a gentleman, I begin to blaguer — I dislike that word, since my own blague is witty, refined, and proper.
I tell them I am mad about Cassagnac and would marry him — of course they believe not a word. We laugh; I make witticisms, sing, tell stories, dazzle, amuse, charm — anything you like — and go to the devil.
Then we go to watch the return of the Review. I am pretty but tormented! Mme Gavini has destined Multedo for me — which I refuse immediately and unanimously with every feeling I possess.
There is no reply; I write the note attached below.
[Thursday, 20 June 1878]
You are wrong not to reply — what I have to say to you is nothing like what you may suppose.
Do me the service of seeing me tomorrow, Friday evening, at your house or at the door of my carriage. You will oblige me infinitely. I shall send for the reply to your newspaper between 10 and 11.
It is essential for me that I see you.
I thought I was going to die of impatience.
I absolutely must speak to him and obtain something by whatever means possible. There is only one impossibility — if he loves her — but that is not probable! My God, let me see him. Think what is at stake, my God.
I have thought so much, done so much, said so much that I can write nothing. Remember the Waddington ball — that was only a ball; here it is something terrible, definitive, each hour is a century.
My God, have pity on me then! The Gavinis say that Cassagnac deserves no one but Acard, and that I am far too pretty, too rich, too good for him.
Come now, my God — it is impossible that You would abandon me at such a moment. I am perfectly willing to sacrifice everything — wealth, name, [word blotted: dresses], society, balls, horses — I need nothing, because if... I shall have everything, glory and happiness both, so that in sacrificing everything I sacrifice Nothing. Come now, Sainte Marie — I am not joking; this is not a caprice... It is strange — when it seems possible I barely care about it, but when it seems impossible I am dying of it!
He asked me several times in passing about certain things [Ibid. p. 360]
— about my pocket money, about my dowry (speaking of Gambetta) — to which I replied only with nonsense.
If I had understood and wished it I could have done it — and to think that I could have done it!
I have just improvised a letter and am quite calm.