Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Thursday, 11 July 1878

I reread Monsieur Paul de Cassagnac's marriage notice in Le Figaro and cannot believe my eyes... I would not believe in this marriage at all, were it not for this scrap of newspaper. God forgive me, but it seems to me that the Deceased disgusts me as much as Multedo does.
I heard with pleasure several Russians mocking the Bonapartist restoration. But these people know nothing about it. Monsieur Rouher says the republic will one day collapse and leave no trace behind. Monsieur Gambetta declares that "the powerless remnants of the past" are no longer to be feared. I send [word blacked out: bouquets] to the Empress and wish to marry Léon the Dictator.
I played the mandoline, accompanied by Madame Rembelinsky. The ladies almost wept. This music acts upon sensitive souls.
Listen — if I do not love the Deceased, then whom on earth am I to love?!! The Deceased is the first of all men for me, morally and perhaps physically as well... though I could wish him less fat.
I explain my mockery and these lapses in feeling by what I wrote on page 47 of notebook 78. That is to say: I am seriously and definitively bound to him. And if I ever become infatuated with another, I condemn in advance and formally my own choice — it can only be a foolishness... [Written across the page: unless he be greater than the Deceased, more celebrated, better altogether — or at least equally so.]
Why this compulsion to love... At the moment of poor Cassagnac's passing I was compelled — compelled to acknowledge my feelings through my actions — but now, deep in Soden between a bathtub and a glass of water from the third spring... on the eve of painting Rosalie against a magnificent red plush background, a circlet of gold in her dark hair, one shoulder bare, the other draped in white and yellow silk... on the eve of finishing my notes on the Fourth Book of Livy, I find myself indifferent...