Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Friday, 14 March 1879

Paul has just left despite me; I was angry and declared he would not leave — he gave me his word of honor to the contrary; I was holding the door, and then taking advantage of a moment's distraction he slipped away. You see — it is to prove he keeps his word: he had sworn to leave today; in short, the stubbornness of a weak person who, feeling nothing in serious matters, makes up for it with trifles. It spared me from softening. I immediately took 20 francs from my aunt to send a slanderous telegram to father in Poltava — but at that moment Rosalie came in to tell me not to count on Champion (a young woman who sometimes makes my dresses), who has typhoid fever; her workers have left, she is all alone. So I had an idea. I tore up the telegram and sent the 20 francs to that woman.
There is no more agreeable sensation than that of doing good that brings you nothing in return. I would gladly go visit her — I do not fear typhus — but I would appear to be seeking thanks; whereas if I did not send her this pittance at once I could spend it elsewhere, and besides, admit it, it would then no longer give me so keen a pleasure. I find myself possessed of inexhaustible charity. To go relieve others' miseries when no one in the world relieves mine — that would be quite chic, do you not think?
Yes — and the family. This holy family that understands charity (the word and the thing) — both sublime — no better than it understands social obligations. They are not thieves, not murderers — but that is the extent of it. And you think I am happy in the midst of this! They would torment me without meaning to, they would tell everyone: "Just imagine — Marie has developed a mania for the poor, being so spoiled she no longer knows what she wants." And then over 5 francs or a bottle of wine they would stir up stories about bills, debts, etc. etc. Apart from the fact that such noisy meddling revolts me, I would be offended at every turn in my delicacy and on behalf of my protégés. In short, I shall do no good — out of... modesty. I find no other word.
And out of laziness!