Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Thursday, 20 March 1879

Without seeking it, I am to witness the Cassagnac affair! His election is to be confirmed. We miss the parliamentary train by an hour; there is one at a quarter past one. The first face I catch sight of in the station is Cassagnac's — strolling in the company of R. Mitchell, Cuneo, Loqueyssie — his inner circle, in short. I steered my aunt away and, keeping close to the ticket windows, we made our way into the waiting room. I understand now why these people never appeared at our train — they take the second.
This encounter was bound to happen some day. He saw, I fear, my movement and my averted face — I turned away to avoid meeting his eye. I spent an unpleasant quarter of an hour. That tall devil had only to step into the waiting room. I squeezed my hands in my muff and pressed my fingers together — but that did not prevent me from being utterly disconcerted, pressing myself against the exit window with my back to all who entered, and if seen, seeing nothing, like the ostriches. He will think I have come on account of his election being confirmed today. He might amuse himself by getting into our carriage. I would gladly have gone back home, and I begged my aunt — who was being brave and saying she had nothing against meeting Cassagnac and would greet him if she saw him... Not to mention that this man did not even send an announcement of his marriage, and... my family is mad, upon my word! I got into the ladies-only compartment, and we arranged ourselves so that Cassagnac could not see us as he passed.
He passes, followed by the others, and his cheek seen in three-quarter profile is really too broad. I take the opportunity to say to my aunt: "If he were handsome, that would be one thing; but such a monster! No — I truly do not want to be seen together." And I carefully avoided him, letting him pass ahead, and waiting (once arrived at Versailles) until he had taken a carriage before taking one myself.
Despite a thoroughly tedious speech by Monsieur Jean David, deputy for the Gers and Cassagnac's personal enemy, everyone knew he would be confirmed. Gambetta wished it. At the moment of the vote — by show of hands — he went and sat beside his father. The father makes the son look younger and slimmer; they go well together.
I am ill at ease, with a headache, and as tired as after the journey from Paris to Nice. That man who perhaps believed I was there on his account. The thought tormented me throughout, despite excellent seats in the President of the Chamber's box.
On the tram Gavini hands me two tickets for Saturday and tells me I have made a conquest of Monsieur Arnaud (of the Ariège) — son of Madame Arnaud, Gambetta's friend, the fervent republican, the great citizeness, the political salon, the millionairess, etc. She is besides very well known. The young man is Gambetta's secretary and owns twelve million entirely his own. You understand that Gavini is joking — he is such a curious and bustling creature. He noticed that Monsieur Arnaud had been eyeing me, and immediately rushed to question him: what was he looking at and what did he think of it? "They are ladies for whom you have already given me tickets." So Monsieur Arnaud offered him more — for the same box — the pink tickets.
We laugh about it a little while returning to Paris with Gavini and Messieurs Dugué de la Fauconnerie and Sarlande. I talk very pleasantly and say some rather amusing things while playing the ingénue. They are married men — so one need not be too stiff. I return home quite merry; our companions were agreeable, and Gavini with his Arnaud recalled to me the old days. He is said to be as beautiful as a Florentine bronze — he is a... what is the name of that hero of Florence in Massimo d'Azeglio's novel? A doublet [Word blacked out: white], a dagger, a toque...
Here is a letter I wrote to Alexandre Dumas — you will find all the correspondence in the envelope at page 144.
[Thursday, 20 March 1879]
You are right. Novels have turned my head. One does not do such things. I am angry to the point of tears at what you must have thought — but then, I was far too ordinary. One does not send nonsense copied out by a public scribe to you. And yet it was an exploit that cost me some effort. Whatever the case, I assure you I was not lying; and finding myself quite alone in the face of an impossible situation, a mad resolution to be taken, I prayed to God — and then thought of you, imagining that you would be the fantastical being who, instead of taking me for one of "those society women who, etc.," would understand the soul in torment coming to him as to a priest to ask counsel... You give me counsel that shows me the distance between what we imagine and what is. I shall go to bed early, I promise you — and thus, thanks to you, I shall remain forever young. As for the guidance I need, I shall ask it of the One who suggested I ask it of you.
Sleep well, Monsieur — and continue being as bourgeois in private as you are an artist in general; it is also an excellent way of not growing old.
I shall no doubt see you on Saturday at the Chamber — the divorce bill is to be proposed. Speaking of divorce, I hereby announce the divorce of my adoration from your person.
As this document is in my own hand, you would be very kind to return it to me..