Friday, 23 May 1879

So yesterday I went and listened at the door to what my respectable family was saying. And I believe that this time I shall preserve no more illusions concerning any of these people.
For two hours I listened to them consoling one another and quieting their consciences by heaping all the blame on me and saying I am punished by heaven because I persecute the wretched Georges. Everything that strangers and enemies might say — it was all said. I was slandered, I was defiled, I was degraded. Every one of my vanities was wounded, and thick dirty fingers were run over every wound my love has suffered since I became a young lady. And I no longer believe it is mere stupidity — for when Jeanne, who knows of the persecutions against this wretched Georges, met my mother and said to her: “My dear friend, my dear friend, Marie is right; do not oppose what would deliver you from this shame.”
— My charming mother replied: “But my dear madame, on the contrary, I wish to be rid of him, and do not doubt that we are taking measures — we have already taken some; what torments and distresses me is that my poor child should compromise herself by sticking her nose into everything.”
Inserted itemAnnotation de la mère de Marie (M. Bashkirtseff mère), 1905
[Annotation: 1905. For all of us, and above all for me, our unfortunate brother was a misfortune, and it was only to calm my adorable and adored Marie that I opposed her. M. Bashkirtseff, mother. 1905]
She was telling this to the ladies while I listened at the door, and she added, weeping, that I am a monster to expose her brother, whom she loves and wishes to protect. So that I should be delivered up to scandal, that only a week ago this wretch should come and shout horrors in French under our windows and say in every tavern that his sisters are thieves and I a madwoman and a girl who drags herself through all the low haunts of Paris — that is nothing. And if this wretch is seized by the police for swindling and forgery and scandals and offences against public decency, on the complaint of the Comptoir Russe, which he swindled, then it is my fault: it is I who basely denounced him to the police this winter, and it is God who will punish me for it.
— There is no need to run away, I said, opening the door very calmly; I have only a few words to say to you, and I shall not do you the honour of a scene. That was all very well in the days when I imagined that what you said to my face was pique, irritation, family quarrels. I have just spent nearly three hours listening to the filth and the infamies you were saying about me to justify yourselves and soothe your consciences a little.
For to learn the truth with liars like you, one must listen at doors. Now I know enough; I am finished, and I repeat that I shall not even insult you. You are strangers and enemies. You will not see me; I shall eat alone.
You know that one does not hear with impunity what I have heard... never, never did I suspect it. They do not even love me. What I get from them I owe to their cowardice and their stupidity. They are my most dangerous enemies, for one word from them counts for more than an enormous slander from a stranger.
It is, I think, one of the greatest collapses one can suffer in life. And what is most painful is having to live with these people. I do not want to see them at all for some time; afterwards I shall have to... but it will never, never be as it was before. There had already been scenes between us that one does not forget; this time it is the end, for me at least. These creatures think I am sulking and that it is already passing, because the Karageorgevitches are dining here this evening and I dined with everyone. They dared to speak to me. Last night I did not write, I was too shaken; now I am calm and I am telling you all this. There are things one does not forgive oneself. They bewailed my misfortunes, saying that Antonelli had abandoned me not because of the reports from Nice but because of my conduct.
So they conclude that I am furious with them because Antonelli abandoned me. And things of that sort. That needs no comment, does it? I must say that when I told them I had been listening for two hours, the effect was great, and these wretched and excellent people were so flustered that I wanted to laugh.
Not only to Antonelli — they would give me to anyone at all; and I thought they wanted kings! And I believe I would as soon receive a slap in the face as see myself regarded in this way by people I thought proud, and even inclined to think far too much of me.
So they would have given me to that little Italian, and to anyone else. I have never seen a man pay court to me whom they did not think worthy of me; only I believed they were pretending... to swell my conquests out of vanity. Oh yes, indeed! Well, all this is thoroughly disgusting. There is nothing else to be said. Most disgusting.
So I was to be ruined by these people, tarnished by their scandals (begun before I was born); so I was to suffer from their ill-ordered life, from their lack of tact, from their existence — honest enough on the whole, but disorderly, and with every appearance of wrong; so I was to be the victim of all their blunders — and it is my fault. And if at sixteen or seventeen I was imprudent, or simply thoughtless in what I said, then I was misbehaving. Did these virtuous women ever give me any notion of what is proper or improper in society, and of how a young girl ought to conduct herself? It is I who, through much vexation, managed to learn how to behave, and it is I who teach them every day; and in spite of that they sometimes commit such follies that one would like to sink into the ground. But these are useless recriminations, unworthy of me. They did tell me that kissing men was wrong, but that physical fact is a very small thing beside all the knowledge one needs to keep a good standing in people’s minds and to make oneself respected — of which these virtuous persons know not a word.
It is dirty, it is sickening. Because it is my family, I supposed it to have both delicacy and loftiness of feeling... and there is nothing of the kind, absolutely nothing. They are narrow, ordinary people, dulled by their misfortunes.
And I am well and truly all alone.
This evening’s Le Pays is weak — the article is poor; the man has diminished.
There is yet another false knight — false in delicacy, false in loyalty, false in courage.