Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Wednesday, 26 May 1880

Around eight o'clock Soutzo arrives. "What are you doing here?"
We spend an hour and a half laughing heartily; my aunt was not there. I did not want to give him my hand, and he waited an hour for me to give it. But I hold firm. Then childishness: I climb my library ladder and he tries to make me fall. Thereupon laughter and cries — "If you do not let go of my hands immediately, I shall hurt you!" And I wanted to scratch, but it seemed cruel to hurt a living creature, and I could not help crying out very sweetly: "Oh! I cannot!"
He caught and appreciated the note:
"'Oh! I cannot!' — oh, how sweet she is."
"Are you going to Mme de Mouzay's?"
"No."
"And why not?"
"It is too hot."
"And the great happiness of seeing me?"
"I regret it on that account."
"You do not know how to express yourself. In short, one should only ever do what gives pleasure."
I am not pleased and tell him so, calling him rude, stupid.
"Ah! If Mme de Mouzay had listened to me, she would not have invited you."
"What?"
"Yes indeed, I told her I had quite enough of having you here, but she said she could not be so impolite to you."
At half past ten he leaves, and it suddenly seemed to me that my evening would be ruined if he did not go. I sent Rosalie to tell him in the antechamber that if he did not go to the Mouzays' it would be terrible.
"I shall go to Mme de Mouzay's when it is cold," he replied to Rosalie.
I am very beautiful, my hair in the Psyche style and a gown of Oriental gauze, two roses at my waist. At the moment I have a passion for roses. The evening passes in recitations and caterwauling. But I go here and there. Julian, Gaillard, and others — we stay on the balcony; inside one suffocates. Louis Enault comes to kiss my hand; I chat with his wife; Mme Cremieux and the Radical deputy with his family. The young Marianne attaches herself to me; I make her swallow enormous things in front of Julian, and it amuses me!
Frankly it is not flattering, but still I make a sensation. Beaumetz, a painter friend of Caillas, is dazzled and does not hide it; we talk painting.
General Jeanningros, a fine soldier's head, a brave man, pays me compliments. His family — kitchen maids. Old Mme Mouzay is furious with Gaillard and Julian and me for having talked instead of listening; she is very comical, herding her guests like convicts to the exercise yard.
One of the first faces I see on arriving is Soutzo's.
"How stupid of you to have come," I say to him on the balcony.
"Now can you give me your hand?"
"Yes, in fact — good evening."
And a few minutes later he disappeared. I looked for him afterward, but he was gone.
A M. Frattin said I must be twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and others were of the same opinion. Poor Marianne ingeniously confessed it to me.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty."
"Exactly? Since what month?"
"Since January."
"Oh, how stupid! And I had been told you were twenty-six. So I said to myself, no, not possible — you look eighteen to twenty at most."
You see that? Those fools. I have always thought, and it has always been said, that the character of my face is youthfulness, and old Mme Gavini in her tenderness kisses me and says I look young. Twenty-three years — do I look it? Ah, fie, no.
It is the petty bourgeois who thought it because of my manner and speech, for at the Mouzays', as you may imagine, I treat them from on high.
If I am old to the point of looking twenty-eight at twenty-one — the devil! Soutzo might perhaps be of use... Bah! We shall see after the season at the waters, where we shall meet again. He does not please me at all, but this evening he was nice. On returning home, what do we find! Dina's mother and her daughter, Etienne's wife! You know the drama. After fifteen years of marriage he abandoned his wife for Mme Hamsley, with whom he travels, and he had the impudence to go install himself in my pavilion in Nice — ubi. His wife caught them.
She fled; he swore to her that important business kept him tied to this woman he does not love, but that she has seized compromising papers concerning us (the dirty scoundrel!) and holds him by that.
The little woman is not strong; she swallows many things and is not yet certain of her husband's true feelings.
The poor simple little thing cannot conceive of so many lies, stupidities, and cowardices! At last he persuaded her to go to Paris and that he would come when he had finished everything. It is insane.
We talked until three o'clock; day is beginning to break.
I enjoyed myself this evening.
Tomorrow dinner at the Bailleuls'. I shall not go — I told Soutzo I would not go; he replied that he was going that day to Mme de Lesseps' for dinner and the evening.
It is half past three; in half an hour one will be able to paint. I think I shall not go to bed.
It is a quarter to four; I have just prepared my palette and am going to make a sketch.