Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Tuesday, 6 July 1880

The new portrait I have sketched has had such success with Rodolphe that he took it downstairs to the men's atelier to prove that women are capable.
A fine session on the amnesty was expected at the Chamber, and the audience was brilliant --- the republican high life, the ambassadors, etc., and even Hecht, who was also at the Senate. It is very hot; I am very chic in white. Leon gazes at me through his opera glasses, and the others too, a great deal; but especially the Jew --- oh, that one was watching me from behind a column almost the entire time. He was with Mme Arnaud, Floquet, Hebrard, and Joseph, with whom he had gone out twice. We were very well placed in the box of the President of the Republic.
Nothing happened; it is postponed until tomorrow. But I watched Cassagnac, hiding from time to time in the back row (there were only us); I do not know if he is ugly or handsome or plain or charming or common, but he is dear, he is beloved. Perhaps that is an exaggeration... but until now there is only him.
Was I cruel yesterday? No, one never is, and when one says one is, it is that one boasts of making people unhappy. Yet I believe poor Casimir loves me.
"You came because of... that writing?" I asked him.
"I came to see you." And it was said with the effort one makes to speak without weeping... Among you, O dear readers who will read me, there are vulgar people; well, those will think that Cassagnac prevents me from having a heart. It is certainly not for a nonentity like Casimir that this heart will speak. They say the Acard girl is very rich and that the chivalrous Paul de Cassagnac concealed this enormous dowry, and now he has invented this Monsieur Julien who is supposed to make him his heir, etc., etc. Seen from the side or from afar, would I too have a sordid character? For after all, I would marry anyone for money and a grand position. Is that strictly proper? I do not refuse Casimir outright --- "but were I to find a very rich man, I would not trouble myself about you and would take that man" --- I told him this yesterday. Is that fair? Although, I confess, it is not very pure. And finally, were a man whose fortune was ill-gotten to offer himself, I would prefer him to an honest man without hesitation. Provided, of course, that his swindling did not go so far as to get him put on the blacklist; in that case the wealth would be useless. So let us understand each other: when I say I would take a scoundrel for his money, it is understood that he will be an accepted scoundrel. There are many. Well, am I any better than Paul? There are more advantages and more facility in accepting anything, since it is the man who covers it all with his name.
And yet it seems to me there is something perfectly honest in me. Having taken a husband, I would never deceive him --- first so as not to soil myself, and then because I have a horror of deception.
In short, I permit myself these calculations that impose themselves. You know my life, but I would wish to see in the beloved only purity and glory. Which amounts to saying there is no beloved for the moment.
Poor Casimir!
"You find my doctrines detestable; they are, you say, drawn from my books. I am mocking and argumentative, I am always posing; I never say a word of what I think, you say. Then what do you love in me? My skin? But that is horrid!"
He had nothing to reply except to cry out from time to time that he was not as stupid as I thought and that, no matter how I tried to stupefy him, he understood all the same. He understood nothing... yet they say lovers look stupid.
No, truly he is. He asks me to what end, why educate him, and then adds with a disenchanted air that his education is only too complete. He positively thinks highly of himself, this earthworm. He listens to my harshness and it does not prevent him from returning to the attack and permitting himself criticisms and observations with that usual self-satisfaction and stubbornness!
I rage when I think that this creature permits himself to criticize or scrutinize anything in me. Vile clay, how dare he not have his forehead in the dust? The revolt of an equal seems natural and makes you respect him; that of a superior throws you at his feet, and often an equal in revolt becomes a superior. But an inferior like this Romanian, this non-commissioned officer of the intelligence --- his revolt shocks, outrages, wounds, and vexes. Can you imagine Soutzo saying: "You --- all young girls are like this, but absolutely all of them."
He is so stupid when he lifts his head.

Notes

In English in the original. ↩