Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 26 July 1884

We went to see Jules. He is not well. But that is not why I am crushed. We stayed too long — and as I was saying so in the antechamber, Emile (who had come back from the country with Bojidar an hour before) said yes, and it tires him enormously.
Then!... I understand he says it very simply given how grave his brother's condition is, but for me who am already so afraid of boring him — it kills me. Thinking of it, I feel myself blush to the roots of my hair.
You understand, the thing was to make him take some meat powder, and I ate some in front of him to give him courage, then we tried various ways — and it took an enormous amount of time...
I do not even think we tired him — but... It is enough to make one weep. Yes, so be it, I do weep. And it is too sad...
And these are such delicate things — and when one has the very best intentions... to bore him or tire him!! And perhaps he will be worse afterwards. I tell myself in vain that I shall never go again; it changes nothing. I am quite sure I did not bore him for more than an hour, and then that scene with the broth... The poor boy was there, tense before the things he had to swallow. And he suffers so much; when we arrived he looked dreadful, then he grew a little animated, we talked... [Words blacked out: I was reassured]. Ultimately, whatever I say now, it is a discomfort mixed with shame — we lacked tact, we stayed too long. There is no escaping it.
Well, this crowns all my miseries.
It would be nothing to weep from sorrow — but to weep because one has been clumsy and stupid, that is made to order for me.
They will not even grant me decent sorrows.
I have not heart enough to be desolate because this man suffers — yet here I am in despair because I have been clumsy and foolish.
He will perhaps detest me now — that is all that was wanting, and it could well happen. I am so unhappy.
I do not know exactly what to call the feeling I have for him. But it seems to me an immense tenderness — if it were possible, I should want to be there always, and when his face contracts with pain I should want to take his hands and have him lay his head on my shoulder.
He looks so unhappy — he resembles a child, with those beautiful clear eyes — and one would want to take his head in one's hands as one does with a child.
In short... It is an overwhelming desire to go and stay there every day, even at night. I should not be tired but only very happy, forgetting even that he suffers — so great would be the pleasure of being agreeable to him. I know perfectly well it is impossible, that we are strangers to him, and that we have tired him!
And how vexed I am by it. Yes, God is so hard on me that He will not grant me sweetness even in sorrow — He does not afflict me, He humiliates me.
It is, besides, the only feeling that has any real worth for me.
Either I have no heart, or I am extremely sensitive.
No matter.
It is not going in a group that I should want — I should want to go and stay for hours, after one day weeping together, to spend quiet hours there and at the same time divert him and keep him from being bored. Yes, that is the dream...
Before, I would not even write down my dreams for fear that doing so might make them fail. But since they always fail in any case, there is no point in...