Chapter 4

"Santa Claus has found little E----very good, and hopes he will continue to be. The toys are for little E----, the slippers for little 'papa.'" And on the envelope one may guess what. But we shall not send it, Dina is going to disguise herself as a boy, and, with her blue spectacles and pale complexion, she appears like a professor of mathematics. C---- and I will also make ourselves unrecognisable and, at eight o'clock, go to the club, and tell the coachman to give the package to the janitor from M. E----. We laughed as we used to do. What amuses me is to see a serious woman play pranks with me.

This morning we had a call from a Sister T----. She left two visiting cards. _The Sisters of the Good Shepherd._ I took one, added P.P.C. and, with an address written on it, sent it to Tour.

Saturday, December 25th, 1875.

_Ah! son felica! Ah! son rapita!_

Find me a language which expresses thought with so much enthusiasm. So I use it to define my condition. It is heavenly weather, everybody is out of doors, in spite of my vigil yesterday, I look pretty.

I go to walk enchanted, happy, I sing "Mignon" softly and everything seems beautiful to me. Everybody looks at me so pleasantly, those whom I know salute me. I should like to hug them all. Oh, how comfortable we are in Nice, I should not want to go away.

I have a longing for amusement, I should like to invite everybody to the house, to give a dinner, a ball, a supper, a reception, to have some sort of diabolical carnival--I should like to have everybody, everybody. I am not ill-natured at heart, I am only a little crazy.

_Ah! son felica! Ah! son rapita Dio Virgina Sanctissima._

We went to the opera, Mamma and I in the 3d box in the first row, my aunt and Dina in the 2nd next to the Marvel. T---- came in, General B---- was with us. The door opened and the Marvel appeared.

"Well," said I, "you celebrated Christmas."

"Ah! yes, just think, I received a pair of slippers."

"Slippers!"

"Yes, and mine were so worn out that they came very opportunely, and an anonymous letter which was not signed--that is very natural, anonymous letters are never signed. And the same day I received a letter, a visiting card: _The Sisters of the Good Shepherd_."

Everybody laughed.

"What does P.P.C. mean?" I asked.

"Pays Parting Calls."

"Oh, yes, that's true."

"But for some time I have received a great many things, the other day a bit of broken rock, pierced by an arrow. All the people in the box shouted with laughter, and so did I. But I saw plainly that he was furiously angry and suspected everything. It is terrible that only the most foolish little pranks should be remembered."

"You are very fortunate, I received nothing at all."

"Ah! If you wish, I'll send you some slippers."

"But if they are so big, what should I do with them?"

"Never mind, I'll send you all the things."

"That is kind, I am quite overpowered."

BOOK LI

_From Sunday, December 26th, to Sunday, January 9th, 1876; Nice, Promenade des Anglais, 55 bis, in my villa.--From Monday, January 3d, in Rome, Hôtel de Londres, Piazza di Spagna._

Sunday, December 26th, 1875.

We went to hear the band. G. M---- came to talk to us and, among other compliments, said to me: "M----, I would like to give you some of my experience, I love you so much! No, really, Madame,"--addressing my mother--"she has such an extraordinary mind, so developed, so broadened. But it lacks experience. M----, my child, I will give you some advice."

"Give it, Monsieur, give it."

"Well, never love seriously, for there not in me whole world a man worthy your love."

"Yes, I know that. I know that men are not equal to women. You are not equal to your wife, I can tell you."

"You are right, M----."

He is right. I shall never love wholly. I shall worship, I shall rave, I shall commit follies and even, if opportunity offers, have a romance. But I shall not love, for candidly in my inmost heart, I am convinced of the villainy of men. Not only that, I do not find any one worthy of my love, either morally or physically. It is useless to say and think all I want. A---- will never be anything but a good-looking member of the fashionable society of Nice--a gay liver, almost a fop. Oh, no; every man has some defect that prevents loving him entirely. One is stupid, another awkward, another ugly, another--in short, I seek physical and moral perfection.

Now that it is two o'clock in the morning, that I am shut up in my room, wrapped in my long white dressing-gown, my feet bare and my hair down, like a virgin martyr, I can give myself up to a throng of bitter reflections. I shall go, carrying in my heart all the sorrowful and wicked things that can be contained there.

December 28th, 1875.

I don't want public pity, but I should like to have one creature to understand me, compassionate me, weep with me sincerely, knowing why she was weeping, seeing with me into the farthest corner of my heart. What is there more dastardly, more ugly, viler than mankind?

Wednesday, December 29th, 1875.

We went to see Mme. du M----. She gave me seven letters of introduction for Rome. May God grant that they will be of the service this excellent woman desires, she loves me so much! No doubt everybody has trouble. One is ill, another is in love, another wants money, another is bored. You will say, perhaps, "Poor little idler, she thinks she is the only person who is unhappy, while she is happier than most people." But my sorrow is the most hateful of all.

We lose a beloved one. We mourn for a year, two years, and remain sorrowful all our lives. The greatest grief loses its force with time, but an incessant, eternal torment!...

I have just read Mme. du M----'s letters. No one could be kinder, no one could be more charming. And, just think, the greater part of the time those who would like to do things cannot. It is six years since she left Rome and I doubt whether her acquaintances remember her; and then, her influence was never great.

"Have you suffered, wept, and languished, Thinking hope was all in vain, Soul in mourning, torn heart anguished? Then you understand my pain."

_Sappho_ was given to-night. I wore a sort of Neapolitan shirt of blue crêpe de Chine and old lace, with a white front. It can't be described--it was as original and charming as possible, with a white skirt and an alms-bag of white satin. We arrived at the end of the first act, and were near P---- and R----, and I heard the voice of the Marvel. Nothing can be said against her face, it is blooming; whether real or artificial is of little consequence. She has hair--oh, I don't know. At Spa, she was fairer than I; here, she is darker

_"d'un serpent, jaune et sifflant_."

Now the American has gone home, and is doubtless in a sleep which will preserve her twenty-seven-year-old complexion, while I am awake. Just now I fell on my knees sobbing, beseeching God, with my arms outstretched, my eyes fixed on space before me, exactly as if God was there in my room. I believe I am uttering insolent things to God.

The S----'s came, and after dinner we began to tell fortunes and laughed almost as much as we did before, that is, the others did, but I could not. Then we poured melted wax into cold water (it is the shadow that is looked at). I had in succession a lion couchant with one of his front paws extended, holding a rose; isn't it odd? Then a great heap of something surmounted by a garland held by Cupids.

As for M----, her wax figure cast a horrible shadow. A woman lying as if dead with her hands crossed on her breast. O---- and Dina had insignificant shadows. And, at fifteen minutes before midnight, four mirrors were brought, two for Dina and two for me, and we took up the great fortune telling.

I looked with all my eyes, without stirring, almost without breathing. In the proper costume of night-gown and unbound hair. But everything was very vague; it quivered, danced, formed, and reformed every instant.

Saturday, January 1st, 1876.

Here is the new year. Greeting and mercy. Well, the first day of 1876 was not so bad as I expected. They say the whole year is spent very much like the first day, and it is true. I spent the first of last January in the cars, and I have really travelled a great deal.

To-morrow, yes, to-morrow I shall be glad to go. I am perfectly happy, for I have made a plan--a plan that will fail like the others, but which amuses me in the meanwhile. If it were not two o'clock in the morning, I would write a whole story of the sale of a soul. The brutes--I have not wept, I have not felt sad once. A very pleasant day to commence the year. I shall go and think only of returning. No doubt I shall change my mind in Rome. All the same, this is where I should like to live.

I had already closed my book, but I and a lot of things to say. I have looked at the great caricature, there are five of us. I have thought of everything; of Mme. B----, of the English, of the people of Nice, of S----, of "Mignon." In a word, a quantity of things. I had a great deal to say, and lo! I stop.

It is tiresome to go, but it is horrible to stay. P---- has dramatic emotions so genuine that she delights and thrills me. Come, what was I going to write? That I am calm and agitated, sorrowful and joyous, jealous and indifferent. It seems to me that fastidious society is possible to have and, at the same time, it is impossible.

"I wish to stay and I wish to go, How it will end I do not know."

I cannot lie down. I am sorrowful, excited.

Oh, calm yourself, for Heaven's sake. It hasn't anything to do with M. A----, but simply that I am going. The uncertainty, the vagueness, leaving the known for the unknown.

Sunday, January 2nd, 1876.

"I shall go Sunday at three o'clock," I said or rather shrieked, and Sunday at one o'clock everything was topsy-turvy. The trunks were still empty, and the floor was covered with gowns and finery. For my part, I put on a grey dress and waited quietly. C---- and Dina worked, and so well that everything was ready for the hour of departure.

At half past two, C---- and I got into a little cab and went to hear the band, and I listened once more to the municipal music of Nice. "Come," I said to Collignon, "if this piece is gay, our journey will be, too. I am superstitious." And the piece was very lively. So much the better!

I saw G----, who bid me good-bye once more. I haven't seen the Marvel, but that doesn't matter.

We got into the landau again, and went to the station. Our friends came there, one after another. I skipped about, I laughed, I chattered like a bird. How kind they are, and how hard it is to leave them.

"You feign this gaiety," said B----to me, "but in your heart you are weeping, I am sure of it."

"Ah! you think so? No!

"When to Nice you bid good-bye, Unfeigned joy is in your eye. Easy 'tis from Nice to part, For she never wins your heart."

"Bravo! Bravo!"

The quatrain was made one evening when we were capping verses with G----.

"Give me some cigarettes," I said softly to my aunt.

"Very well, later."

I thought she had forgotten, but at Monaco she wrapped a number in paper and gave them to me. She, who cries out when I ask her for them at home. At Monaco we parted, and those horrid cigarettes made me cry. I was sorry for the poor old grandfather, my aunt, everybody. I am vexed to have to go with Mamma. I was with her at Spa and, besides, I am used to my aunt.

Oh! torture! Imagine the tediousness of a journey in Italy. Mamma and Dina do not know Italian. I refused to use my tongue; I can scarcely use my limbs. By dint of complaining because I was not with my aunt, and saying: "Who asked you to come with us? I ought to go with my aunt. Why do you come with me?" I obtained a passive obedience and an alacrity impossible to imagine.

Night found us in a car. I complained, wept softly, and said the most provoking things to my mother, like the brute I am.

At last, toward three o'clock, Monday, January 3d, ruins, columns, aqueducts began to appear on the dreary plain called the Roman Campagna, and we entered the station of Rome. I saw nothing, I heard nothing. I was utterly limp after these twenty-four hours without sleep.

We were taken to the Hôtel de Londres, Piazza di Spagna, and we occupied an apartment on the ground floor, with a yellow drawing-room that was very fresh and neat, I was tired and depressed, in the condition in which I needed some one to sustain me. And Mamma was crying. Oh, dear!

We must set to work very, very quickly to look about us. There is nothing I hate like changing.

New streets, strange faces, and no Mediterranean. Only the miserable Tiber. I am utterly wretched when I am in a new city. I shut myself up in my room to collect my scattered wits a little.

Tuesday, January 4th, 1876.

Yesterday Mamma wrote to B----, the brother of the empress's physician, and to-day he came to our house. He devotes himself to painting. After this visit, we went out. Oh! the ugly city, the impure air! What a deplorable mixture of ancient magnificence and modern filth!

We went through the Corso, the Via Gregoriana, the Forum of Hadrian, the Forum of Rome, we saw the gates of Septimus Severus, and Constantine, the Via Pia, the Coliseum, but everything is still vague, I don't recognise myself. The drive on the Pincio is charming, the band was playing, but there were not many people when we were there. Statues, statues everywhere. What would Rome be without statues? From the summit of the Pincio we looked at the dome of St. Peter and also the whole city. I am glad to find it is not over large, it will be easier to know.

On the drive we were amused to meet the S----'s, A----, and P---- of Rome. The sun did not appear, and the weather was dull and dreary.

On arriving in Rome, I had no artistic feeling. It is Rome that opened my mind, so I have worshipped her since. I don't want to visit anything before we are settled. The evening was spent in consulting the cards and in writing letters.

This stay in Rome seems an exile and it is with unequalled joy that I think of returning to Nice. The cards predict much good, but can the cards be believed?

Ah! if I could marry some prince! Then I would return to Nice and make a triumphal entry. But no, it is indicated that nothing will succeed for me; so I shall make no more plans or, if I do, it will be with the sorrowful conviction of their uselessness. Each time I have been disappointed.

Wednesday, January 5th, 1876.

This is what I wrote to the General:

"I am in Rome, and it is very wonderful (ah! it is very wonderful, very marvellous). It is cold as Russia, the water freezes in the fountains, but the cold would be nothing if it was _only_ the cold. Since morning we have been in search of an apartment, and we have seen only one. I did not have courage to go up when they pointed out a black, yawning hole, dirty and frightful. I have looked in vain for a house with any resemblance to the French houses. I find only ruins or cracked columns. No doubt it is very beautiful, but agree with me that a good, comfortable apartment is infinitely more pleasant, though less artistic.

"I believe we shall end by lodging in the baths of Caracalla or in the Coliseum. The foreigners will take me for the ghost of a Christian martyr, devoured by some fierce tiger in the presence of some carnivorous emperor. As to the furniture, we will be content with fragments of statues or a few bones, the sublime remains of a henceforth impossible past. After my installation in the Coliseum, or in the Forum, I will give you the most minute details concerning the Eternal City. Meanwhile, I shall expect a letter from you, my dear General, which will be, I know, kind and charming. Now good-bye until we meet again.

MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF."

It is the truth, there is not a habitable apartment; where are we? Can this horrible city be called a capital? We are not in Europe! Not a house fit to rent. I am discouraged, tired, but I will not stir before May.

O Rome! I think that we shall take a larger apartment in the hotel, and stay there. One can breathe only in the Piazza di Spagna. It is impossible that this is Rome! What a mixture of beautiful antiquities and modern trash!

Thursday, January 6th, 1876.

B---- has been here again and brought the addresses of some professors. Then we took a carriage, and Mamma went to the Russian priest's, the archimandrite Alexander. Being an archimandrite, he is married, for in our country priests and deacons can be married once. Mamma says that he is charming. Our embassy makes no show, and has not even any regular reception day.

This society makes me love Rome. I scarcely regret Nice, the ungrateful, wicked city.

Sad and irresolute yesterday, I am gay and confident to-day. I have written to my aunt to send me F----, the ugly little negro will be very nice to have here.

I have had a good dinner, and spent the evening in reading the history of Charles the Bold.

I thought, "in my ingenuous candour," that there was no society except in Nice, but there is a great deal, and even very excellent.

After the drive we went down the Corso, thronged with carriages, between rows of pedestrians of all classes. D----was among them. Now that my eyes are opened to see the beauties and antiquities of Rome, I am growing curious, eager to visit everything. I am no longer drowsy. I am in a hurry to be everywhere. I want to live at full speed again. Ah! if only I could!... Again a longing for Nice. The poorest thing, by resisting, gains worth. Be thoroughly convinced of this genuine truth. Do not believe that I am stupefied to the point of not seeing beyond the city of S----; on the contrary, I am more ambitious than ever. But meanwhile, to spit upon some one who has spit on us, to give the person a kick, is a pleasure which every well-born soul can permit itself.

Friday, January 7th, 1876.

Goodness! What prices people ask in Rome! For 1,800 francs one has only the barest necessaries! At the Hôtel de Rome I saw an apartment so large and so fine that it made my head ache. In France we have no idea of this grandeur, this ancient majesty. After much searching we have taken an apartment in the second story of the Hôtel de Londres, with a balcony looking out upon the Piazza di Spagna, a handsome drawing-room, several bedrooms, and a study. We went to B----'s studio. He has very fair talent.

Tuesday, January 11th, 1876.

We did not go out, but the artist Kalorbinski came, and to-morrow the lessons will begin. Monseigneur de Faloux, being unable to go out himself, sent the Chevalier Rossy to bring us a number of pleasant messages. I received him. I have learned a great deal about affairs in the city.

I am very proud of receiving some one myself. It seems like a sovereign's first decree. The Russian priest has come to call on us too. I like the cowled monks in Rome. They are new to me, and that pleases me.

At last I have a teacher of painting; that is something. This evening I see everything in rose-colour, and I am already thinking of a letter in which it will be said of A----: _Et eum dicat super malitiosum, improbum, inhonestum, cupidum, luxuriosum, ebriosum!_ Exactly what Septimus Severus said of Albinus.

If only the winter would pass more quickly. With all my misfortunes, I feel better in Nice, I can give myself up to despair as much as I please. Only last Spring, there was nobody there. The best people gathered around us. P---- was deserted, so were the others. While this Spring there will again be nobody, but P---- will have Miss R----. These ladies, under the leadership of T----, will form a sort of court, like that of the young Princess G---- and Mme. T---- three months since. Both died three months ago.

We shall see. Meanwhile let us study, and try to go into society. Let us pray to God, and amuse ourselves by writing letters.

Wednesday, January 12th, 1876.

B---- and his cousin have called to see us. When these Russians go, I put on my dressing gown again, and say a lot of things, and rank myself among the goddesses, then descend to calling myself a little bundle of dirty linen.

I like to indulge in extravagant speeches, and make Mamma laugh. I received a letter from B----, this charming friend gives me the news of Nice. P----has had a reception, and everybody went. It seems that we were mentioned in the presence of quite a large number of persons in the consul's house, and the consul and his wife said nothing but good about us.

"I was glad," B---- wrote, "to see that they were your friends, too, though you no longer went there so often."

After all, I am very happy, very calm, and I am going to bed.

Thursday, January 13th, 1876.

Mamma and Dina are at church. It is our New Year's Day, and I have stayed at home to sew. That is my whim at present, and I must do what I wish. B---- called to offer his good wishes.

Not until four o'clock did they succeed in dragging me out of the house and, at five o'clock. Mamma is going to the embassy. That is the hour Baronne D----receives.

We had a telegram from Barnola. He congratulates us, and reminded me of the promise I made to drink a glass of water at the Fountain of Trevi at two o'clock on the Russian New Year's Day. He vowed friendship, I did the same.

I received a letter from my aunt, in which she told me that A---- was paying attention to an English girl whom she has nicknamed Olive. My aunt has so lively an imagination. At the end of three days of our acquaintance with the Marvel, she told me that the poor fool was in love with me. And she pitied him with eager kindness while predicting for him the fate of the Polish count. Now she has seen him at Monaco with the girl, and she is already marrying them. Oh! it is really atrocious--always conjectures! Ah! if I could know the truth. Have patience, that is easy to write. But to show it! Patience is the virtue of sluggish--but gentle, foolish souls.

I don't think I love the Marvel, I don't find him in my heart; but at any rate, the surface is very much occupied with him. If he loved me, I shouldn't care very much, that is the truth.

Friday, January 14th, 1876.

We met on the Pincio Count B----, who started at seeing me, then bowed to my mother.

At five o'clock we went to see Monseigneur F----, a thin, black, agile old priest in a wig, a Jesuit, a hypocrite. He received us very courteously in his remarkable drawing-rooms, filled with things in the best taste. Gobelins, pictures, and all this in the dwelling of a detestable Jesuit. Well, well!

We all went to walk in the Villa Borghese, which is more beautiful than the Doria. There was a crowd of people, and the pretty Princess M---- was walking like any ordinary mortal, followed by her carriage, with the coachman and two footmen in red livery. This quantity of carriages with coats of arms saddened me. We know nobody, God help me! Perhaps I am ridiculous with my complaints, and my eternal prayers! I am so miserable! This evening Mamma asked the date of last year's carnival; I took out my journal and, without noticing it, spent two hours turning over the leaves.

I said to myself: I am living to be happy! Everything must bow before me! And see how it is--the idea that I could fail in anything never occurred to me.

A delay, yes, but a complete failure, nonsense!--And I see with terror and humiliation that I was deceived, that nothing happens as I wish. It is not because I love some one; I do not love anybody seriously; I love a coronet and money. It is terrible to think that everything is escaping. Each instant I long to pray to God, and each instant I stop myself. I shall pray again, let what will happen!

My God, Holy Virgin, do not scorn me, take me under your protection.

Sunday, January 16th, 1876.