Marie Bashkirtseff | Page 3

of indignation is a little
quieted. It is soothing to write or communicate one's ideas to
somebody.
B---- isn't worth while. I shall never marry him. If he begs me on his
knees, I shall be--oh, I forgot the word--I shall be firm. No, that isn't the
word, but I know what I mean. Yet if he loves me very much, very
deeply, if he cannot live without me--vain phrases! Do not let us meet.
I don't wish to be weak.
I am firm, I will be resolute. I mean to have the Duc de H----. I love
him at least. His dissipated life may be forgiven him. But the other--no!
While writing I was interrupted by a noise. I thought some one was

going to surprise me. Even if what I have written were not seen, I
should blush all the same. Everything I wrote previously now seems
nonsense. Yet it is really exactly what I felt. I am calm now. Later I
will read it over again. That will bring back the past.
I love the Duc de H---- and I cannot tell him so. Even if I did, he would
pay no attention to it. O, God! I pray Thee! When he was here, I had an
object in going out, in dressing. But now! I went to the terrace hoping
to see him in the distance for at least a second.
O God, relieve my suffering! I can pray to Thee no more. Hear my
petition. Thy mercy is so infinite. Thy grace is so great, Thou hast done
so many things for me! Thou hast bestowed so many blessings upon me.
Thou alone canst inspire him with love for me!
Oh, dear! I imagine him dead, and that nothing can draw him nearer to
me. What a terrible thought! I have tears in my eyes, and still more in
my heart. I am weeping. If I did not love him I might console myself.
He would suit me for a husband in every respect. I love him, and that is
what makes me suffer. Take away this anguish, and I shall be a
thousand times more miserable. My grief makes my happiness. I live
solely for that. All my thoughts, everything is centred there. The Duc
de H---- is my all. I love him so much! It is a very old-fashioned phrase,
since people no longer love. Women love men for money, and men
love women because they are the fashion or on account of their
surroundings.
I could not say, "On such or such a day I met a young man whom I
liked." I do not know when I noticed him. I cannot even understand
these feelings, I cannot find expressions. I will only say, "I do not know
when, I do not know how this love has come. It came because it
probably had to come." I should like to define this, yet I cannot.
Now, if he were paying me attention, he would think he was doing me
honour, but then I should make him see that it is I who honour him by
marrying him, because I am giving up all my glory. Yet what happiness
can be greater: To have everything--to be a child worshipped by its
parents, petted, having all a child can have. Then to be known, admired,
sought by the whole world, and have glory and triumph every time one
sings. And at last to become a duchess, and to have the duke whom I
have loved a long while, and be received and admired by everybody.
To be rich on my own account and through my husband; to be able to

say that I am not a plebeian by birth, like all the celebrities--that is the
life, that is the happiness I desire. If I can become his wife without
being a cantatrice, I shall be equally well pleased, but I believe that is
the only way I shall be able to attract him.
Oh, if that could be! My God! Thou hast made me find in what way I
shall be able to obtain what I ask. Oh! Lord! Aid me, I place all my
hopes in Thee. Thou alone canst do all things, canst render me happy.
Thou hast made me understand that it is through my voice I can obtain
what I seek. Then it is upon my voice that I must fix all my thoughts, I
must cultivate, watch, and guard it. I swear to Thee, O Lord, no longer
to sing or scream as I used to do.
On leaving the H----'s, I was wrapped in an ermine cloak. I thought I
looked very well. If I became a duchess, a cloak like that would suit me.
I am growing too presumptuous.