All morning long I practiced, but there is something that worries me. The darned El Tambor doesn't make it into my memory! Otherwise I feel fine. I must do some more work on El Puerto as well, I am not quite sure about it either.
I don't know if Antonio Quevedo has gone crazy or if I am delirious, the fact is that when papaito went to see him this morning about the programs, he told him that I was the pianist who has "the best technique on the island, not even Lecuona had anything on me...! Truly this is inconceivable. I am more comfortable with the thought of the recital, and I will put into practice the theory of autosuggestion. Mamaita is thinking of having Bernabeu make my dress, but I would prefer it if she made it. I am not planning to wear a corsage, the bulk and the scent would make me nervous. The only thing is that I pray to God that He makes it possible for papaíto to have the means necessary for the occasion because I know that when he and mamaíta want to do things as they should be done, it is a serious affair and these things cost quite a bit and then some.
The Borrás invited me to the carnavales. We plan to go as
sailors complete with slacks and all. They also want to come down down this evening because they are going to have a gathering with some lawyers. Let me see if I can make it, because Matilde will probably be coming over tonight and my conscience would never forgive me for leaving an old and loyal friendship for a new and maybe false one... let’s see! 2 FEBRUARY, 1934
Yesterday afternoon I felt glorious. Who could possibly understand this sensation of moral glory? It’s as if the world meant nothing, as if people didn’t exist, as if there were only one doctrine, Art, some sounds that capture our senses, and one heart, ours, beating in glory.
This beautiful art of mine is like love, praising, discouraging..... tiring… or with supernatural strength.
How beautiful and how delicious! How fickle…! And how imperishable at the same time!
9 FEBRUARY, 1934
It is twilight… and it is sad to think that hatred exists… that there is worry, that there is war.....yet the afternoon is so sweet!... “Only in solitude… meditation by elevating our spirit, can we help redeem ourselves..... making the conversion to the ineffable miracle of joy... of our weary or scared consciences…” It is not a trembling hand anymore that is writing… it is a splendid ideal that dictates to the firm hand that copies it down.
14 FEBRUARY, 1934
Matilde came by last night to visit me. Joyful (simpática) as always, she thanked me for my letter, which was in reply to one of hers of the last day of the year. She says that she was very
moved by it. I told her that in my own idealistic way of thinking, when one has a friend that one esteems worthy of affection, there
should be a ceremony akin to that of a marriage, which would actually be much more sublime as it is more disinterested, and it should be blessed like the union of two souls who understand one another and vow to sacrifice themselves for one another. I believe that, of all my friends, she is the only one who can actually hear me say this without laughing. She took some poems of mine to read, she is crazy about everything that I write … and now that I mention it, it’s been a long time since I wrote… this is more due
to lack of time rather than lack of inspiration. I only have a few minutes a day to give to my Diary. I thought that I had convinced Matilde to write her own Diary, but she answered me “ But what
will I write, Carmela…? My soul is much less susceptible and much more simple than yours…!” Strangely enough, modest child! As Tony used to say to her, she is “a violet”…
P.S. The dreaded Recital date is approaching Mon Dieu!...
Protect me, my Guardian Angel…!
17 February, 1934
Why is there so much misery in the world! Why are there so many unfortunate creatures, so hated and mistreated for no rreason…! How grateful I must be to God for providing me with so many joys while there are others who suffer so much!
24 February, 1934
Two years ago on a day like today I was a simple being, with an admirable inner plethora of dreams and goals. Yes, I wrote a sort of Diary… I remember it, it was called “24 February…: grito de Baire”. Things that one does to give away at a later date, or lose them or forget about them. … and on that memorable day (I was fourteen), a kid, a little man (hombrecito,) said that he loved me… it was nighttime, fairly late. The waves hit the coast in hues of blue and our tropical sky, dotted with stars, looked beautiful and gallant… For the first time in my life I felt like more than a child… yet without consequence, I laughed it off in the face of the poor young man… I brushed him off… and never looked at him again… but I didn’t forget him! Today I remember him with pleasure: he saw me as beautiful, flattered my female sense of vanity while he was himself a handsome devil [un guapo mozo] ... and he gave me my first chance to act as all of a maiden, rejecting his ridiculous advances…
14 MARCH, 1934
If we always said what we believe and what we think, nothing would be reasonable in the world.
Sometimes,because it would take too long to explain our convictions, and other times, because they are too improbable, we remain silent at moments when we should speak.
Last night the subject that came up at the Borráses was the “tune” of the matrimonial question. There were three señoras, five muchachas (young women), and three young men at the gathering. The women were pining sorrowfully for sex (which I find to be in extreme bad taste) while the men were talking about the perfect home.
I, being the only enemy of matrimony that I know among all
of them, did not make my opinion manifest. Had I done so, either
they might have taken me for an idiot, or for a shameless hussy.
Besides, in the event that I marry, I would try, like all the women,
to make my marriage succeed, and I would study and prepare for it
just as I do for a concert. Marriage is a career like any other. They
spoke of the reason why they fail. In my opinion (in the Diary) the
success or failure of marriage is due exclusively to the education of the spouses and the ridiculous story of “poor woman, eternal victim.” It would be less disastrous if the woman was prepared, so that the man would not be a material necessity in her life, but a moral one (a woman who does not love is like a garden without flowers.) Therefore the self-assured woman who can earn her own keep would not create with a man a society in which she occupied an inferior position, but a society in which the stakes are equal; that is my understanding of the real thesis of matrimony.
