Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 10 November 1877

Monsieur Robert-Fleury was in a bad temper, tired; he barely corrected half our drawings. No one received any compliments — myself included. I am somewhat astonished by this, as Julian thought well of what I had done. Yes, but inwardly I was displeased with it myself. I am vexed.
We then made sketches; one of them, slightly caricature-like, was a success — Julian had me sign it and placed it in his album.
If I continue as I have worked this week I shall produce nothing of worth.
How much more powerfully disagreeable things strike one than good ones!
For a month I have heard nothing but encouragement — except once, a fortnight ago; this morning I am scolded, and I remember nothing but this morning. It is not only I who am like this and in this alone — it is so in everything and always. A thousand people applaud; a single hiss or whistle, and one hears it more than the thousand.
The evening and afternoon académies were not corrected. Ah! But I have my excuses! You will recall that the models displeased me and that we did not begin until Tuesday — on Monday there were disturbances because of the models — and above all, I had been placed directly opposite the man, very close and below. The most difficult pose. No matter — it is a bad sign, Bijou, when one seeks out excuses.
This afternoon I take advantage to run a host of errands in the city; I would rather lose this day than one in the middle of the week.
Gascon, vain... and Stupid!
Blanc, Berthe, and Popaul to dinner. Nothing is so disagreeable as waiting when one is not sure someone will come.
That tiresome Paul de Cassagnac! I was pleased to see him arrive, because he is never ill at ease with anyone, and nothing in the world will make him go where he finds no pleasure. While waiting for him I was anxious — I was asking myself what I wanted from this man and what I was going to say to him.
Anxiety immediately dispelled. This man put me at ease at once, and from the first moment to the last I was frankly and greatly entertained — perhaps because I was entertaining myself.
Not a single moment of awkwardness, and I am fairly pleased with myself — which is rare, and above all... precious. Having established that, let us proceed cheerfully.
I do not quite know how to go about announcing to you that I was witty — chiefly that sort of wit, I believe, which consists in stating the most extraordinary things quite simply.
— You will be blamed for many things, Cassagnac told me, but never for being a fool.
Oh! My dear man, nor will you be — I assure you that if I had to invent a charming, amusing, witty man, I could invent nothing more original or better than you. I did not say this to him, but what I did say throughout the evening was in that vein — not as flattery but as a manner of speaking.
At dinner I was making faces to avoid showing my hands; my brother fed me from his own hand and then gave me his white gloves to put on, then his pocket handkerchief — he would have given me... the rest as well, at the rate we were going. What I like is the exquisite respect and the perfect measure in his words toward one.
We had two or three private conversations, an assignation behind the harp — which is perfectly transparent!
We reviewed the past, and a sort of pact was concluded... of pure and holy friendship — on my honour. But he managed me admirably, declaring that he was master of his feelings, that I had disturbed him only once — the very first time — that the path of love was very dangerous with me; one could not know where it might lead, for I had not only the perfections of the woman who charms but who also disturbs. That I had, however, a lining of masculine nature, and that my friendship was the most precious of gifts. We swore to be brother and sister. This is perfect.
— Listen, Monsieur, I said a moment later, a perhaps strange idea has just come to me. Why did you speak to me of all that just now? Could it be that... wait, anything is possible — could it be that you thought I wanted to choose... the other path? — I was laughing.
Naturally he showed indignation, and I:
— But why not? It might have happened — there are so many foolish women — did I seem like that?
He showed himself more and more indignant and scolded me in that good-natured way of his.
I am not afraid of his mocking me, because I told him as much, adding everything I thought of his little effects, etc., and saying that I was the first to mock myself.
Friendship offered quite simply might in some sense wound — but it was so well wrapped, so blended, so dissolved into everything else that it had the appearance of being itself merely an envelope. One of two things: either it is true, or it is a trick from his repertoire to make himself valued, desired, exaggerated, regarded as a conquest before whom gratitude brings one to one's knees. I rather think it is the former. What enchants me is that it is clear, and that there will no longer be anything strained between us.