Wednesday, 16 January 1878

Berthe came to the atelier with me; she wants me to go out into society with them, and her mother is asking Maman to allow it.
Cassagnac has not replied through Le Figaro. Here is what we write to him again:
Copied letterLettre anonyme des « cinq femmes » à Paul de Cassagnac, 16 janvier 1878
We understand that publicity is repugnant to you. Therefore we await a reply via the Madeleine post office, addressed to the following initials: S.M.N.F.
I replied to Marcuard:
Paris, avenue de l’Alma no. 67 — To Monsieur de M...
I hasten, dear Monsieur, to dispel your legitimate anxieties: the cakes have arrived, they are superb, and we thank you for them; they are so beautiful that one is tempted to have them framed.
A very great misfortune has befallen us: our dear Dr. Wolitski [Walitsky], whom you saw at our house, died last Friday at two in the morning. He was the best friend of our entire family, Grand-papa’s godson; he watched us all grow up — you can well imagine what an irreparable loss. Friends such as he are so rare, not to say impossible to find. Grand-papa, ill himself as you know, wept the whole day and is still very sad even now. But I do not wish to speak to you of such sombre things.
You ask whether I do not hesitate between love of art and love of beautiful nature; I do not hesitate: I love them equally — but beautiful nature yields pleasures that are nearly complete only when one knows that one is oneself something, when one possesses the power of art, which is a very great, a very great power.
There is someone who wishes to know all the ill that is said of a certain M. L[ancaster]. Do you not know him?
You know that Princess S[ouvoroff] has sailed for America, where she intends, they say, to marry. That would be an extraordinary end.
How lucky, how very lucky you are to be going to Rome! I envy you — and I confess it, though envy is a meanness.
Tell me everything you saw at the King’s funeral and all the rest. Be so kind as to send me all the news — and all the olds — imaginable... I shall read it at table, since it is only there that I am free.
Everyone sends you a thousand kind regards. Will there be a carnival?
The house is so empty. There are only four women and Grand-papa in his room.
It is impossible for me to believe in the death of Walitsky. It would be such a great, such a profound grief.
And yet I saw him dead.

Notes

The printed edition notes the source of this letter: Lettres de Marie Bashkirtseff (Fasquelle, 1892), pp. 89–91 (Mon Journal vol. 11, p. 105, footnote 6). ↩