Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Thursday, 20 April 1882

Well, it is not as it was after Spain; I am not delighted to see Paris again, merely glad... Besides, I cannot take stock of any feeling, so anxious am I about my work. I tremble to think what will be said, and I am crushed by the memory of Breslau, whom the public treats as an established artist. I went to Julian's yesterday (we have been in Paris since yesterday morning), and he no longer treats me as a serious worker — brilliant, yes, but no depth, no will; he would have wished for more, he had hoped for something else. All this said in conversation does me much harm; I wait for him to see my work from Nice, and I no longer hope for anything good.
I did La Thérèse — a six-year-old child going to market down a farm lane, life-size. Then an old man at his window beside a pot of pink carnations, life-size; then a lad carrying a sack, life-size, half-length.
A landscape on a size-30 canvas. Another on a size-10 canvas. Three seascapes. Five or six small studies, and some charcoal drawings; besides, two unfinished pastels and pen drawings in the album.
I do not know if it is good or horrible, and all these fears send something like fire over every inch of my skin...
Today we went with Maman to the studio. Poor Amélie has been rejected; Julian told me yesterday; it seems that besides being bad, it was horribly vulgar.
Tomorrow I shall see Tony.
I have already seen the Gavinis and Saint-Amand; they find me looking as I used to. I tried on dresses at Doucet's.