Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff

Young Pollack accompanied us all day yesterday, serving as our guide and making himself useful very pleasantly. We visit the School of Fine Arts, where there are remarkable Goyas — besides which there is so much beautiful painting here. The Duchess of Alba painted completely nude1 — I must not keep putting off having myself painted likewise… Oh! How well I understand… In any case, it is curious that painting so badly I adore color… Nothing so melancholy as beautiful impasto on incomplete forms — without abandoning the drawing? Nothing so melancholy. But that is Velázquez — wait, let us finish yesterday first; so yesterday, after a walk in the Buen Retiro, we go to a café to hear singing and see dancing by a sort of gypsy women. It is altogether strange — a guitar rasped by a man and a dozen women clapping in time, then suddenly one of them begins to push out notes; chromatic songs in disorder, impossible to describe. It is altogether Arab; in any case after an hour one has quite had enough. The dancing would be very… entertaining for men if there were less costume — these women are in dressing gowns with a shawl

# Mardi 4 octobre 1881

on the shoulders and flowers in the hair — and these dresses of muslin or even canvas prevent one from seeing the movements of the hips so characteristic of them. Old Pollack came to join us there. Soria was supposed to come, but as he is a Jew he fasted — yesterday was Yom Kippur2 — and it made him ill. He is an observant Jew and almost boasts of it. I was in a mantilla like a Spaniard, and my blonde attractions drew some glances… Those creatures have eyes!!! every last one of them. Spanish women are all amusing to paint if not pretty. Such complexions, such eyes. Ah! One understands Spanish painting upon seeing it — it is… superb! In full impasto it is rich, it is broad, what color!… This morning from nine o'clock I am at the museum before Velázquez, before whom everything else is dry and pale — except Ribera, who nevertheless falls short of him. In the portrait of an unknown sculptor there is a hand that is the key to the entire technique of Carolus-Duran,3 who as we know wants to reproduce Velázquez. Ah! Lord, he barely manages to make beautiful portraits — whereas look at the nude by Velázquez!4 I encounter Soria and Pollack and we continue together. They know I can only be alone in a museum — an artist's quirk, which is why it is not shocking; besides it is only in a museum, and besides we are plain country folk, are we not… Not so plain that I do not find myself disliking the company of the magnificent Hebrew with Italian manners. They bring me back Soria speaking of our last evening in Nice, in 1876 — that is to say, of a certain plain white wool dress like an antique, showing nothing but the line of the neck, the hair knotted very high and carelessly, revealing a nape… and the arms with their graceful lines!… He describes so well every detail of that dress that it must truly have had something. A pity that he is with friends — otherwise it would be more amusing! But I suffer from not hearing well! I feign eccentricities, absences — and it is ah! how dreadful. And my eyes — I had visual flutterings5 for an hour. If I go blind… it is not certain that I would kill myself… We have bought a Spanish guitar and a mandolin… One cannot imagine Spain… and they say Madrid has less character than what I am about to see — Toledo, Granada, Seville… Besides I am delighted to be here; I have a fever to train my hand with some study in the museum, then to make a painting, and to stay here two months if need be.

sur les epaules et fleurs dans les cheveux, et ces robes de mousseline ou meme de toile empechent de voir les mouvements si caracteristiques des hanches. Le pere Pollack est venu nous trouver la. Soria devait venir mais comme il est juif il a jeune, hier etait le Ghipour, et ca l'a rendu malade. Il est juif croyant et s'en vante presque. J'etais en mantille comme une Espagnole et mes attraits blonds ont attire quelques regards... Ces animaux-la ont des yeux !!! mais tous et toutes. Les femmes espagnoles sont toutes amusantes a peindre si non jolies. Des teints, des yeux. Ah ! on comprend la peinture espagnole en la voyant, c'est... superbe ! En pleine pate c'est gras, c'est large, c'est d'une couleur !... Ce matin des neuf heures je suis au musee devant Velasquez devant lequel tout est sec et pale sauf Ribera qui ne le vaut pourtant pas. Dans le portrait d'un sculpteur inconnu il y a une main qui est la clef de toute l'execution de Carolus-Duran qui comme on sait veut reediter Velasquez. Ah ! Seigneur, c'est a peine qu'il fait de beaux portraits, tandis que regardez le nu de Velasquez ! Je rencontre la Soria et Pollack et nous continuons ensemble. Ils savent que je ne puis etre que seule dans un musee, manie d'artiste voila pourquoi ce n'est pas choquant, du reste ce n'est que dans un musee et puis nous sommes auvergnats n'est-ce pas... Pas assez pour que je ne deteste pas la societe du magnifique hebreux aux manieres italiennes. Ils me ramenent Soria parlant de notre derniere soiree a Nice, en 1876, c'est-a-dire d'une certaine robe de laine blanche unie comme un antique ne laissant voir que l'attache du cou, les cheveux tres haut noues negligement et laissant voir une nuque... et les bras avec des attaches !... Il me raconte si bien tous les details de cette toilette qu'il faut qu'elle ait eu quelque chose vraiment. C'est dommage qu'il soit avec des amis, autrement ce serait plus gai ! Seulement je souffre de ne pas bien entendre ! Je feins des etrangetes, des absences et c'est ah ! que c'est affreux. Et les yeux, j'ai eu des papillons pendant une heure. Si je deviens aveugle... ce n'est pas sur que je me tuerai... Nous avons achete une guitare et une mandoline espagnoles... On ne se figure pas l'Espagne... et on dit que Madrid a moins de caractere que ce que je vais voir, Toledo, Grenade, Seville... Du reste je suis ravie d'etre ici, j'ai la fievre de me faire la main avec quelque etude au musee puis de faire un tableau et rester ici deux mois s'il le faut.

Ah! If I were not deaf I would adapt to everything and would be happy! Miranda has directed us to M. Alfredo Escobar, son of the Marquis of…, of the journal La Época6 — this gentleman has already called twice.

Ah ! si je n'etais sourde je me ferais a tout et je serais heureuse ! Miranda nous a adresse a M. Alfredo Escobar, fils du marquis de.... du journal "la Espora", ce monsieur est deja venu deux fois.

Notes

Goya's La maja desnuda (c. 1797–1800), held at the Prado; tradition long associated the sitter with the Duchess of Alba, though this is disputed by modern scholars.
Yom Kippur: the Jewish Day of Atonement, the holiest day of the Jewish calendar, observed with a complete fast.
Carolus-Duran: Charles Auguste Emile Durand (1837–1917), celebrated French portrait painter and teacher; Marie studied under him alongside John Singer Sargent. He was a devoted admirer of Velázquez.
Velázquez's The Rokeby Venus (La venus del espejo, c. 1647–51), then still in Spain; the only surviving nude by Velázquez.
Les papillons (butterflies): Marie's term for visual disturbances — floaters or scintillating scotoma — a symptom that appears repeatedly in connection with her deteriorating health.
La Época: a conservative Madrid daily newspaper, one of the leading Spanish papers of the Restoration period (1875–1923). Alfredo Escobar (1861–1924) later became its director.