Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Tuesday, 15 November 1881

I made a bad study at the atelier. Cassagnac fought a duel with his unsuccessful rival, M. de Montebello, and wounded him. I felt not the slightest anxiety — these duels always end in scratches. Gambetta has taken power: Foreign Minister and President of the Council. Such is the news. There is also some progress in Amélie's romantic affairs — Julian is softening, and everything leads one to hope that he will in the end allow himself to be won over by the long lip and the squirrel mouth, the receding or rather absent chin, the square jaw, the pale eyes, the somewhat hairless cheeks with their bluish tinge (powder and pomade), the dyed hair missing in patches at the crown — all belonging to the tireless, scheming, implacably enamored Amélie. For eight years she has been at work, spinning her web of love: having refused all payment for her portrait of Léon Say, a connection of her family, she appealed for the Legion of Honor for her ideal. A friend of Villevieille was visiting Léon Say when Amélie came and threw herself at his feet and kissed his hands, weeping for joy, the
— day he finally settled into the role of a serious man, and it is impossible for him to contemplate another marriage. I think, however, that Magdeleine Delsarte — who is approaching thirty like Amélie, but who is adorable — would suit him far better. But after the decoration especially, one must not think of it. As for me, it irritates me — it robs me of a friend, a confidant, a helper. Amélie detests me, having been, and perhaps still being, jealous of that friendship. Every time Julian approved of or admired something in me, she copied it — and naturally [blacked out] it was ugly and ridiculous, because she has no ability, and above all no taste and no elegance. A hatred I have tried to soften by every means. And what worries me is that Julian will go to extraordinary lengths to repay her Legion of Honor with a medal at the next Salon — and since that will be frightfully difficult, he will have no breath left to champion poor me. Even with the portrait of Léon Say she could get nothing, though the hands were evidently done by someone very strong — I attribute them to Robert-Fleury the father, for it was neither the son's brushwork nor Julian's. As for Amélie, the wretched girl is capable of nothing approaching it even today, with nearly two more years of work. So the handsome Rodolphe will use all his considerable influence to reward Amélie for her decoration and for her disappointment at the last Salon. You know she did not finish her painting. That painting, sent to the provinces, was purchased for the museum at Lille. But that is not enough. She is already at work on the new piece and has practically swindled Irma away from me — to whom I had written first. That is not very fair; but I tell you she is an ugly Spanish soul, with nothing clean about her but her tenacious passion [blacked out]. In short — that hatred, last year's painting which she prevented me from doing well, and now already the conflicts over the model — my indifference and my loyal character being moved by it. I feel that inconceivable hostility so acutely that I am on edge and wretched in her presence; and I think I would weep with tenderness if I ever saw a frank and sympathetic look in her eyes. I am almost sorry to have spoken openly with Julian, when I think that he is going to marry that horrible girl with such thick and ugly joints made still more conspicuous by her angular thinness. She has stopped dyeing her hair, which is turning brown; only the tips remain yellow — an indescribable detail. Still, it was perhaps better that I spoke all the same — Julian was supposing God knows what about me and Cassagnac. But I am wounded
— to have that woman as a third party, I who almost posed before Julian with my Cassagnac, and then I always hoped to keep those friends, Tony and Julian — I saw myself arriving at glory, loved by… Such-and-so and [blacked out], with my two painters as confidants; there was even coquetry in it… No — this business with Irma: Amélie must always be in my path. She annoyed me enough last year, doing the same painting, taking the same figures, my poses in short. Now it is my model. I brought that wretch Irma here yesterday; she was to sit this morning and abandoned me — I have an idea it is one of Amélie's tricks. In any case… I showed Julian a project for a painting and he approves it. But he no longer inspires my confidence — he looks bought, confused — well, I am imagining all of this. There is still Tony, but I have cultivated him less, and in the end… we shall see. Poor Collignon died more than twenty days ago already. We never liked each other very much, but toward the end she was so unhappy that I felt for those sorrows, while remaining indifferent.

Notes

Léon Gambetta (1838–1882) became President of the Council (Prime Minister) on 14 November 1881, forming the so-called "Grand Ministère." He simultaneously held the portfolio of Foreign Affairs. His government fell in January 1882. ↩
The Legion of Honor (la Légion d'honneur), France's highest civil and military decoration, founded by Napoleon. To receive it was a mark of exceptional distinction; it could be awarded to artists for significant Salon success. ↩
Joseph-Nicolas Robert-Fleury (1797–1890), father of Tony Robert-Fleury, was a distinguished Romantic-era painter known for his historical and religious subjects. Marie suggests he secretly painted the hands in Amélie's portrait of Léon Say. ↩