Friday, 18 August 1882

We did not find Bastien at home; I leave him a note and catch a glimpse of what he has brought back from London. There is a little street urchin of an errand boy, leaning against a bollard in the street; one almost hears the clatter of the passing carriages. The background is barely sketched in; but the figure! That devil of a man.
Ah, the grim idiots — those who dismiss him as a mere technician. He is a powerful, original artist; he is a poet, he is a philosopher — [the others are nothing but] manufacturers of whatever rubbish beside him. One can no longer look at anything once one has seen his painting, because it is beautiful as nature itself, as life. The other day Tony was obliged to concede with me that it takes a great artist to copy nature, and that indeed only a great artist is capable of understanding nature and rendering it. L'idéal est dans le choix — the ideal is in the choice; as for execution, it must be the very summit of what the ignorant call: naturalism.
Paint Enguerrand de Marigny or Agnès Sorel if you please — but let their hands, their hair, their eyes be living, natural, human. The subject matters little. Doubtless from every point of view the modern is the most interesting, but true, genuine naturalism consists in the execution.
[Written across the margin: And the masters often painted subjects of their own era.]
Let it be nature itself, life — let the eyes speak! It matters not whether it is Mlle de La Vallière or Sarah Bernhardt... Granted, it is more difficult to engage you... but even so!
If Bastien painted Mlle de La Vallière or Mary Queen of Scots — dead and dusty and worn-out as they are — they would live again. There is also a small sketch for a portrait of Coquelin... I came away transfixed: it is his very grimace, his hands are moving, he is speaking, his eyes are blinking!...