Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Thursday, 14 December 1882

In the morning we go to see the canvases the real Bastien1 has just brought back from the country. He is there, arranging the edges of the pictures and certain details in the backgrounds. We meet as friends — he is so kind, such a good fellow... Perhaps he is not all that, but he has so much talent; still, he is charming. And the poor architect quite eclipsed by the fraternal radiance. He has brought back several studies: a village evening — the moon already showing, the windows lighting up; a man returning from the fields turning to speak to a woman who is making her way towards the house where the window is lit; the dusk rendered marvellously; the calm that takes over everything; people returning home; everything falls silent; only a dog can be heard barking. Such colour, such poetry, such charm!

Le matin nous allons voir les toiles que le vrai Bastien vient de rapporter de la campagne. Il est la, entrain d'arranger les bords des tableaux et certaines choses dans les fonds. Nous nous rencontrons comme des amis, il est si gentil, si bon enfant... Peut-etre n'est-il pas tout cela mais il a tant de talent, pourtant il est charmant. Et le pauvre architecte tout a fait efface par le rayonnement fraternel. Il a rapporte plusieurs etudes, un soir au village, la lune parait deja et les fenetres s'allument, un homme rentrant des champs se retourne pour parler a une femme qui se dirige vers la maison ou la fenetre est illuminee, le crepuscule est rendu merveilleusement, le calme qui envahit tout, les gens qui rentrent chez eux, tout se tait, seulement on entend aboyer quelque chien. C'est d'une couleur, d'une poesie, d'un charme !

The genre of Jules Breton,2 who is called a poet the size of your fist, would be better. There is also a forge where an old fellow is working. It is very small, and no less beautiful than those marvellous small brown canvases one sees in the Louvre.

Le genre de Jules Breton qu'on appelle poete gros comme le poing, serait mieux. Il y a aussi une forge ou un vieux bonhomme travaille. C'est tout petit et ce n'est pas moins beau que ces merveilleuses petites toiles brunes qu'on voit au Louvre.

Alongside these, landscapes — water, Venice and London. And two large canvases: an English flower-seller and a young girl in a field. They are life-size and filled me with stupefaction, so inferior do they seem to him at his best.

A cote de ca des paysages, de l'eau, Venise et Londres. Et deux grandes toiles, une bouquetiere anglaise et une gamine dans un champ. C'est grand comme nature et m'a rempli de stupefaction tellement cela me parait inferieur a lui-meme.

First one is dazzled by the variety and the absolute power of a talent that disdains speciality and does everything superbly. His English street boy is a cut above those two girls; as for last year's boy entitled Pas de chance3 — [words blacked out: it is simply] a masterpiece. In the afternoon I pose at Tony's, and the portrait is finished!! What happiness.

D'abord on est ebloui par la variete et la toute puissance de ce talent qui dedaigne la specialite et fait tout superieurement. Son gamin anglais est une fois au-dessus de ces deux filles, quant au gamin de l'annee derniere intitule "Pas-meche" [Mots noircis: c'est tout simplement] un chef d'oeuvre. Dans l'apres midi je pose chez Tony et le portrait est fini I! Quel bonheur.

Notes

The "real Bastien": Jules Bastien-Lepage (1848–1884), distinguished from his brother Émile the architect by the superlative of his talent. Jules had just returned from a working trip to the country — probably to Damvillers in the Meuse, his native region. ↩
Jules Breton (1827–1906): celebrated painter of idealized peasant scenes in a lyrical, poetic style. Called "a poet the size of your fist" — Marie's characteristically double-edged phrase implying he is a genuine poet but a minor one. ↩
Pas de chance (also known as Pas méché): Bastien-Lepage's large painting of a London street boy (1882), exhibited at the Salon. The title is slang for "Hard luck" or "Nothing doing." Marie considers it a masterpiece. ↩