Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Tuesday, 30 January 1883

I do not know what gust of wind passes... I am reborn — I have found a painting... I think one cannot remain long under the weight of such vexations; one feels consoled simply because one was in despair, and because I am young and I think of beautiful paintings — my famous picture seizes me again, I am impatient for next summer when I can paint it... It will be beautiful, it will be beautiful, it will be beautiful.
And in the meantime, what I found today is not much.
But really, it is unjust! Why all this misery and gossip about Bastien-Lepage! It is truly absurd.
For in any case, there would never have been any question of love or of marriage — it is insane! I lacked only someone attributing to me the design of marrying a painter! But it is absurd! And I think I can hear how it is told. I am rich, wilful, artistic, I do what I want, I am enthusiastic about Bastien's talent. Oh, of course!
I see what it is — all of this is because I have shown disrespect and insufficient love towards the good Lord...
But last night I made my amends — when everything is black, everything is foul, everything is hostile, one must pray or die... They say one must not trouble oneself with what people say... If only one could! I... it is to the point where I want to hide in some hole, I dare not go out or see anyone... In any case it is becoming morbid... So I go to pray; in the midst of all these petty infamies one would go mad without this... supernatural... resource. I also read my cards... There is a juxtaposition of sentences that will be counted against me up there... But it is true! Ah! My God, I have only You, and I want to believe that I am wretched because I am guilty towards You — but I rather think it is You who started it...
It must be a very great sin to address God in this fashion...
In any case, it will not stop me from praying — and that is all I need, for I do not believe he will trouble himself to send me any consolation.
I pray without hope, to refresh my soul and to appeal to the Divinity — full of justice and goodness — against all these petty abominations.
If God did not concern himself with our little miseries, he would no longer be God — for a scientific God would seem quite useless to me.
"If heaven is empty we offend no one, If someone hears us, may they take pity on us."
And may he take pity on me — may these persecutions cease... May even the smallest things not turn against me...
Ah! I should so like to have reason to thank God... That would be so good... Say what I will... I need to believe in him... The happy and the troubled who still hope believe in him... The day when one no longer believes... it must be dreadful.
There are people happy and indifferent enough to deny him... Sincerely? I could not. Those who deny him are lying — they know nothing about it; and I far prefer to believe in something that gives me hope of unexpected consolations, than in a dreadful nothingness... What would one become if one had not [blacked-out words: this supreme] refuge? To kneel in the evening, to lament, to pray and to hope for a better future... To believe that wishes can influence events... But it is almost...

Notes

Lines from Alfred de Musset's poem "L'Espoir en Dieu" (Hope in God, 1838). ↩