Tuesday, 27 February 1883

In short it is a series of gay days — I sing, I chat, I laugh, and Bastien-Lepage returns like a refrain. Not his person, not his looks, scarcely his talent. Nothing but the name... And yet I am seized with fear... What if my painting were to resemble his?... He has recently painted a great many boys and girls. The celebrated Pas mèche among others, which is the most beautiful thing one can see.
Well, mine are two urchins walking along a pavement, holding each other by the hand — the elder has [blacked-out words: eight years] and looks vaguely ahead, a leaf between his lips; the little one looks at the viewer, one hand in the pocket of his four-year-old's trousers... I do not know what to think, for again this evening I was pleased with myself. It is truly dreadful.
But this evening — this evening is an hour of immense joy. What, you will ask me. Have Saint-Marceaux or Bastien arrived? No — but I have made the sketch for my statue. You read that correctly. I intend, as soon as the 15th of March, to make a statue. In my life I have roughed out two full figures and two or three busts — all abandoned halfway, since working alone and without guidance I could only attach myself to something that interests me little; I put into it something of my life, my soul — not a mere studio exercise... To conceive a figure and feel the immense desire to execute it — there it is. It will be bad. What does it matter. I was born a sculptor; I love form to the point of adoration. Color can never give such intense pleasures as form — though I am equally mad about color.
But form! A beautiful movement, a beautiful attitude — you walk around it, the silhouette changes as you look, the same meaning throughout. A marvel! A happiness! A voluptuousness!
My figure is a standing woman weeping with her head in her hands. You know that movement of the shoulders when one weeps.
I wanted to kneel before her.
I was talking nonsense. The sketch [blacked-out words: it will be] thirty centimeters tall — but it will be life-size. It will be a challenge to common sense... But why?
In the end I tore up a fine batiste shirt to wrap this little statuette — [blacked-out words: fragile, I love] this clay more than my own skin.
And besides, my eyes are not good — if I can no longer see well enough to paint, I shall model.
It is so beautiful, this white damp linen covering and draping with fine folds this supple body that I see as it ought to be. I wrapped it with reverence — it is fine, it is delicate, it is noble.

Notes

Pas mèche (1882), a painting by Jules Bastien-Lepage depicting a Parisian street boy; the title is slang meaning "no chance" or "nothing doing."