Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Monday, 5 March 1883

I gave myself the pleasure of speaking the whole evening about the great Bastien with his humble brother. This civilian said such agreeable things about us that I feel sympathy for him.
When it is society people who pay compliments one pays no attention — often and almost always artists behave with society people as society people do: they pay compliments of which they mean half or nothing. Yet there are sincere, simple, honest people — like the great man's brother, for instance.
That one will not lie. Above all not to me, whom he esteems despite his somewhat limited intelligence. Only, one becomes so disgusted by the compliments of polite people that one ceases to believe in anything — yet I believe in the real Bastien and in his humble brother. And the real Bastien says that I am very gifted and that with the talent I already have I can do interesting things. The brother I take, besides, as the echo and reflection of the real one.
He says — the real one — that it is a pity I waste my talent in wit. I wear myself out for the pleasure of telling amusing things... No matter — the little one says so many encouraging things to me this evening that I am delighted.
This excellent fellow says he would be vexed if I did nothing — he has attached himself to my talent, he has staked his own pride on it. He believes in me. That is always a pleasure. In short he thinks that with what I know I can render anything in a way that will have success. And what is good is that he finds my little painting done at Mont-Dore two years ago very good. He says that sent as it stands it would be very well received and would even have success — but that in my place he would redo it, and that with what I now know it could become exceedingly interesting.
It is apparently well felt, true, not commonplace, poetic...! It is frightening how many qualities it has...
And in the end he may be wrong, but he is certainly sincere. Yet I believe he has "modern" appreciations — in the current movement, and at the same time, and perhaps because of that, just and truly artistic. The reflection of his brother, who is a profound, sincere, great and incomparable artist. You understand — I insist on their merits and sincerity because I am so delighted. And then, seriously, sincere people are so rare! Truly sincere, and who understand the arts — it is precious. In short I shall gossip so much that... I should very much like to draw the real Bastien into our intimacy.
However that may be, this modest, heavy, ugly, and bald-at-twenty-eight architect — the romantic and sensitive one, despite appearances, the architect — has given me a confidence in myself that may do me a great deal of good. One can do nothing if one does not believe in oneself.