Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Monday, 15 October 1883

Gavini having told me yesterday that one was beginning to see some people at the Salon, we go there — Maman, Adeline, Gavini and I. There is no one.
I am always arguing to the death with Gavini, who fancies himself a connoisseur, who pronounces sweeping judgments — and who, little by little, adopts my opinions without appearing to, as though they had come to him quite on their own.
Claire has found such an apt likeness for him! An old toothbrush. It is striking. He once uttered a phrase I would like to have framed: "My dear little one, I shall never allow you to say eccentric things about painting — you might repeat them before others, and that would not be proper."
My only eccentricity in painting, for that matter, is my deep admiration for Bastien-Lepage — and I never express it fully in company. On this occasion I administered to old Gavini a small but very clear indirect lesson on the word "eccentric."
Because I find Cabanel insipid! Can one be more eclectic — I even grant Bouguereau a place for a few decorative panels in very light-coloured drawing rooms. In the end I shall never convince him openly, and so I now say:
"Monsieur Gavini, do come and look at this — I am quite certain that with your exquisite taste you will find it delightful."
It always works, except when he has expressed himself in advance.
Well, today he conceded to me that Bastien-Lepage's portraits are infinitely superior to Meissonnier's. It has cost me six months of argument, but I am very pleased. He will go and tell it to every society man and woman who takes him for a great critic, as though he had discovered it entirely by himself.
What can Gavini's opinion possibly matter to me?
It is a small private triumph — one likes to make one's ideas prevail. In the apostles it turned to passion, and there are still those today…
And when one is young one is full of fire, one wants to share one's enthusiasms — someday I shall stop caring; I already stop caring about certain things. And Bastien-Lepage will gain from it those society people who at this moment rather despise him. As for me… I would like to be useful and agreeable to everyone, to play the role of providence — saving, improvising happiness for others, and even — oh astonishing! — without being too anxious for them to know that it is I. But I am an angel!
Bastien's death notice has just arrived. And as the architect wrote me a letter on the occasion of my mourning, I think I ought to return the gesture. I have just ruined a dozen sheets of paper.
I should very much like not to use the words deep sympathy, misfortune which strikes you — which appear in every one of these formulae — and yet I end up with: "I come to tell you of the very deep share we take in the misfortune that strikes your family, and to beg you and your brother to believe in my great and sincere friendship."
Great and sincere friendship! — that seems excessive! But I do not wish to seem cold, even though I bear them a grudge… without their knowing it. What is one to do? The lucky reader who will read me will find very original formulations — but they are no use to me. Why great and sincere friendship to Jules? I scarcely know him; I admire him — but great and sincere friendship seems enormous. One would rather say that I sympathize with what… Friendship to Jules? No. It makes neither rhyme nor reason.
Version 2: "I come, dear Monsieur, to tell you of the truly sincere share that I and mine take in the misfortune which has just struck you. Please convey our warmest sympathies to your brother, and believe in my friendship."
Well? Which? The first is better — if… But… I would have written to him directly. And since we are not there.
It is version 2 that I choose.