Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 5 April 1884

I remain closeted away, eat well and look after myself perfectly, while Rosalie makes alarming reports to those ladies; I weep — this improvisation is even somewhat sad. Well, I make them believe I am not eating, and they dissolve in tears and my aunt packs her trunks.
[In the margin, written over the text: It is not the fantasies or the caprices that made me weep, but because I knew Marie was ill. Rosalie half playing along to amuse Marie. (Mme Bashkirtseff's handwriting)]
Yesterday these creatures devised a dinner so admirable that I ate like a wolf — but Rosalie went and said that still furious, I had thrown everything out the window onto the vacant lot.
Here are plans.
I shall first finish the painting of Sèvres. Then I shall take up the sculpture seriously in the morning, and a nude study in the afternoon. The sketch is done as of today. That will carry me to July. In July I begin Evening — a great road without trees, a plain, the road merging with the sky where the sun sets.
On the road, a cart harnessed to two oxen and loaded with hay, on which an old man lies face down, chin in his hands. The profile stands out in black against the setting sun.
The oxen are led by a boy. It must be simple, grand, poetic, etc. etc.
Having finished that, and two or three small things currently in progress, I shall leave for Jerusalem, where I shall spend the winter for my painting and my health.
And next May, Bastien will proclaim me a great artist.
I set this down because it is interesting to see what becomes of our plans.
[In the margin: nothing] Well, I can reason a little now — that number 3 had struck me a blow! Well, I was wrong. All the same — admit that I have very little luck... This Julian has a heart, but Tony is a wretched puppet.