Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Sunday, 27 April 1884

Rosalie brought me yesterday, from the general delivery, a letter from Guy de Maupassant. The fifth, and the best. So we are no longer at odds?
And he has written a ravishing piece in Le Gaulois — I feel myself softening towards him... It is all very amusing.
This man whom I have never met has occupied all my thoughts for twenty-four hours. Does he think of me? Why does he write?
The Vernissage is the day after tomorrow; tomorrow at first light I shall see Le Figaro and Le Gaulois. What will they say? Nothing? Something good? Something bad?
I am deeply agitated by it all, and occupy myself in the meantime composing a reply to Maupassant.
It takes me an enormous amount of time.
But I could not have done anything else — I am awaiting tomorrow with such dread.
Literature is truly invading me at this point! Stand aside, Dumas, Zola, all of you. Here I come. My hand aches from it. And I am making a short story out of my letters.
But it is Le Figaro and Le Gaulois that I shall open trembling. If they say nothing, it is a disaster. And if they do speak, what will they say?
My heart stops at the thought, then beats wildly.

Notes

The Vernissage (Varnishing Day) was the private preview day before the official opening of the Paris Salon, when artists applied final varnish to their canvases. For Marie, the Salon reviews published on this day could make or break a reputation. ↩