Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Saturday, 16 August 1884

This is the first day I have truly worked. In the cab — and I am so stiff and aching from it that on coming home I have my back showered and so on. But how well one feels afterwards!
Emile set up my canvas this morning. As for that wretch Jules — he is better; he went to the Bois, carried up and down in an armchair. It was Félix who reported it, coming to fetch milk at four o'clock. For a week now he has been drinking goat's milk from our goat — you can imagine these ladies' joy. But that is not all: he condescends to be... so familiar that he sends for it whenever he feels like it. That is admirable.
So then — we are going to lose him, since he is getting better.
Yes, the good times appear to be drawing to an end. One will not be able to go and visit a man who is up and about. One could go and settle there and he had no means of escaping from his bed — now, finished.
But let us not exaggerate the ill — he went to the Bois, but carried in an armchair, then went back to bed. That does not mean he is going out. There is therefore hope. He may yet be very ill again.
This man could prevent me from having talent. He wishes to give me advice; his advice will influence me and I shall no longer be myself.
Asking Tony for advice — it is like his singing. [Crossed out: But softly.] When I was afraid of Tony, it was because he could tell me technical things, things of the craft.
But Bastien! I cannot even imagine preserving my independence before so terrible a judge. When the painting is finished and he tells me what he thinks of it — yes, I shall listen with dread and cold sweats. But while I am working on it, it would be my death.
I shall listen only to myself — but he will disturb me profoundly. He has already nearly caused me to distort my painting, which has not yet reconstituted itself despite my efforts. But to refuse to speak of it to him! He thinks he is doing me a service, and would be offended.
To find myself under the sway of an artist in whom I believe absolutely... or almost absolutely...
He was glad yesterday that I spoke to him of it... But I do not want to.
And after all those broths and all that jellied salmon, he will think it his duty to direct me. Ah! Dog.
Let him tell me: this passage is not enough such-and-such — that is advice I will accept even from Tony. I can simply repaint it. But as regards the painting proper — the pose, the expression, the composition — no, no. No one.
In short, I should like him to be in love with me — and instead of that he will give me advice that upsets me: I am bored and humiliated in advance!
I am a very small sovereign, but independent. I am quite willing to admire him on my knees — but each in their own domain.