It is the usual fate of the cultured young people of our time: he comes to her ruined, because he has satiated his thirst; she comes to him ruined, because her thirst has never been satisfied.
They are as far apart as two separate worlds, and they do not understand one another.
The development of the last few years, through which Marie Bashkirtseff had passed before she met Bastien Lepage, had brought her and the readers of her journal nothing but pain and dulness.
What with ambitious plans for artistic work, and the life with her family,—which resembled a convent more than anything else, interrupted by occasional smart dinners, balls, and various projects of worldly marriages, which came to nothing,—Marie Bashkirtseff had become superficial and almost stupid. Her genius appeared to have flown, and a sickly, blasée hot-house plant, solely occupied with herself, was all that remained of her. She was like the ordinary girl of good family, who has grown rather disagreeable, and is no longer quite young, who is still ignorant of most things, and becomes extremely tiresome by chattering on subjects which she does not understand. All this is changed after her meeting with Bastien Lepage.
She regains her youth in a wonderful way; she becomes shy and easily bewildered. When he pays his first visit she gets quite confused, turns back three times before entering the drawing-room, and cannot think of anything to say after they have shaken hands. But he, with his unaffected manner, and little insignificant person, soon succeeds in putting her at her ease. The long tirades in her journal come to an end at last, and are followed by short, cautious, but very expressive sentences.
Bastien Lepage is anything but a lover. His manner is straightforward and simple, and he holds himself strikingly aloof, maybe for want of practice in the art of love-making, or perhaps out of sheer weariness.
When he leaves her, she becomes as vain and egotistical as before; but when he is there she watches his every movement with a still, calm joy.
She had been ill for several years. One lung was affected, and now the other followed suit; she also suffered from deafness, and that troubled her more than anything else. She had never given a thought to her health.
When Bastien is there, all is well. She is always able to hear what he says, and in his eyes she is always pretty; her art takes a new turn, and inspired by him she becomes original. The result is the picture in the Luxembourg, called “A Meeting,” besides several very good portraits. There is no question of love between them; he is never anything but the artist, and her old coquettish manner vanishes. She has a peculiarly tender affection for him, and the development from a self-centred girl to a full-grown woman is accomplished within her.
He suddenly becomes violently and hopelessly ill. He is seized with violent pains, followed by the cramp, and his legs are paralyzed.