“Yes, he is dying, and it is all the same to me; I do not take myself to account for it; it is something that cannot be helped.
“Besides, what difference does it make?
“All is over.
“In 1885 they will bury me.”
In that she was mistaken, for she died the same month. Until the last few days Bastien Lepage had himself carried up to her; and she, shaken by the fever of the last stage of consumption, had her bed moved into the drawing-room, where she could receive him. There, by her bedside, as she had formerly sat beside his, with his legs resting upon a cushion, he remained until the evening. They scarcely spoke; they were together, and that was all they cared for. And she, who ever since her first awakening consciousness had yearned so passionately and so impatiently for permission to live her life, died now, silent, resigned, without a murmur; and knowing that the end was near, she was great in death, since she had not succeeded in being great in her short life.
IV
What remained of her? A book of a thousand pages, of which, in ten years, nearly ten thousand copies were sold, which André Theuriet provided with an introductory poem written in his best style, and to which Maurice Barrès dedicated an altar built by himself and sanctified a rather mistaken Marie Bashkirtseff cult. There was also “A Meeting” in the Luxembourg, which, according to Marie Bashkirtseff’s own report, Bastien Lepage criticised as follows: “He says that it is comparatively easy to do choses canailles, peasants, street urchins, and especially caricatures; but to paint beautiful things, and to paint them with character,—there is the difficulty.”
In order to complete the sketch of this girl, in which I have tried especially to accentuate the typical element, I should like to let her speak for herself, with her characteristic expressions, her impulsive views and peculiar temperament.
At the age of thirteen, she writes:—
“My blood boils, I am quite pale, then suddenly the blood rises to my head, my cheeks burn, my heart beats, and I cannot remain quiet anywhere; the tears burn within me, I force them back, and that only makes me more miserable; all this undermines my health, ruins my character, makes me irritable and impatient. One can always see it in a person’s face, whether they take life quietly. As for me, I am always excited. When they deprive me of my time for learning, they rob me for the whole of my life. When I am sixteen or seventeen, my mind will be occupied with other thoughts; now is the time to learn.”