Marie Bashkirtseff | Page 8

the city with the
Princess and Dina. In the French lesson I read Sacred History, the Ten
Commandments of God. It says we must not make unto ourselves
graven images of anything that is in the heavens. The Latins and the
Greeks were wrong, they were idolaters who worshipped statues and
paintings. I, too, am very far from following this method. I believe in
God, our Saviour, the Virgin, and I honour some of the saints, not all,
for there are some that are manufactured like plum cakes. May God
forgive this reasoning if it is wrong. But in my simple mind this is the

way things are and I cannot change them.
Shall I ever believe that God has commanded a tabernacle to be built to
have His oracle heard from the ark in it? No, no! God is too great, too
sublime for these unbearable Pagan follies. I worship God in
everything. People can pray everywhere, and He is everywhere present.
I went to the city for a turn on the Promenade. In the evening we played
kings again, but the game isn't sufficiently interesting. We played like
amateurs. For all that I had a good time and laughed heartily.
G---- came and--I no longer remember in what connection--said that
human beings are degenerate monkeys. He is a little fellow who gets
his ideas from Uncle N----.
"Then," I said to him, "you don't believe in God?" He: "I can believe
only what I understand."
Oh, the horrid fool! All the boys who are beginning to grow
moustaches think like that. They are simpletons who believe that
women cannot reason and understand. They regard them as dolls who
talk without knowing what they are saying. With a patronising manner
they let them go on. He has doubtless read some book he did not
understand, whose passages he recites. He proves that God could not
create because at the poles bones and frozen plants have been found.
Then these lived, and now there are none.
I say nothing against that. But was not our earth convulsed by various
revolutions before the creation of man? We do not take literally the
statement that God created the world in six days. The elements were
formed during ages and ages. But can we deny God when we look at
the sky, the trees, and men themselves? Would we not say that there is
a hand which directs, punishes, and rewards--the hand of God?
October 5th.
We went with Paul to a secluded part of the garden to shoot. My hands
trembled a little when, for the first time in my life, I took a loaded gun,
especially because Mamma was so frightened. I chose a pumpkin
twenty paces away for a target, and shot capitally. The whole charge
was in the pumpkin. The second time I fired at a piece of paper twenty
centimetres square, again I hit, and a third time a leaf. Then I grew very
proud and smiling. All fear disappeared and it seems as if I had courage
enough to go to war.
I carried the pumpkin, the paper, and the leaf in triumph to show to

Mamma, who is very proud of me.
Really, what harm is there in shooting? I need not become on that
account one of those detestable men-women with spectacles, masculine
coats, and canes. To fire a gun will not prevent my being gentle,
lovable, graceful, slender, vaporous (if I may use the word), and pretty.
While shooting I am a man; in the water a fish; on horseback a jockey;
in a carriage a young girl; at an evening entertainment a charming
woman; at a ball a dancer; at a concert a nightingale with notes extra
low and high like a violin. I have something in my throat which
penetrates the soul, and makes the heart leap.
Seeing me with the gun, no one would imagine I could be indolent and
languishing at home. Yet, sometimes, when I undress in the evening, I
put on a long black cloak which half covers me and sit down in an
armchair. I seem so weak, so graceful (which I am in reality) that again
no one would imagine I could shoot.
I am a rarity. I shall be highly educated, if God wills that I should live
and blesses me. I am perfectly formed, my face is pretty enough, I have
a magnificent voice, intellect, and I shall be, withal, a woman. Happy
the man who will have me. He will possess the earthly Paradise!
Provided that he knows how to appreciate me!
I lack everything here, and yet I adore Nice. We always love what does
not love. Sic factae sumus. Everywhere else I am visiting, at Nice I am
at home, and the proverb