ON BEHALF OF MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF.
ITO THE EDITOR OP THE " SPECTATOIt."1 SIR,—May I enter a protest against a statement in your notice of Mr. Gladstone's article on "The Journal of Marie Bashkirtseff,"—the statement, inference rather, that the book -"must be somewhat repellent "? I have not seen Mr. Glad- stone's article, but the book itself is to my mind one of the most attractive autobiographies ever written. The charm of its half-conscious naivete is like nothing else that I know : it is a real confession, sincere in its very evasions, brutally frank .sometimes, with adorable candours, delicious hesitations, a strength, a savour of life, an abounding vigour of brain and heart. One feels almost a sense of shame in reading it,—as if nothing so intimately personal could ever have been meant for -our eyes. Yet it was her wish that it should be published, for she shrank passionately from the thought of so much will in living, so intense a life, going out suddenly and leaving nothing behind—" rien,—rien,—rien !" She need not have feared that. Her pictures are not merely a promise, they are an achievement; and her book—more truly herself than -even her pictures, a human being if ever book was—will always find a few readers to whom it will be an enthusiasm. Could she know that now, perhaps she might be content.—I am, Sir, etc., 21 Chanclos Road, Buckingham. ARTHUR SYMONS.
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