The Pathos of Ambition
Fountains of Youth : The Life of Marie Bashkirtseff. By Dormer Creston. (Thornton Butterworth. 117s.) " I MADE a wish in one word only ; a word that . . . is beautiful, sonorous, magnificent, intoxicating : La " Thus the heroine of this admirably perspicacious biography, at the age of twenty-three. It remains for us to add a fifth epithet, " pathetic " ; for Marie Bashkirtseff did not live long enough to perceive the essential hollowness of all ambition. 'But what is interesting about her is not so much the goal she pursued, which was nebulous enough, in all conscience, but the extraordinary mess she made in ' course of her pursuit—that and the wonderful honesty whichTlacei her journal among the inipOrtant self-revelations of the world. Some may smile now (Miss Creston does so) at the dismay of Mr. Gladstone on reading . the.hook ; but I cannot help feeling that dismay is a legitimate emotion in face of it. A really vigorous egotism is always horrifying, because it is in the last resort ruthless : that is-an adjective that, better than any. other, describes Marie and her dealings with everyone— even with those she. loved, if she can be said to have loved anyone except -herself. - • - - • - - - - - To" understand Marie it .is essential to take a.full view of her father ; and it is one of Miss Creston's great merits that she is the first to have done so. The son of a violent and tyrannical father, Constantin Bashkirtseff grew up into. one_ of those Don Juan-like characters who can never be satisfied with-what they have got, who spend their lives " proving " the atfecticins‘of their friends by running conversational pins into them to see if they will stand it, and whoymd women more satis- factory as pictures (i.e., sentimental abstractions) than in the
flesh. His chief amusement was firing off cannon to give himself a sense of importance, and though his wife and daughter retained a sort of exasperated affection for him; he was :never
the slightest use to them. When Marie visited .hiin in Russia, after the break with his wife, he bought a new croquet set to amuse her, but also, characteristically, a microscope and a set of fleas ! The visit was really a failure (it makes fascinating reading); though Marie succeeded, by an adroit
mixture of cajolery and haughtiness, in dragging her un- willing father back to western Europe for a time. In her heart she must have realised what he was like, for only once did she make a direct appeal to him, and that on the occasion of an emotional outburst on his part, at which he announced that " if the day should come when you really need help or
protection . . . say but the word, and I will hold out my hand." " The day has come," she said ; " where is your
hand ? " But at the touch of reality Constantin's silly dream broke in two " At present," he said hurriedly, " you have no need of it."
Henceforward, poor Marie knew what to expect, and sensibly looked to the rest of her family—to her mother, Aunt Sophie, and Cousin Dina•Babanine, who all adored her uncritically and assisted, to the best of their ability, in the general mismanagement of her life. This muddle is extremely painful—though at times riotously amusing—to read of, and Miss Creston's account allows none' of the pain or the fun to _escape. Marie had many opportunities to conic to terms with life by giving love to those who asked for it ; but this was just what she could never bring herself to do. She had inherited her father's disastrous method of con- versation—verbal skirmishing, attempts to score off others —and she applied it in and out of season. Never has anyone had less_ tact_ or sense of occasion than she had, for she never attempted to find out what was going on in other people's minds ; and, so intent was she on her own feelings, that she never noticed when she had succeeded in offending. " Like many people she only noticed the law of cause and effect when it acted in her favour," says Miss Creston ; and her book is an encyclopaedia of hoW not to treat people. Realisation of her inability to deal with life came only with the knowledge that she must soon die ; and her one really, gracious relationship was with the painter, Bastien Lepage, who was,himself condemned to die of the same
disease as she. The story of their last days together is deeply pathetic, for both had .courag-.: in the face of death.
The body is often cleverer than the soul, and it is almost as if Marie's body had realised, at last, that death was the only way out for one of her inconsolable spirit. " Inconsolable," for the painting into which she at last canalised her limitless ambition gave her more pain than pleasure, by falling short of her impossible .standards. - She was by no means a bad painter, as the reproductions in this book are enough to show ; but rivalry, or a word of criticism, were sutfic:ent to throw her into transports of anxiety.
I have dwelt, perhaps unduly, on the negative side of her complex character ; .but there was a positive side as well, ,as Miss Creston is careful to bring out. She could be infinitely,
childishly _charming, as the story of the fou rise with the unknown Englishman in the hotel, shows. She thought nothing_ of eating sticky, dried figs at the opera and sharing them with the man next to her. She was capable of lasting —not only of impulsive—kindness : she would not _have her governess, Elsnitz,_ who irritated her beyond enduranee, dismissed, because the poor-girl would not have known.where to turn. She was endlessly generous aad_terrifyingly with herself as Miss Creston puts it, with:, much acumen : " Marie never suffered from the-final yanityethat of believing oneself not to be vain." Boredom was probably her , worst bogey, and she_ fought it with most unsuitable weapons;, but the fight, was an epic one, well worth recording. Miss Creston, whose style,-though on the, whole admirably -fluent, suffers from occasional archness and frequent :(far too-„:frequent) inversions, has interpreted the fanloLs-journal , m 6.way that makes further comment unnecessary.
EDWARD SACKVILLE WEST.
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