Saturday, 6 October 1877

Yesterday Mme Doubelt called on us, and today the well-bred Torgnole. I saw no one, being at the studio.
— Set your mind at rest, Julian told me, you will not be long on the road.
And when Maman came to fetch me at five in the evening he said to her, more or less, the following.
"I thought it was the whim of a spoilt child, but I must confess she truly works, that she has determination and that she is genuinely gifted. If this continues, in three months her drawings may be accepted at the Salon."
Every time he comes to correct my drawing, he asks whether I did it alone — with a certain mistrust. I should think so — alone! I have never asked any of the students for advice except on how to begin the life drawing.
I am growing somewhat accustomed to their... artistic ways.
At the studio everything vanishes — one has neither name nor family; one is no longer one's mother's daughter, one is oneself, one is an individual, and before one stands Art and nothing else. One feels so content, so free, so proud.
At last here I am as I have wanted to be for so long.
I have wanted it so long that I still cannot believe I am there.
When I shall have won the Prix de Rome, [words crossed out: all the Torlonias, all the Lardoreis, all the Marcuards will lay themselves down] as a carpet and I shall walk over them — not to crush them... but... it will be they who will have wished it, from the moment I am what no woman artist has ever been.
By the way! Do you know whom I encountered on the Champs-Élysées? None other than the Duke of Hamilton, occupying an entire cab by himself. The handsome young man, slightly stout, with copper hair and a fine moustache, has become a fat, very red Englishman with small reddish side-whiskers running from the ear to the middle of the cheek.
Five years, however... do change a man.
After half an hour I thought of it no more.
Sic transit gloria ducis.
How exalted I had been.
I believe Maman received an unsatisfactory reply to one of her letters concerning... Rome. She told me this: word comes from Petersburg that a great sadness reigns there, that the whole court is in black, that the Empress is nursing the wounded, that everyone weeps.
This wretched business made me sad.

Notes

Latin: "Thus passes the glory of the duke" — Marie's wordplay on the proverb sic transit gloria mundi ("thus passes the glory of the world"), substituting ducis (of the duke) for mundi.