Saturday, 13 October 1877

It is on Saturdays that Monsieur Tony Robert-Fleury comes to the studio — the painter who produced The Last Day of Corinth,¹ purchased by the State and placed in the Luxembourg. Besides, the foremost artists of Paris come from time to time to give us advice.

I had begun the Wednesday before, and the Saturday of that same week he was unable to come, so that this was the first time for me. When he arrived at my easel and began to set forth his observations, I interrupted him:

— Pardon, Monsieur, I began only ten days ago...

— Where did you draw before? he asked, looking at my drawing.

— Why, nowhere.

— What do you mean, nowhere!

— Yes — I took thirty-two painting lessons for amusement...

— That is not what one calls studying.

— I know, Monsieur, and so...

— You have never drawn from life before coming here?

— Never, Monsieur.

— That is not possible.

— But I assure you...

— You have never had any instruction?

— Well... four years ago I took lessons like a little girl — they had me copying prints (with Bensa!!!).

— That is nothing; that is not what I am talking about.

And as he still seemed incredulous, I was obliged to add:

— I give you my word of honour, if you wish it.

— Well then, you have quite extraordinary aptitude; you are particularly gifted, and I advise you to work.

— That is all I have done for ten days... Would you like to see what I did before this head study?

— Yes — I shall finish with these ladies and come back.

— Well then, he said, having visited three or four easels, show me, Mademoiselle.

— Here, Monsieur, said I, beginning with the head of Arcangelo; and as I wished to show him only two, he said:

— No, no — show me everything you have done.

I showed him, then: the male life drawing, unfinished as it was begun only the Thursday before; the head of the singer seen from below, which he found to have great character; a foot; a hand; and the life drawing of Augustine.

— You did this life drawing there... and alone?

— Yes — and I had not merely never done life drawings, I had never even seen one...

He smiled and believed none of it, so that I was obliged again to give my word of honour, and he said again:

— It is astonishing, and these are quite extraordinary natural gifts. This life drawing is not at all bad — not at all — and this part here is even good. Work, Mademoiselle, ...etc. — followed by his advice.

The others heard all of this, and I aroused jealousies — because none of them had heard anything equivalent, they who are students of one, two, three years’ standing, who do life drawings with superb models and who paint at the Louvre. No doubt more is expected of them than of me; but then, one might have said the equivalent to them in some other manner.

So it is true — and I will not... I will say nothing, I should only bring bad luck upon myself... But I commend myself to God, I am so afraid...

In the afternoon this earned me a kick delivered in the third person. The Spaniard — a good girl in other respects, the most obliging creature in the world, consumed with the passion for painting though she does not see very accurately — the Spaniard, speaking of some Dutch woman or other, said that when one arrived at a studio one always caused astonishment by making rapid progress; that the little which seems like a great deal to those who know nothing is acquired quickly; that it is only when one knows something that one has the most still to learn.

She is twenty-two years old and she will never be a great artist — take it from me; I give you my word of honour on it, as I did to Monsieur Robert-Fleury.

Let us sum up and conclude our successes.

— Well, Mademoiselle! cried Julian, folding his arms before me.

I was almost frightened, and blushing, asked him what the matter was.

— Why, it is magnificent — what! You work on a Saturday until evening when everyone else relaxes a little!

— Why yes, Monsieur — I have nothing else to do, so I really must do something.

— That is admirable. You know that Monsieur Robert-Fleury was not at all displeased with you?

— Yes, he told me so himself — quite the contrary.

— Poor Robert — he is still a little unwell.

And the master, settling himself in the midst of us, began to chat... which he does rarely, and which one greatly appreciates. I assure you it is pleasant to have a superior of that kind — by one’s own choice — and all that... I express myself badly, but it is very agreeable.

After his visit to us, poor Robert had a talk with good Julian; now, I wanted to know a little more, expecting nothing but flattering things.

So I went to meet the master as he was coming to correct the drawing of an adorable little blonde who is just starting in the overflow room.

— Monsieur Julian... tell me what M. Robert-Fleury said to you about me... I know, I know that I know nothing, but he was able to judge a little how I am starting, and whether...

— If you knew what he said to me about you, Mademoiselle... you would blush a little...

— Go on, Monsieur, I shall try to listen without too much...

— I ought not to tell you...

— Oh yes, you ought!

— He told me that it was very intelligently done, that...

— He would not believe that I had never drawn before.

— Good heavens, no, and even while talking to me he was still a little incredulous, so that I had to tell him how you had done Arcangelo’s head for me, the one I made you start over... you remember, it was all like this, like someone who knows nothing at all.

— Yes, Monsieur.

And we laugh. Oh! it is such fun.

Now that the surprises, the astonishment, the encouragement, the disbelief, all those things that were so delightful to me, are over, now the work will begin

Mme Doubelt dined with us. I was calm, reserved, silent, barely civil. I have no thoughts left for anything but drawing.

While I was writing I stopped and thought of all the work it will take, the time, the patience, the difficulties... one does not become a great painter merely by saying so; besides talent, besides genius, there is also this pitiless mechanical labour... and a voice said to me: You will feel neither the time nor the difficulties, and you will get there without even noticing!

Well, you know, I believe that voice! It has never deceived me, and it has foretold me quite enough misfortunes for it not to lie this time. I believe in it and I feel that I am right to believe in it.

I shall win the Prix de Rome.