Wednesday, 16 October 1878

It is stupid, but the envy of these women pains me. It is so petty, so base, so ugly. I have never known how to envy.
I regret not being what another is; I bow before superiority — it vexes me, but I bow. Whereas these creatures... there are prepared conversations, little smiles when someone is spoken of who has pleased the master, remarks aimed at me whilst speaking of another, by which it is demonstrated that atelier successes mean nothing. They have finally arrived at the conclusion that competitions are a foolishness — all the more so since Lefebvre has bad taste and likes only drawings stupidly copied from life, and Robert-Fleury is not a colourist.
In short, the masters are incompetent despite their fame — and it is Mlles Amélie, Breslau, and Nordgren who have so judged. I quite agree with them when they say that atelier glories are nothing — for at least two of the three will remain deplorable mediocrities while passing for first-rate artists among their fellow students. As for me, the students do not like me at all, but the masters are pleased. It is so amusing to hear these women say the exact contrary of what they said ten months ago, when they were certain of winning medals or coming first. It is amusing because it is one of those comedies played out everywhere in this world — but it gets on my nerves. Perhaps it is because, after all, I have an honest nature.
De Daillens [says] she overlooks a good deal in me because: Marie has the most honest nature in existence.
These atelier miseries bore me, irritate me, despite all my reasoning. I am indeed impertinent to surpass them.