Tuesday, 14 January 1879

After that all-night vigil I could not wake until half past eleven. The competition was judged this morning by all three masters together: Lefebvre, Robert-Fleury, and Boulanger. I did not reach the atelier until one o’clock to learn the splendid result. This time the advanced students had competed as well, and the first words spoken to me upon entering:
— Well, Mademoiselle Marie, do come and collect your medal!
Indeed, my drawing was pinned to the wall and bore the word: PRIZE. This time I would sooner have expected a mountain to fall on my head.
You must understand clearly the importance and the true meaning of competitions. Like all competitions, these are useful, but their awards do not always sum up an individual’s gifts and faculties. For it is beyond dispute that Breslau, for instance, whose painting was placed fifth, is in every respect superior to Bang, who came first after the medal. Bang goes slowly and soundly; her work is good, honest joinery, but she is always well placed, because women’s work is generally painful to look at in its feebleness and its fancifulness, when it is not altogether elementary.
The model was a boy of eighteen or twenty who, in shape and colour, is the very image of a cat’s head made out of a saucepan, or a saucepan in the shape of a cat’s head. Breslau has done paintings that would easily have won the medal, but this time she did not succeed. And then what is valued most downstairs is neither execution nor charm (charm, certainly, has nothing to do with study, being either in you or not, and execution is only the complement of other, more serious qualities), but above all correctness and energy and the feeling for truth. Difficulties are not taken into account, and rightly so; thus a mediocre painting ranks below a good drawing. What, after all, are we doing here? We are studying, and it is only from that point of view that these heads are judged. Mine is as bold as can be. These gentlemen despise us, and they are pleased only when they find a strong and even brutal handling, for that vice is absolutely rare in women.
It is the work of a boy, they said of me. It has nerve; it is true to nature.
— I told you we had a strapping girl up there, said Robert-Fleury to Lefèbvre.
— You have the medal, Mademoiselle, Julian told me, and you have it with distinction; these gentlemen did not hesitate.
I had punch sent up, as is the custom downstairs, and Julian was called. I was congratulated, for many of them imagine that I have reached the summit of my ambition and that they will be rid of me. Wiik, who won the medal at the competition before last, is eighth. But I console her by repeating to her that phrase of Alexandre Dumas, so true and after all the most scrupulously exact definition of such things, who said that a bad play was no proof that one had no talent, whereas a good one was proof that one had. A genius can make a bad thing, but a fool cannot make a good one.

Notes

In Italian in the original: piano e sano (from the proverb chi va piano va sano). ↩