Saturday, 8 November 1879

I have finished the portrait of the concierge. It is a very good likeness. There is immense joy in the lodge: daughter, son-in-law, little girls, sisters, all of them in raptures.
Unfortunately Tony did not share this enthusiasm. He began by saying it is not bad, and then... It is not going as well as it should; there is no denying that I am not as gifted for painting as for drawing. Drawing, construction, form — all that comes of itself. The painterly side is not developing fast enough. He does not want me to waste my time like this.
— We must get you out of this; something must be done about it. You are floundering, that is obvious, and as you are extremely gifted, as you have a very great aptitude, it bothers me.
— It does not amuse me either, Monsieur, but I do not know what to do about it.
— I have wanted to discuss this with you for a long time. One must try every means, perhaps it is only a matter of opening a door.
— Tell me what I must do — a copy, a plaster cast, a still life — I will do whatever you tell me.
— You will do everything I tell you to? Well then, we are sure to get you out of it. Come and see me next Saturday and we will talk it over; meanwhile I shall think about you, and perhaps I shall find something for you.
I should have gone there on a Saturday long ago. All his pupils do. Well, he is a good fellow.
At one o’clock M. de Morgan came to fetch us and take us to M. de Saint-Marceaux’s.
I must not forget to tell you that we talked with Tony in the little plaster-cast room, where there were only two good souls, almost strangers to the gossip of the establishment.
Saint-Marceaux did not recognise me — Maman and I are in black velvet — or else he pretended not to, since I said nothing, and even when he asked me whether I painted I answered that I loved the Arts without practising them. He is a true artist while being a man of the world (a point M. de Morgan always insists on, as if to excuse Saint-Marceaux for being an artist: “good family, great fortune”); a fine head, though bald. Superb eyes, and in his whole person something lively, as in Gabriel, only older, with something touching about him, like a grief or a sadness. Short, but wiry, and with aristocratic feet.
He has a poodle, white mice...
No posing, mind you, nothing of the Carolus-Duran. We are very amiable and invite him to call on us.
Julian is very pleased with my compositions, so am I. If I painted as I draw and compose, I should be a great artist. Few visits. De Tarente, Turquan, Mme Gavini and Chaudordy.