Monday, 22 March 1880

The other evening at the Mouzays’ I made the acquaintance of M. Horace de Caillas and his friend Beaumetz. They had invited me to come and see their ateliers; I could not go because of the picture. So yesterday I wrote a little note asking them to come and see me. Now -- but first let us record the visit of Papa Gavini, who is very pleased with the picture -- so, around three o’clock in comes a gentleman: which one, Caillas or Beaumetz? I had no idea. I had to make conversation without knowing whom I was talking to. But when Tony arrived it was worse; Caillas-Beaumetz seemed to want to make his acquaintance, and I did not know how to introduce them. At last he leaves; I tell Tony how flustered I am, and we decide it may have been a third man, or a thief.
Tony is astonished that I could have done what I have done in so little time.
For after all, this is the first time you have put your studies into practice.
Yes indeed.
Well, it is not bad at all, you know.
He takes off his overcoat, seizes a palette, and paints a hand for me -- the lower one -- in that whitish tone peculiar to him. You understand, it is not so as to have my painting done for me, but to show me how I ought to do it (I have never painted more than one hand), since I repaint whatever he touches.
He touched the hair and I redid it entirely, and the same with the hand. Only the muslin sleeve do I leave as he did it, because that is pure dexterity and I have no scruples on that score.
So he works on the hand for me, and I enjoy myself, and we chat. Around five o’clock the Tchoumakoffs and the Poitrineaus arrive.
All the same, except for the background, the hair and the plush, it is grubby painting. It is shrivelled stuff. I can do better. That is Tony’s opinion too, but he is pleased all the same and says that if there were any chance of its being refused at the Salon, he would be the first to tell me not to send it. He says he is astonished to see what I have done.
It is well conceived, well arranged, well established. It is harmonious, elegant, graceful!!
Oh! Yes, but I am displeased with the flesh tones!
And to think they will say it is my manner!! It is shrivelled stuff!
I am obliged to resort to glazes!! I, who adore frank, simple painting, done at one go. I assure you it costs me dear to exhibit something whose execution displeases me so much, something so different from what I usually do... it is true I have never done anything that pleased me... but still, it is grubby, it is patched up.
Tony says that Breslau has this time come under the influence of Bastien-Lepage.
It is thanks to me; I extolled Bastien-Lepage to her. She is under my influence as I am under hers. Tony is as kind as can be. And to think I could have done better. Cursed modesty! Damned lack of confidence! If I had not been trembling and asking myself to be or not to be, I would have set about it in good time...
Stop right there! Let us not commit the folly of deploring a fait accompli.
I do not know why I think of Italy this evening. These are burning thoughts that I always try to avoid. I have stopped my Roman reading because it excited me too much, and I fall back on the French Revolution or Greece. But Rome, but Italy -- when I think of that sun, that air, of everything, I go mad.
Even Naples... O Naples in the evening... and the curious thing is that there is no man involved. When I think I could go there, I go mad. It is so true that the stage sets of La Muette stir a kind of emotion in me.

Notes

In English in the original. ↩
Auber’s opera La Muette de Portici (1828), known in English as The Dumb Girl of Portici; Marie gives it as la Muette. ↩