Friday, 24 December 1880

Having had bad dreams, I go to the atelier, where Julian makes me the following offer: “Promise me the painting will be mine and I shall give you a subject that will bring you celebrity, or at least notoriety, two days after the Salon opens.” Naturally I promise. He says the same to Amélie, and having had us write out and sign the undertaking with Magnan and Magdeleine as witnesses, half laughing, half serious, he takes us into his office and offers me a corner of our atelier, with three life-size figures in the foreground and others as accessories — and Amélie the whole atelier in the rue Vivienne, number 53, in miniature. Amélie bursts into tears at once, and Julian adds to her despair by stressing my strength in drawing, which allows me to do life-size figures, and by thrusting her inadequacy under her nose. He goes on demonstrating the advantages of the subject to us for a good half hour, after which I return to my portrait, agitated, with a headache, and cannot do anything for the rest of the day. The aftermath of yesterday.
As for the subject, it does not appeal to me much, but it could be amusing, and then Julian is so carried away, so convinced, and cited so many examples that succeeded — and by men — whereas no one has ever painted a women’s atelier. Besides, since it would be an advertisement for him, he would do everything in the world to give me this famous notoriety he speaks of. It is awkward with Amélie; she will put up a quiet little opposition that will difficultify the painting for me — a big thing like that is hard enough already... well, we shall see.
At half past three we go down with Villevieille with the intention of seeing the fairground booths on the boulevards, but having taken it into our heads to glance at the master’s new atelier, we go in. Villevieille, who plays like an artist, sits at the piano, and I set about writing doggerel verses for the master. He comes in at that moment, and we spend two hours there, joined by my aunt who came to fetch me.
The atelier is very nice, right next to the men’s, on the mezzanine; a speaking tube connects it with the ladies’ atelier on the third floor.
It was rather amusing; we talked a great deal about the painting. Julian wants it for several reasons: first, because he does not have time to do it himself; then, to please me! then, to infuriate Breslau and prove my strength to those who do not wish to believe in me. All very well, but now I suspect he is offering me this thing so that I get bogged down in it and do nothing. It is stipulated that the painting belongs to him at whatever stage of execution I leave it. I graciously share my suspicions with him. He answers that I do not believe a word of what I say. Well, you understand — the atelier is small, there are only twelve of us, but that is enough to hamper me with my large canvas; for after all, one cannot ask the students to remain motionless and pose for two months for me. I do not understand how I shall do it; I would very much like to do something else, but what!

Notes

The commission became L’Atelier Julian (1881, oil on canvas, c. 145–155 × 185 cm), shown at the Salon of 1881 under the pseudonym Andrey. It survives in the Dnipro Art Museum in Ukraine — one of only three of her paintings left in the country. ↩
Marie’s coinage: difficilitera (from difficile, “difficult”). ↩