Thursday, 30 December 1880

I went to Tony’s and have come back a little comforted. He strongly urges me to do this picture. I am perfectly capable of doing it life-size, he says; it will be very amusing. A good study and a picture at the same time. One must not be accepted as a favour, but on merit; if it goes badly he will tell me, but he believes I shall come out of it well enough, and he persuades me to do it.
Then we talked about me in general; we agree on this point, that the qualities of a painter are slow to reveal themselves, but he says that it very often looks that way and then it comes, and that besides, no one has ever expected anything after three years of study; that I want to go too fast; that he is convinced I shall succeed. And what not.
All in all, I begged him so often not to spare me, I pressed so hard on everything I thought would draw the most frankness from him, that I believe he was sincere. Besides, he has no reason to lie to me, and then what he told me is not so very much after all. So here I am, my spirits a little restored and ready to do the picture.
What a good, kind fellow Tony is! He says that the most gifted among them only reached the faint beginnings of something after ten years or so of work. That Bonnat after seven years of study was nothing. That he himself did not exhibit until his eighth year. All in all, I know this, but as I was counting on it to make my name by twenty, you can imagine my thoughts.
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At midnight I am seized with suspicions. Tony seems too confident in my powers. I look for some dreadful trap. He cannot possibly think me capable of it.
Dinner at the Bailleuls’. A crowd of women who sit down to play afterwards, so de Daillens and I go off on our own and play the noble game of puns and word-chains.

Notes

In French in the original: queues (“tails”), a word-chain game. ↩