Saturday, 12 February 1881

I had had my picture put into perspective, and lo and behold, it changed everything for me: I was no longer to see what I saw, but had to suppose myself six metres away, so that my eyes saw the ladder behind the head of Mlle de Villevielle, and perspective ordered me to see it much further to the left. I cannot understand how one can do what one does not see. Besides, when one draws correctly one ought not to make mistakes in perspective; one needs perspectivists¹ when it is a matter of doing a temple, a colonnade, contraptions of that sort, but a simple atelier with women!

I lost four or five days over all that — at last Tony comes, and takes my side.

“Use perspective, let it fit into your arrangements — but if it disturbs the composition, to the devil with it! There are accommodations to be made with it. Besides... how can one possibly do a false thing by doing exactly what one sees?”

Tony remains very pleased and tells me to paint.

I am delighted.

At noon the maid arrives running, her face flushed. M. Julian has been decorated!² General joy — it raises the standing of the house. We triumph, and Amélie, Neuveglise, and I run to Vaillant’s to order a magnificent basket of flowers with a large red bow.

Vaillant is not an ordinary florist — he is a refined artist. A hundred and fifty francs: not too much.

We enclose a card reading: “To M. Julian, from the ladies’ atelier of the Passage des Panoramas.”

Villevieille comes back expressly at three o’clock to congratulate him — Julian comes up wearing his ribbon,³ and I have the pleasure, for the first time in my life, of seeing an absolutely happy man. He admits it himself: “There are perhaps people who still want something — I, at this moment, desire nothing more in the world.”

Then we go down, Villevieille and I, to the studio of the decorated Director, to see the basket; joy, congratulations, and even a touch of emotion. He speaks to us of his old mother, whom he fears to overwhelm by announcing the news abruptly. And an old uncle who would weep over it like a child.

— Just think, it is a village, back there! You can imagine the effect. A poor little peasant who left there with nothing... Chevalier of the Légion d’honneur!

Old Julian was very touching speaking of his family; here too it is a family celebration — in the grip of emotion even the least likeable students were talking of presenting a bronze, a keepsake, who knows what.

Then other students arrive, my aunt, Amélie, her mother and her married sister, Neuveglise, Larivière. He is delighted with our flowers and the bow. The whole thing lasts until half past five.

Joking aside, it gives the place a wholly different distinction — and since old Rodolphe is so happy, it will make him generous, and he will drum up even better publicity for my picture.