Thursday, 31 March 1881

Saint-Amand, informed by a note from me of the happy (?) fate of the canvas, hurries over around one o’clock.

Right after him, Julian, who had the kindness to come and tell me that Lefèbvre believes he remembers the canvas was accepted. In any event, it will be rescued if necessary — but Julian does not think it will come to that. “You must be in boiling oil,” he says to me.

You know that this year the State takes no part in it — the artists themselves decide, and in order to correct the abuses of past admissions they are being atrociously strict.¹

Julian says that ladies who have been exhibiting for ten years have been rescued from rejection, and that two jury members themselves saw their canvases refused — then accepted, naturally — but it caused a scandal! In any event, if that confounded canvas is not through, heaven and earth will be moved and it will be salvaged. I am to set my mind at rest — tomorrow I shall know everything. The worst that awaits me is being referred to the final review, but no catastrophe in any case.

I keep up appearances at the atelier, where I say I have been accepted, in a joking way that smooths everything over.