Thursday, 7 December 1882

We chatted for a moment with Julian — but no more of those long conversations... There is no fuel; everything has been said; we wait for me to work and produce. Yet I reproach him for his injustice — or rather for the way he goes about making me work...
He says he attaches all the greater importance to my successes because he has announced me everywhere as a celebrity, a prodigy about to burst forth at any moment — and snap! I have disappointed him. I should like to believe, as he does, that it is my fault — that it is because I have worked badly. In any case I tell him, laughing, of my own disillusion: he too has disappointed me; he does not understand me, misjudges me, attributes vulgar feelings to me — for just imagine: this man believes that I sulk when he criticises some of my studies!
Perhaps because lately I have been avoiding those long discussions and those friendly quarrels which sometimes kept us going for two hours — but can he really believe that I hold it against him for my failures and my lack of progress?
Crushed and annihilated by my helplessness — I had no heart for witty conversation, that is all. My pastel will go to an exhibition circle and then to the Salon — "it is a first-rate thing," says father Julian, and I want to throw my arms around his neck.
Well — one must make a painting "that stops artists in their tracks." And that is not something I shall do just yet. Ah, Lord — if I could believe that by working I shall get there! It would give me courage. But it seems to me now that I shall never be able to. I work badly — I know it; yes, it is true: since Irma I have been wading in the rain with old père Charles, and then I went to Russia — three months of stupefaction in total. And three months represents twelve studies, twelve life-size torsos or twelve half-scale figure compositions. I have never in my life done four in a row. Julian is right — so I wanted to embrace him.
He says I cannot do as Breslau did in her year of failure (it was a portrait of a priest and a small painting). But I was ill for a year!

Notes

Père Charles: a familiar nickname for one of the professional models who posed regularly at the Académie Julian. Marie worked with him during outdoor plein-air sessions in wet weather — the "père Charles" in the rain being a running motif for unrewarding, difficult work.