Sunday, 10 June 1883

Since Sunday is not a day when one risks meeting anyone, I go to the Salon in the morning.
There are truly abominably unjust awards. Bastien’s painting causes me more and more grief. Whom am I to admire, good God?
I should like to see his Joan of Arc again...
There is always a crowd in front of the young Rochegrosse’s young painting. It is very powerful, that is indisputable — but it leaves me cold. But what does not leave me cold?
To be moved I must make a great effort, and then by dint of working myself up I arrive at a great exaltation... a forced one... Yet Joan of Arc... Yes, that is true, and then? And a few other things as well. At the Louvre? Portraits — for the large ancient compositions... But the portraits, and then some delightful things from the French school. And at the last Exhibition of Portraits of the Century, the Lawrences, and two or three of Bastien — his brother, Theuriet, Sarah. And then... And then — who says that I am a painter at all?... Pushed into another path I should have reached the same point by sheer intelligence and will, except in mathematics. But music is a passion with me, and I could compose readily. So why painting? And what instead? These are wretched thoughts.
I want to paint a large canvas — large in dimensions...
And I search for a subject... I have an antique one... Ulysses recounting his adventures to the king of the Phaeacians, Alcinous — Alcinous and Queen Arete on their thrones, surrounded by princes, young men, and their household; this takes place in a colonnade of rose marble; Nausicaa, leaning against one of these columns a little behind her parents, listens to the hero. The feast getting under way, and the song of the poet Demodonis, who sits in the background looking out with his lute resting on his knee, indifferent as a singer no longer listened to. In all this there are attitudes, groups, composition in short.
It is not that which worries me — that will be fine — but the execution. There is the terrible part...
I know nothing, nothing, nothing. Furniture, costumes, accessories — and then to produce a large composition one requires research... And one must know what Tony calls the qualities, or the... What?
Well then... Look — it seems so difficult that it cannot be quite so difficult as all that...
A woman with such a canvas would cause an enormous stir. But I have so many projects that my whole life would go into them. The large canvas would be for 1885!! Where shall we be then?