Saturday, 12 January 1884

M. Franceschi came this morning — Jules Franceschi the sculptor, naturally. He treated my attempts at modelling with a well-founded disdain, but paid me great compliments on my painting. He says a medal is certain, and that he is speaking of my picture to his intimate friend Wolff.
At two o’clock, a visit from Boulanger, who said the same as Franceschi — save for the words “medal” and “Wolff.”
The Maréchale comes to collect Claire and me, and we go to Lefèvre’s and then to Tony’s. Franceschi and Boulanger are two men of the old school, so I ought to be delighted by their approval; both of them said: “I detest this kind of thing — but in this kind of thing, it is very good.”
They also made criticisms that flattered me, for they show the work is being taken seriously.
As for Lefèvre, I must confess I had not been doing his talent sufficient justice. I saw at his studio things of an ideal form. Exactness, firmness, grace — carried to the utmost. I prefer this form to that of M. Ingres; in Lefèvre there are delicacies of line that literally enchant the eye. And nothing vague, nothing irresolute — an implacable and ravishing precision. No one paints the nude as he does... It is not, granted, a rich and painterly beauty — but there are refinements and exquisite delicacies combined with great power.
He is a master. His portraits are admirable — though lacking brilliance and perhaps something beyond.
But the form is so right that it makes one forget everything, or nearly. And to think There is the man who should have painted my portrait! And to think I expected to find in Tony that faithful interpreter of my person...
Tony is know-how... approximately; a maquette, in short.
Lefèvre’s appearance does not at all match his talent — he looks like a fat hairdresser. He has a charming wife and pretty children, and he draws as well as Bastien-Lepage.
At first he had not quite understood who I was — he did not recognise me and asked how I was, probably taking me for my cousin; this mistake lasted half an hour and afterwards, he became very amiable, and thanked me for the honour I did him in calling, adding that he was particularly delighted to see me, etc., etc.
He will come to see my studio next Sunday.
These are people from the Julian atelier, and that fat Jew never thought to send them to me. The Canroberts are angels.
— What, it is you, Mademoiselle! It is you?
— Why yes, Monsieur.
— Oh! but then allow me to tell you that I am particularly delighted, etc.
What a change of countenance that was! And when I am famous, such things will be far more pronounced...
This evening to dinner only a few people — the truly intimate ones. The Gavinis, Géry, Saint-Amand, Julian, Villevieille, Tchernitsky who arrives by chance.
I dress in white for the New Year and am very agreeable. Towards eleven o’clock the Maréchale and Claire arrived — they had been at Mlle de Saint-Martin’s marriage contract signing.
(continued in the next book.)

Notes

Jules Franceschi (1825–1893): French sculptor. ↩
Albert Wolff (1835–1891): the most powerful art critic in Paris, writing for Le Figaro. ↩
Julian: Rodolphe Julian (1839–1907), founder of the Académie Julian. Marie’s epithet reflects the casual antisemitism of her social milieu; Julian was not in fact Jewish. ↩
Marriage contract signing (le contrat): in French bourgeois and aristocratic society, the signing of the marriage contract was a formal social occasion, often attended by a wider circle than the wedding itself. ↩