Sunday, 27 January 1884

Jacques sits for me and I am getting nowhere — he won’t sit still. Ah! misery.
Carolus-Duran exhibited a portrait of his mother four years ago — the head alone. An old woman in a white calico bonnet, strings tied under her chin. The air of the concierge of an unfashionable building. Bastien should have put a bonnet on her.
After all — am I or am I not on a level with him as he was ten years ago? This question is worthless. I may be on his level, but he possesses and possessed qualities I lack. And besides, since I have known anything at all, I have painted only children — who do not sit — and I do not know myself what I might do with a good, quiet model.
The portrait of Mme Drouet struck me as very thin and flat as cardboard. Ah! no! I am mad — it is superb, and I cannot hold a candle to him. It is even a sign of insanity to dare make the comparison... even if only to conclude that one cannot.
This portrait of Jacques is bad... I am counting on it too much — that is why.
Ah!

Notes

Carolus-Duran (1837–1917): celebrated French portrait painter, the teacher of John Singer Sargent (1874–1878). ↩