Diary of Marie Bashkirtseff
CZENUKFR

Monday, 26 May 1884

I feel better. Instead of that heavy waiting I am now in a state of indignation — which is an outward feeling and rather refreshing. Yesterday they voted on twenty-six third-class medals. Six remain to be voted on. Maurin has his medal for the portrait of Julian. And here is my letter to that Julian:
Some troublesome conscience appears to have awakened. I do not exaggerate your power, but there are three or four influential men there — Bouguereau, Boulanger, Lefèvre, and so on — who have drummed up votes for the anaemic Dinet and the pitiful Maurin.
I needed nothing.
That is why Lefèvre was saying at Princess Mathilde's that the young people are harboured in the rue Ampère and that Bastien-Lepage shelters me under his wing...
— I have finally understood why you needed so much to believe that I have the jury at my disposal. If you were not convinced of it, you would not have had the brazenness to lobby your professors without remorse into concerning themselves only with the men.
It is ingenious, it is fine, it is magnificent.
I add that it is even admirable.
I paint to amuse myself; M. Maurin lives by it. It will be the death of him.
What is more, he painted your portrait, and you had imprudently predicted a future for him. Your pride was engaged. You must see nonetheless that it is monstrous to place before me a disjointed waxen profile on a shapeless torso with mismatched arms — before a painting, yes, Monsieur Julian, a painting in which there are at least three or four heads far better executed than your horrible portrait. And hands, whole figures in the round, well drawn, and a background, and qualities of observation and of Art. One does not say such things of oneself — and one is quite wrong.
Convene the same jury, after the vote, and let it pronounce between Maurin and me.
Ah! I have the jury at my disposal. Ah! I need nothing.
Very well. It is perfectly true.
I have neither jury nor friends, and I care absolutely nothing about it.
But the feeling of the public — the artistic public — is there, which will say with astonishment:
well, they gave her nothing! They are conjuring away this sanction from me... It is only a delay.
You no doubt think that success without a medal is better than a poultice-medal slapped onto something sickly and ugly.
We shall see — at the next Salon — Maurin and I...
The challenge is written. Keep it.
Marie Bashkirtseff
I receive a note from the architect:
Dear Mademoiselle, They are all asses.
Medals are only made for nonentities. Do still better — one can always do better — it is the only way to avenge yourself.
A real artist is above all these intrigues.
Believe me your friend and your admirer.
Emile Bastien-Lepage.
Well — there is a fine young man.
The fact is that they are asses and swine and wretches.
I send a telegram to Julian:
"Continued: — Furthermore M. Maurin corrects the plaster casts and sweeps the studio.
It is sublime.
In that case Mlle Beaury (Amélie) ought certainly to get an Honourable Mention too!
This Maurin is a sort of studio assistant, like Amélie.
He spent more than sixty sittings on Julian's portrait. He is a laborious nonentity. Julian had thought he could discover Holbein-like qualities in him. Alas!
How to explain this business...
For after all they have rewarded things that are relatively bad.
Injustice? I am not very fond of that explanation — it is too convenient for nonentities.
One may like my painting more or less — but there is a fact that compels itself. Which is that here are seven children grouped, life-size, with a background that is also something. Everyone whose opinion counts finds it very good or good. Some say I cannot have done it alone. Even old Robert-Fleury, not knowing whose painting it is, finds it very good.
And Boulanger, who says to third parties that he does not esteem this genre but that it is powerful all the same and very interesting...
And then!!
They have given medals to signal nonentities!! I know well it is the rule. But on the other hand there is no artist of talent who has not received medals. So that there are daubers furnished with medals, but there are no talents that go without them. So? So then?
And I too have eyes. It is my composition, my painting. Suppose I had dressed those children in mediaeval costumes and executed it in a studio (which is far easier than outdoors) with a tapestry background. Then I would have a historical painting that would be greatly appreciated in Russia.
What to think?
Here is yet another request for reproduction — Baschet, the great publisher. It is the fifth I sign. And then?