Friday, 6 June 1884

This evening at the embassy preoccupies me greatly, and I fear something will spoil the effect — I cannot believe in anything going well... It looks promising, but something will happen, some obstacle.
It has been so long that I have clamoured for all this...
We went to the Salon — I, to see the medal-winning paintings. And as we encounter Tony, I ask him, standing before some second medals, what he would say if I brought him paintings done like those.
— And first of all I hope you will take good care never to paint like that, he replies gravely.
— And the second medal, then?
— Well, but it is a fellow who has been exhibiting for a very long time, and so... you understand.
What a heap of mediocrities! How depressing it is.
The medal-winners are not even atrocious — they are for the most part flatly mediocre or bad. The rest...
In sum, this is a very poor year. The celebrated ones are absent. What paintings remain in the eye without disgust — or with pleasure?
The decorative panel by Puvis de Chavannes. The much-decried and yet very fine portrait of Mme Gautereau by Sargent. Renouf's portrait of a man. The things by Ribot. And then?.. I search.
The portrait of Mme Gautereau pleases me infinitely. He has painted her as she is — hideously painted up — and yet it is a work of art, which is very rare.