Under the influence of his infatuation for himself, he lost all sense of the proportion of things--witness the scene when the Dauphin, delighted with his own portrait, asked him to begin one of the Dauphine. The presence of the lady did not prevent Greuze, ordinarily well-mannered, and particularly so to women, from replying shortly that he did not know how to paint heads of the kind, making reference to the paint and powder all society women wore at the time. Small wonder that thereafter royal favours were scarce, and he had to wait several years longer than was necessary for the _logement_ in the Louvre to which his position entitled him. This same trait played a prominent part in his historic quarrel with the Academy over his diploma picture. It was the rule for every member to present to the Academy on his election some representative work, but Greuze, satisfied that the honour was theirs, and that he was in a position to form his own precedent, let years go by without offering the expected _chef d’œuvre_. It was only when the delay had lasted fourteen years, and they wrote saying they would be obliged to forbid him to show his pictures in the Salon unless he fulfilled his obligation, that he conceded to the rule, and having replied by a letter that was “a model of pride and impertinence,” set to work on the picture. Believing he could do any form of subject equally well, he chose a grandiloquent historical subject, a style absolutely unsuited to his limitations. “Septime Sévère reprochant à son fils Caracalla d’avoir attenté à sa vie dans les défilés d’Écosse, et lui disant, Si tu désires ma mort, ordonne à Papinien de me la donner” was its title; and if you look at it where it hangs skied in the Louvre above the violently outstretched arms of “La Malédiction paternelle,” you see that it is a most faulty and insignificant production. The Academy could not refuse it, but they told him frankly what they thought of it. “Monsieur,” said the Director, calling him in from the room where he awaited the congratulations of the associates, whose approval he believed he had now fully earned, “the Academy receives you as _peintre de genre_. It has taken into account your former productions, which are excellent, and has shut its eyes on this one, which is worthy neither of them nor you.” The disappointment of Greuze, who had counted on the dignity and material advantages conferred by the title of Historical Painter, can be imagined, but amazement and fury dominated. For days he could neither sleep nor eat; and he covered reams of paper in writing to the papers to prove by technical laws and logical arguments that the picture was not only good, but a masterpiece. But for once the adoring public remained unresponsive. The last straw was his friend Diderot’s criticism, published in the usual way.