Chapter 7

Paris

June 1884

Camille brushed off my attempts to talk about what had happened in the Bois de Boulogne and the next time I saw Rodin was in our studio. He talked pleasantly enough to me about my work, but I could tell his attention was on Camille, who was ignoring him.

Rodin waited for her to look up but she dug into a lump of clay as if she wanted to destroy it. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence he rapped his stick on the floor.

‘Come now and rest, Mesdemoiselles. We shall have some coffee with a little something for inspiration.’ Rodin took a silver flask from his coat pocket and sat at our tea chest.

‘You know how to boil water, I expect,’ Camille said, sitting opposite him.

Rodin eyed her with amusement and she stared back, coolly.

I was uncomfortable, but when I started to leave Camille cut her eyes towards me, and I knew I had to stay and witness the silent drama between them.

‘I’ll make the coffee,’ I moved to the stove and measured the grounds into a ceramic percolator. I set the mismatched cups on the table and Rodin tipped viscous green fluid from the hipflask into them.

He smacked his lips. ‘This absinthe has killed the last of the little worms wriggling about in my head from the terrible wine they serve in the Bois de Boulogne.’

‘From what I could see, you found other consolations in the Bois,’ Camille bit back.

Rodin laughed uncomfortably and glanced at me. I dipped my eyes and took a gulp of the absinthe and nearly choked. It was vile.

Rodin pressed his hands together and looked at us in turn. ‘I have a proposition for you both. I’ve lost two assistants recently and a big commission has just come in. So, I’d like you to work in my main atelier at the Dépôt des Marbres. What do you say?’ He sat back and waited.

I put down my cup with a clatter and realised my hands were shaking. It was unprecedented for women to work in a male sculptor’s studio, let alone one of Rodin’s standing. I looked at Camille, but she was staring at Rodin.

‘The new commission,’ Rodin continued calmly, as if he’d merely invited us for a promenade. ‘Is from the mairie of Calais. It will be a lot of work, but it’s prestigious and will be displayed in the town centre. Mademoiselle Claudel, you will work on the hands and feet, and Mademoiselle Lipscomb, Legros tells me you are one of the few young sculptors to have really mastered draperies, so that will be your job.’ He spread out his hands. ‘Well, will you come and work for me?’

I wanted to shout: ‘Yes! Yes!’ It was the chance of a lifetime and more than I could ever have hoped. Working in Rodin’s studio would open doors and be the making of my career. I glanced at Camille, expecting to see her fizzing with excitement, but she was studying her cup, as if considering her options. Only the flush creeping up her neck betrayed her emotion.

Finally, she looked up. ‘I want to accept, but there are difficulties. Everything depends on Jessie.’

I frowned at her. ‘Why on me?’

Camille put her hand in mine. ‘I can’t attend Rodin’s atelier on my own – my parents would not allow it. But, together it would be possible for two unmarried women to work in a man’s studio – unorthodox but possible if my father gives his permission. And he will be more likely to do that if we chaperone each other. So, everything depends on your agreement, Jessie, and whether you can help me persuade my parents to give us permission.’ She waited, as still as a cat.

Rodin poured some more absinthe into my cup. I took another drink, feeling his and Camille’s eyes upon me. My limbs felt loose and there was a giddy fluttering in my stomach. I held out my cup and Rodin filled it again.

‘Of course we must do it,’ I said.

I caught the look between them and wondered for a moment if they had planned this. It would explain why Camille was so unfazed by the offer. But the thought left my fuzzy head and I smiled and raised my cup.

‘To us!’

They laughed with relief and patted me on the back. We were like conspirators. I could hardly believe we would soon be working in Rodin’s studio.

Rodin put his hands on his thighs and stood up. ‘I will leave you now. It’s getting late and as my new employees I order you to get some rest.’ He bowed to us in mock formality while we clapped and called out ‘au ’voir, au ’voir’.

When we were alone, Camille clutched my hands and beamed at me, her eyes shining.

‘Can you imagine? Rodin’s studio! Oh, Jessie, I bless the day you came to me.’