SATURDAY, 8 JANUARY
I went to see Monsieur Renoir in his studio. He’s been doing more things than ever this winter and showed me a ravishing portrait of an actress from the Variétés320 wearing a Directoire period costume321 with roses and a huge grey hat. After that, he started on a painting of a box at the Variétés322 and lots of other things, using his maid as a model. He thought my hat was very pretty, which pleased me as I never buy a hat without wondering whether Monsieur Renoir will like it.
He told me he’s going to paint all three of us, and he laughed a good deal at the story about Docteur Evans, who has left part of his fortune to his native city, Philadelphia,323 requesting a statue in his honour costing no less than one million but no more than two.
‘What on earth will they make it of?’ giggled Monsieur Renoir. ‘Perhaps of rhinoceros’ teeth, and probably big enough inside for a dentist’s consulting room?’
The very thought of a dentist wanting a statue like that is baffling. Why couldn’t he have left something to the Mallarmé family? What pleasure it would have given me to see them comfortably off at last.
SATURDAY, 15 JANUARY
Today I was at Renoir’s studio, where the talk is all about the Dreyfus Affair and against the Jews.
‘They come to France to earn money, but if there is any fighting to be done they hide behind a tree’, said Monsieur Renoir. ‘There are a lot of them in the army, because the Jew likes to walk about wearing flashy uniforms. If they keep getting thrown out of all countries, there must be a good reason for it and they shouldn’t be allowed as much room here. They are asking that the Dreyfus Affair be made public but there are some things which simply cannot be said publicly. People don’t wish to understand that sort of thing,’ he added.
Monsieur Renoir also let fly on the subject of Pissarro, ‘a Jew’, whose sons are natives of no country and who do their military service nowhere. ‘It’s unsinkable, the Jewish race. Pissarro’s wife isn’t one, yet all the children are, even more so than their father.’
THURSDAY, 20 JANUARY
Charlotte324 spent two days working on this evening’s dinner, which has to be simple yet delicious, and she managed to achieve this result. Unfortunately, there were too few men to eat it as we were planning a special boys’ dinner. To manage five men and five women was just too much to ask!
Yesterday, Monsieur Mallarmé forwarded Mauclair’s letter saying he couldn’t go out because of bronchitis, but added that he had asked Geffroy instead. This is very embarrassing for us, as we don’t know him at all. Today, Monsieur Faivre sent a telegram saying he had the flu. And in the end Monsieur Mallarmé arrived without Geffroy. Geneviève had set out to please all the men she was expecting to see; Monsieur Renoir arrived alone and we waited and waited for Arsène Alexandre.
At last, at half past seven, there was a ring at the door. ‘Ah, here he is at last!’, we cried. But, instead, a woman rushed in, so I assumed he’d brought his wife and he would be behind her. In fact, it was only Madame de Loute coming to discuss the price of the dancing classes we wished to take.
We told her quite frankly that her visit was very inconvenient, but she made no move to go. When she finally took her leave, we sat down to dinner without Alexandre, who never materialized. The whole thing was so aggravating that the only thing to do was to laugh about it, so we made the most of the charming banter between Monsieur Mallarmé and Monsieur Renoir.
We had to make do with two men, when we should have had five or six, or even seven, because we had gone over to invite Monsieur Degas, but, finding him in such a state about the Jews, we’d left without actually asking him.
Around the supper table, we touched on the Dreyfus Affair and found out that Arsène Alexandre is a Jew. Monsieur Renoir talked about Zola and his way of seeing only one side of a story and discrediting public opinion. ‘It is just like a person who half opens the door of a hovel, notices it smells nasty, and goes away without even bothering to go inside’, adding that in the past he used to go to the Moulin de la Galette,325 where all the working-class families of Montmartre gathered; he noticed how sensitive and kind these people were, whereas Zola described them as animals.
SATURDAY, 22 JANUARY
Paule and I went to Durand-Ruel’s where we saw the two decorative panels Monsieur Renoir has just finished, with a figure in blue playing the guitar and another in pink playing the tambourine. They’re delightful. The skirts swirl around so delicately and the little cupids are so sweet.
We also saw pictures of a woman with a guitar with a little girl dressed in red listening to her,326 which is just as delightful. Monsieur Renoir paints the fabrics, cushions and carpets in an wonderful manner. And I loved his beautifully painted dark-haired nude with the blue sea in the background,327 and another with blonde hair328 and wide eyes, her hair blowing in the breeze on a hazy background of sea and rocks.
THURSDAY, 27 JANUARY
We went to see the Rouart Collection with the Baudot family. For me, it was a revelation of Corot’s talent; I thought I knew him through his delicate landscapes but I hadn’t seen everything, of course. When Monsieur Renoir talked about his figures with such enthusiasm, I was unable to share his admiration as I had never seen any of them; but Corot’s great genius was made apparent to me today. Until now, though I liked him, I didn’t appreciate him at his proper value. Monsieur Rouart has some remarkable figure studies by Corot – one in a pink dress with long thin arms,329 a charming
one in grey, a delightful one with black hair and something yellow on her head;330 and some extraordinary landscapes – the Île de St Bartolomeo,331 of pink buildings reflected in the water; a view of the Coliseum with superb mountains, trees so round and of that grey peculiar to the Midi; then lots of others with willowy trees against the sky. Oh! That amazing Corot grey!
After having seen all this, I dream of Corot and just think of all the wise things Monsieur Renoir says about Corot.
Monsieur Rouart has, besides works by Corot, other beautiful things: a magnificent copy of L’Enlèvement des Sabines by Poussin332 done by Monsieur Degas, even more beautiful than the original; then some charming dancers, again by Monsieur Degas, but they are perhaps less unusual than those Manzi333 owns. A very large painting by Monsieur Renoir of a woman on a dappled horse and a child on a pony in the same colour334 – I had never seen anything by Monsieur Renoir of that sort…
By Oncle Edouard, the Leçon de guitare335 (I think that is the title). It’s superb, but hanging a bit high up. Then, a very beautiful bust of a woman with a velvet ribbon at her neck; and finally Tante Suzanne in one of the grey dresses in which Oncle Edouard often painted her, sprawled on a beach next to a man (Monsieur Rouart says it’s Papa but it doesn’t look like him),336 with a faint dark horizon, as if before a storm. It’s lively and vivid.
We saw a beautiful painting by Maman of a model on the terrace of a seaside house, with the sea, a very steep cliff and a winding little path in the distance:337 it must have been done at Fécamp like the one by Oncle Edouard, before Papa and Maman’s marriage. There is a beautiful seascape by Monsieur Monet, the boat in a blue haze; and two other landscapes. And a lovely thing by Delacroix, another by Fragonard, and many by Daumier.
SUNDAY, 30 JANUARY
Monsieur Renoir came to dinner with Pierre and talked about the petition which the Jews, anarchists and writers have written in favour of a review of the Dreyfus trial, which Natanson came to ask him to sign. Naturally, he refused and wouldn’t attend a dinner given by that sort of group either, where he had once witnessed a discussion on the topic ‘Where does the bourgeoisie begin and end? Am I really a bourgeois?’ to which ‘No, we are simply intellectuals!’ was the only possible reply.
Today I went to Monsieur Renoir’s studio to say goodbye as he’s leaving for the Midi tomorrow. Well, at least he thinks he is, but really doesn’t know what he’s doing as he keeps changing his mind.
Later, we went to meet Monsieur Mallarmé at the Odéon where he gave us seats in his box. We heard some classical poems by Leconte de Lisle338 recited by Madame Méry Laurent.339 They were very beautiful. We also heard a pretty poem by Edgar Allan Poe translated by Monsieur Mallarmé and some charming verses by Madame Desbordes-Valmore340 filled with feminine delicacy about roses. ‘Les petites vieilles’ by Baudelaire, truly lovely, and a fragment of Aphrodite by Pierre Loüys,341 very sad and beautiful.
SATURDAY, 12 FEBRUARY
We have become so social with nothing but outings and parties!
I went to see Tante Suzanne. She is totally preoccupied with the Zola trial. As far as she is concerned, Zola is acting in good faith but is mad. She buys the evening papers to see if he hasn’t been drowned in the Seine because it would upset her to know that an acquaintance of hers had ended up so miserably.
WEDNESDAY, 23 FEBRUARY
I saw Oncle Edouard’s Jardin des Tuileries342 at Durand-Ruel’s. How beautiful and amusing it is, and how nice all the figures are. Nearly all the men are well-known artists – there’s Oncle Edouard in a corner, and Papa doffing his hat.
SATURDAY, 26 FEBRUARY
Monsieur Renoir got back this week and he came to have oysters with us this evening. He thought that Labori343 defended Zola very badly. As for Zola, all he talked about was himself and his famous books that have brought the French language to the world: not a word on Dreyfus.
MONDAY, 28 FEBRUARY
An absolutely ghastly accident has just happened to the man who lives opposite, Colbach, who hires out carriages. His son, who has been married for just a year, was out for a ride in a carriage yesterday with his wife when an electric tram ran into them. He was thrown on to the rails, broke his skull, and died last night. The poor young wife had a broken wrist and a bruised face. What a tragedy! The young man, whose whole life was to deal with horses, was a fine driver; to die at 29 in an accident like that, leaving a young wife of 20 in her state – it’s quite horrible. The poor, poor things!
His father, who seems such a kind man, and his sister, must be devastated. I cannot help thinking about it and would like to be able to help.
WEDNESDAY, 2 MARCH
Whenever I go to the cemetery, behind the big cyprus tree which shadows my parents’ granite tomb, I see the blue sky, which seems to whisper to me: ‘Those for whom you mourn are happy.’ Oh Maman, please tell me if I am going the right way in life. I would so like to have a character like yours, love what you loved and would have loved, paint as you would have liked me to, in short really be your daughter. If only I could be like you. Maman, whom I loved so much, please inspire me!
THURSDAY, 17 MARCH
We dressed up in fancy-dress costumes to entertain Monsieur Mallarmé and Monsieur Renoir, who didn’t seem to be the least bit in the mood for Lent this evening, and just started up the interminable discussion on the Dreyfus Affair. Monsieur Renoir said that the peculiarity of the Jews is to cause destruction and disorder, which is true. They may well be very interesting but really one has had quite enough of the whole Affair by now. We must have looked ridiculous in our silly costumes with nothing to say in front of two grown men.
SATURDAY, 19 MARCH
Today I visited Durand-Ruel’s where some of Oncle Edouard’s superb canvases are on view at the moment. There is a Toreador344 (of Oncle Gustave, I think) standing up with crossed legs against a brown background, dressed in black and yellow boots. The hands are very lifelike, and his striped vermilion cape with heavy tassels is extraordinary. What a magnificent painting!
What a lovely contrast with the canvas opposite, which is of a woman in a toreador’s costume holding the flimsiest of pink capes behind the woman dressed in black345 (it’s the same model346 as Olympia, the Déjeuner sur l’herbe and other paintings), the entire arena with figures in the distance and a man on a horse.
The Toreador is certainly one of Oncle Edouard’s master-pieces. I also saw the Musiciens, the L’Éxécution de Maximilien,347 the lovely Jardin des Tuileries, and the Rue du 14 juillet.348 The painting by d’Espagnat,349 a young man who is having an exhibition at the gallery, seems very coarse. There were some nice things, which, though pretty, were very badly painted. As for the rest – well, it’s hard to hold one’s own next to Oncle Edouard!
TUESDAY, 29 MARCH
In the afternoon we saw the Goupy Collection,350 which is going to be sold tomorrow at the Hôtel Drouot. There was the Alabama,351 off the coast at Cherbourg with a very green sea, by Oncle Edouard, restored, and also his painting of Tante Edma in a white chiffon frock with a child’s pram and Oncle Tiburce. There were some lovely racehorses by Monsieur Degas, some Corots, a very nice landscape by Pissarro, quite a number by Monsieur Monet, two of which seemed very good to me – a winter scene of grey trees against an orange sky and a summer one of some trees and houses reflected in the water.
We met Monsieur Degas, but Monsieur Monet had just left. We’d love to have seen him and to have had some more news about his wife’s youngest son, who, while doing a chemistry experiment, burnt both his eyes. What an atrocious accident! Nothing but tragedies. Happily he can now see clearly, because it would have been really terrible if he had remained completely blind. For Madame Monet to have a paralysed daughter and, on top of it, a blind son – what a frightful thing to happen.
Julie spends the end of March on a studious religious retreat, but it is back to her social calendar by mid-April.
FRIDAY, 22 APRIL
Spent the whole week sewing petals onto a costume – it’s the very devil of a job making these costumes for the fancy-dress ball tomorrow.
SATURDAY, 23 APRIL
There was pressure all round, but at last everything was finished on time. We did Paule’s hair, powdered her, and put on a little make-up. Her costume is nice, but I prefer her in her pink satin dress.
Tante Edma and Blanche came up to dress us. Edma and the de Loutes came to see us and even ended up helping with the final details. Our costumes seemed quite pretty when we left home, but by the end of the ball we looked like withered flowers. They weren’t very successful and were too different from the others, which, in general, were too ornate.
SUNDAY, 29 MAY
Today I read some of Maman’s letters to Madame Canat,352 which are quite simply lovely. I couldn’t help crying when I saw how much affection Maman had for me and how she tried to stay composed in front of me after Papa’s death, not to show her pain and to try to distract me. Why, instead of not daring to talk about Papa, didn’t I cry with Maman? We could have talked about him together and it would perhaps have been less painful. That’s one thing with which I shall always reproach myself. In other letters to Tante Edma she spoke about me all the time. Her letters are almost conversations, so simple and vivid. Ah! What a charming person Maman was, and what an artist!
FRIDAY, 3 JUNE
It was the opening of the Monet exhibition yesterday. Only Paule went to it. She saw the whole Monet family, and Germaine was kind enough to come and see me today. She told us about the frightful accident that happened to the Helleu353 family yesterday. While Monsieur Helleu was at the Monet exhibition, his youngest daughter aged only 18 months, who was being taken for a ride in a perambulator, was run over by a carriage whose horses had bolted. This happened on the avenue du Bois almost in front of the windows of the unfortunate parents. Poor people! What a terrible thing to lose a tiny baby like this. Their little boy was there and saw it all – what a ghastly impression it must have made on him. What a terrible tragedy to happen on the avenue du Bois, where children are usually quite safe.
I went to Madame Quesnoy’s; then on to a meeting of the Enfants de Marie to which, as from today, Jeannie and I belong as novices. The reception ceremony was inspiring: calm and very religious. I put myself under the protection of the Holy Virgin, asking her to look after me; and made the resolution, as a Child of Mary, to be a better Christian and to help others more. It’s about time I began helping the poor and serving other people. I shall be 20 soon, so I ought to start.
Monsieur Renoir came to dinner. He wondered why the Monet exhibition had not impressed him and asked Paule what she thought of it. She replied that she had found it boring too. Then he said that he thought Pissarro’s street scenes were pretty bad too.
It appears that Arsène Alexandre, not knowing what to write about these two exhibitions, came to ask Monsieur Renoir’s advice.
Renoir declared: ‘Monet – quite superb!’ ‘Very well, then, I’ll say it’s superb’, replied Arsène Alexandre. ‘Pissarro – utter rubbish!’ resumed Monsieur Renoir. ‘Oh, indeed, then shall I say it’s very poor?’ asked Alexandre. ‘No – just say that it’s less good.’ This is what becomes of even the most intelligent of art critics!
We talked about the Salon.354 Monsieur Renoir thought the Anquetin355 quite good; Lerolle no worse than everything else; the Puvis de Chavannes so bad that he passed it a hundred times without noticing it.
‘The Balzac’ [by Rodin],356 he said, ‘makes a big impression at first, but the impression doesn’t last and on reflection I find it it less good. Sculpture is meant to last and ought to be calm.’
Monsieur Renoir was particularly interesting this evening. He told us about how he was one of the first to discover Wagner’s357 works, because he happened to be a member of a society to which Lamoureux,358 d’Indy359 and others also belonged, as well as sharing a studio with friends who played a lot of music. Often, after he had gone to bed, he could still hear Wagner and would have to shout ‘For heaven’s sake, stop your awful racket!’
Then, he was going on a trip to Italy and his friends advised him to travel as far as Sicily to meet Wagner, who was in Palermo, and do his portrait for them.
In Palermo, Monsieur Renoir was received by Madame Wagner, who explained that her husband could see no visitors as he was in the midst of finishing a score. But Monsieur Renoir waited for a few days, and finally managed to meet Wagner, and in half an hour did the superb portrait which was shown in his exhibition in 1892. It must look just like him. Apparently, Wagner’s piercing blue eyes are very lifelike.
THURSDAY, 9 JUNE
I went to Monsieur Monet’s exhibition, quite decided not to be influenced by what had already been said. Contrary to the opinion of several people, I found the flowers beautiful. I thought they were like one of the beds from a flower show – those gigantic prize chrysanthemums in superb colours. His Seine series seemed very sad to me, though two with quite choppy water appealed to me very much. I saw the beautiful Cathedrals again, in yellow, golden, green hues against blue sky, and two all pink which made me think a bit of strawberry ice cream. Many views of Pourville were superb, among them one with a very blue sea and pink coastline, with a cliff throwing a shadow onto the sea, and one with a green sea frothing up onto a lilac-coloured beach.
Obviously the overall impression isn’t very fanciful; it seems rather monotonous in the large Petit gallery (for one called Petit, he does things on a really large scale!) where one panel is taken up with landscapes of Norway, another by the series of Seine pictures in greys, the third by the cathedrals, and the fourth one by seascapes. There is certainly method in the whole thing.
On leaving we went to Durand-Ruel’s and, to our great astonishment, going in by the Rue Le Peletier we saw a room of jolly, happy works by Monsieur Renoir, such as the superb Déjeuner à Bougival360 in which there is always something amusing to discover, the Danses in the country and in the town,361 La Loge,362 which I like enormously.
In the second gallery are some landscapes by Monsieur Monet which are not at all sad: lilacs, seascapes in the South, and some superb olive trees. Next to these are some of Pissarro’s Paris street scenes, which look as though they were done from the rooftop of a tall house, with a great number of omnibuses and carriages seen from above. The unfortunate thing is that the horses are in profile and all seem to be leaning to the right: how slippery the paving must be if the horses keep falling sideways! It’s all black and white; in short not very successful. I remember Pissarro exhibitions with figures in the meadows, which were very pretty and nothing like this at all.
Next, another small gallery is given to Sisley, who has some delightful landscapes – nature epitomized. The Bougival bridge reflected in the clear water made me want to be there.
On the way out, we came across a delightful dancer by Monsieur Degas.
SUNDAY, 12 JUNE
I went over both Salons and the Indépendants.363 It was exhausting. When I go to the Salon du Champ-de-Mars I know I am not going to be impressed; but when I go to the Champs-Elysées364 I am just utterly disgusted. Thankfully, it is possible to forget this awful stuff and think about the lovely things at Durand-Ruel’s and at home. How on earth can people pretend to know anything at all about painting just by going to the Salon every year?
THURSDAY, 16 JUNE
After dinner we paid a short visit to Monsieur and Madame Renoir. We were entertained so well and talked to Monsieur Renoir about his exhibition. He told us that in La Danse365 he had used Madame Renoir and his friend Lauth,366 of whom he still speaks with affection and nostalgia.
The portrait of Jean in black velvet with a lace collar and a hoop in his hand367 is hung in the salon. It looks very good, like the portrait of a little prince.
FRIDAY, 1 JULY
We went to Monsieur Renoir’s studio to see his panels of Grecian ladies painted to decorate doors. Gorgeous, full of movement, with subtle draperies and luminous yellows.
Monsieur Renoir is leaving tomorrow for Dieppe, where he will be spending three days looking for a house for the summer, and he has offered to take us with him. To begin with, we said it was quite impossible as tomorrow we have meetings with our solicitor, etc. Then we thought again, and wondered if a short break at Dieppe, where we have never been, wouldn’t be rather nice after all.
In the end, we left Monsieur Renoir with the idea that we would just meet him at the Gare Saint-Lazare tomorrow morning if we ever managed to make a decision. When we got home we continued to procrastinate, and it was not until this evening that we finally sent telegrams to cancel all appointments.
At 8 o’clock, we were at the Gare Saint-Lazare where we found Monsieur and Madame Renoir and Jean, who fidgeted like a little devil for the entire journey and then struck up a conversation with a passenger who had some canaries in a cage. We went past the old Meulan train line, which made me think of our time at Mézy. We went through Mantes-la-Jolie and Rouen with its superb churches, but the sky was grey and the countryside not as pretty as usual.
SUNDAY, 3 JULY
It was freezing at the seaside; there was no way at all of staying on the beach.
When I was a long way away from the beautiful sea, it seemed to beckon me; but when I got near, it seemed to push me away. We went for a lovely walk on the cliff, from which the coast looks like those Monsieur Monet did of Pourville. Then we went carriage for a ride in the countryside.
The food is quite atrocious here and we are all forced to eat bread and milk. We spent the evening at Monsieur Renoir’s window. We were enthralled by a magnificent eclipse of the moon. It’s curious to see the shadow of our earth on another planet. To think we live on a globe! We are nothing in comparison with this immensity.
So the evening passed, at the window, looking at the moon and chatting, while the waves on the pebbles made a rumbling sound.
Monsieur Renoir didn’t want to rent one of the frightful chalets here, but Madame Renoir did; so they rented one.
We spent the day at Valvins with the Mallarmé family, who entertained us with their usual kindness, and we were so pleased to see them. Monsieur Mallarmé took us for a ride in his boat on the Seine. We came back to have tea in the small garden full of hollyhocks; three of them in an especially pretty pink colour were just like us said Monsieur Mallarmé.
We had dinner with a Danish lady, a friend of Geneviève’s, who was very funny. She was astonished that we didn’t smoke. She told us that on her arrival in Paris, while walking one day on the Buttes Chaumont with a friend, she went into a restaurant for refreshment and seeing absinthe written on the menu, ordered some, not knowing what it was. ‘It’s not for the likes of a little Miss like you’, replied the waiter and brought her grenadine and water instead. After dinner, we began saying our goodbyes and kissing each other. Mademoiselle ‘the Danish Miss’ declared that, on principle, she never kissed men. Monsieur Mallarmé accompanied us as far as the little station at Valvins with Geneviève and we kissed again, leaving each other with regrets and best wishes for a lovely summer.
Julie returns to Brittany for a holiday…
THURSDAY, 11 AUGUST
We left Madame Renault, with whom we have been staying since the end of July, to meet the Roudiers in the Finistère at Brig-nogan. Life in Dinard isn’t quite like staying in the country and the only thing I shall regret here are our hosts, who have been so kind to us. We stopped at Morlaix to sleep at the Hôtel de l’Europe, as we did four years ago. It was with both apprehension and pain in my heart that I returned by train to this place and to the same hotel where, at this very table, Maman, made fun of my being so pleased to be in Morlaix for the first time.
We went to a superb ‘Procession’368 – never have I seen such beautiful costumes. Women in lace coiffes on top of golden bonnets, wearing dresses of red and purple satin embroidered in gold, with blue lace shawls held together with brooches, carrying reliquaries and statues of the Virgin. Little girls in dresses of white spotted muslin with huge tall headdresses were carrying banners.
We felt as if transported to another century seeing these women dressed so richly. What superb colours; and what a marvellous subject for a painting this procession in the countryside would have made, with a group of thatched cottages and the sea as a backdrop.
Julie and her cousins spent the next ten days in Brittany, returning to Paris on 25 August overnight, then went for a holiday in Burgundy with Jeanne Baudot and her parents, the Clément family as well as Jacques Drogue. They all had a wonderful time, leaving the Clément family on 7 September to join Renoir at Essoyes and begin painting again.
SATURDAY, 10 SEPTEMBER
Oh! The most terrible thing has happened! A telegram has just informed us of the death of Monsieur Mallarmé. It just cannot be possible? – What could have been wrong with him? It’s frightful. Poor Madame Mallarmé and poor Geneviève. How miserable I feel at the death of this greatest friend of Papa and Maman. He was so wonderful to us; he called us ‘the children’ in such a paternal way. He reminded me of the lovely family Thursday evenings we used to have at home.
How cruel it is to think that a man who was looking so well in July has now disappeared. Death is terrible.
Monsieur Renoir was very upset to hear this horrible news. He’s leaving with us this evening for Valvins. We are going to stay overnight at Troyes.
We arrived at Valvins at about 2 o’clock. How dreadful it was to take the path beside the Seine towards the home of the person who is no longer there. The boat seemed to be quite solitary – his boat, the boat that he liked so much – and it reminded me of my first outing in it in 1887 with Maman and Papa, who asked Monsieur Mallarmé if he had ever written anything about his boat. ‘No,’ he replied, casting a glance at its sail, ‘for once, I am leaving this great page blank.’
My heart felt very heavy going into the little garden, climbing the stairs to see the two devastated women in his life: how can one comfort them for such a loss? It’s horrible to see this charming interior without Monsieur Mallarmé, and to think we will never again hear him chatting in the garden under the chestnut tree which Geneviève planted when she was little, but just see his coffin. It’s dreadful to think that we’ll never hear his gentle voice again. He had such an affectionate way of saying ‘Maman’ when he was talking of her to me. It is he whom Papa named as my guardian, because he and Monsieur Renoir were the two greatest friends of Papa and Maman. I had absolutely no idea that this winter we were enjoying their conversation for the last time.
Writers but also peasants, with whom Monsieur Mallarmé was so friendly, were gathered together in great numbers in the garden to attend this heartbreaking funeral: I could see the pain etched on every face. The ceremony at the church in Samoreau was simple and very lovely. The cemetery, where he has been laid to rest near his young son whom he lost so young,369 next to the Seine and near to the forest which Monsieur Mallarmé loved so much.
Roujon,370 in a trembling voice, said a few simple, poignant words on behalf of his elderly friends: Catulle Mendès, Dierx, Mars, etc., stressing the gentle personality of his old friend.
He drew tears from everyone, reminding us how, in times of trouble, one could always count on Stéphane Mallarmé and be promised his help – ‘He gave you his hand in friendship, while modestly lowering his wide, childlike eyes.’ What an apt and discreet portrait, just as Monsieur Mallarmé would have wanted it. Paul Valéry spoke next in the name of the younger generation, but he was so overcome that he couldn’t continue and left the cemetery in tears with Geneviève.
Actually, the day on which friends come to embrace and cry with you is perhaps the least awful. What is terrible is when life resumes its normal course as though nothing had happened, and, little by little, the times you enjoyed with the loved one, whom you now mourn, grow more and more distant.
How dismal it was this evening after everyone had left to see these two poor women left bereft without the person they lived for. We had supper with them, and I couldn’t help picturing us all at that same table on 24 July and I expected at any second to see him come through the door with an amusing word and a witty remark. He was everything to this place. Valvins has lost its soul.
MONDAY, 12 SEPTEMBER
We slept at Madame Hubert’s and will stay here until tomorrow so as not to abandon our unhappy friend and her poor mother too quickly. What can we do to make their life less miserable? I really don’t know. To stay here alone is simply heartbreaking but to leave these treasured memories is harder still. We asked them to come to Essoyes with us, but they decided against it. I’m utterly devastated and just cannot imagine what throat infection could carry off such a strong man in three days. He started feeling unwell on Tuesday evening and died on Friday morning at 11 o’clock in a frightful spasm. He had three of these fits, and after the first he said to Geneviève: ‘Could it be that I might not survive this?’ He must have felt that he was going to die, because Geneviève has just found an envelope with ‘Instructions regarding my papers’ written on
it in her desk, but it was empty. How he must have suffered thinking that he was going to leave his daughter and his wife alone, not to mention his poems, on which he was working so hard, unfinished.
We spent the day with Madame Mallarmé, who, quite unexpectedly, seems almost better than usual, and Geneviève, who looks quite terrible. I am so sorry she isn’t married; now it will probably be much more difficult for her.
Could one have predicted that Monsieur Mallarmé would die at the age of 56? I never thought of him dying and I always imagined him living to a great age. What a cruel death.
WEDNESDAY, 14 SEPTEMBER
After a train ride, we arrived at Essoyes where we met Monsieur Renoir, who had left Valvins on Sunday and talked about the poor Mallarmé family; he said some very perceptive things about Geneviève. As he could see that we were very sad, he tried to lift our spirits – he is really very touching with his way of seeming nonchalant, while in fact being very attentive. I feel myself becoming even more attached to him now that I have lost the other great friend of Papa and Maman. Monsieur Mallarmé and Monsieur Renoir were their closest friends, the most frequent visitors on Thursday evenings. Oh dear! Who is left among the regulars at those Thursday dinners? Only Monsieur Renoir: he was always there with Monsieur Mallarmé, Tante Yves, my godfather, Papa, Maman. And out of those six people, five have disappeared in the last eight years. What a death toll!
I can’t stop thinking about Geneviève and her mother and would very much like to have them here. I have been repeating Roujon’s lovely words to myself and I can’t help reliving that Sunday, which nevertheless must have been less horrific for those unfortunate women than the days that followed: to witness so many tokens of friendship and sincere tears from mourners was perhaps less painful than to bear the solitude afterwards. There were very many people at the funeral, which was so simple and moving. What shocked me a great deal was Mauclair’s absence: all he did was send a chatty letter in which he spoke only of himself on holiday in Samois with a lady who was very smitten with him. He could have taken the trouble to come as Monsieur Mallarmé liked him very much.
15–18 SEPTEMBER
We have taken up our work again but with great sadness in our hearts. We had a model in the morning and in the afternoon painted on the riverbank. On Sunday, we received a letter from Geneviève, who is quite broken-hearted. Madame Mallarmé has taken a turn for the worse, it’s really distressing. We had dinner at the Renoirs.
29 SEPTEMBER AND 2 OCTOBER
Monsieur Renoir said that one must do still lifes in order to learn to paint quickly. He has just done some superb ones. I have been reading Delacroix’s journal:371 I both like and admire the man. I remember Maman reading me passages and it was what started me off scribbling this diary!
I worked on a still life of partridges on a white tablecloth with some peaches this afternoon but it’s not easy. As I’ve vowed to work, I took my courage in both hands and went to ask Monsieur Renoir, who is leaving tomorrow, to come and give me some advice. He gave me an excellent lesson. He said that when one begins a still life, or any other thing, one must look at the values carefully in relation to each other and sketch the composition in very lightly, while observing closely what is black, grey and white.
‘There is only black and white in painting’, said Monsieur Renoir. Then he added that one must give white its intensity from the value of what is around it, and not by using white paint. ‘In the work of a great painter, the whites are beautiful and simple because he knows how to give them their place. Look at the whites of Titian, the whites of Manet, the whites of Corot’, he said with regard to my tablecloth, which lacked brightness. My partridges weren’t simple enough, velvety enough; they lacked colour because there were too many of them, added Monsieur Renoir, but the peaches were very good. He advised me to take it up again tomorrow and then I would see myself that the partridges on the tablecloth weren’t right if I looked at it from afar.
Anyway, I had a good lesson; but, although very pleased, I was upset because I hadn’t dared show Monsieur Renoir any of my other still lifes and my landscapes about which I had been counting on asking his advice. Paule and Jeannie seem to find me ridiculous, and they’re possibly right. They claim that this lesson on the partridges encompasses everything I need to know; that it’s a general view and goes for all my still-life paintings.
THURSDAY, 6 OCTOBER
Spent all morning in the Brotel vines on the Mellet hills, grape-picking and doing watercolours. The light was delicious, and the sloping vineyards covered with golden vines were superb, figures dotted around with baskets of violet grapes. Only beautiful things to paint! The scene resembled an Italian fresco, with pink-cheeked young girls among the vines with Essoyes in the background. October is marvellous in the country; enjoying these marvels of nature before being shut up in Paris all winter. Monsieur Mallarmé used to say that it was the ‘grand finale’!
FRIDAY, 7 OCTOBER
I keep thinking that we are going to see Monsieur Mallarmé on our return to Paris and it seems unbearable when I tell myself that we will never ever see him again.
Geneviève still writes us very sad letters. She and her mother are recovering gradually. They receive a few visits from faithful friends – among them Paul Valéry, who appears to be very nice. I remember that Monsieur Mallarmé said that Valéry was keen to get married and we had thought of him for Jeannie. Now I’ve seen that he’s a sensitive boy, not too much of a snooty writer: by this I mean he’s not too intellectual; I can imagine that he would in fact make a very kind husband for my dear Nini. But how can it be arranged? Monsieur Mallarmé once said that Valéry reminded him of himself as a young man.
SATURDAY, 8 OCTOBER
Today I went for a lovely bicycle ride to a part of the Seine near a farm, which was quite charming, rather like a Renoir. Visited Mussy, with its rather curious old church.
MONDAY, 10 OCTOBER
Geneviève sent us some articles about her father; some of them are very good. The one which seems to me the most interesting is the study by Régnier, full of real sentiment, which appeared in the Revue de Paris. Mauclair’s was full of ‘me, me, I, I’. Rodenbach372 writes about his youth in England and some other good pieces by Armand Sylvestre373 and others.
The chaos that reigns in Paris at the moment is very worrying.374 I hope things don’t turn out badly and am praying that all this fuss stops soon. If the railways all go out on strike, there will probably be some ghastly accidents. What with the strikes and the interminable Dreyfus Affair, it augurs ill.
MONDAY, 17 OCTOBER
Yvonne Lerolle has told me that she’s going to marry Eugène Rouart.375 Girls of our generation are beginning to marry – we are most decidedly not little girls any more.
How the years fly by! In two months, it will be awful New Year’s Day again. And not long after that it will be 1900, which seemed so far off when I was a child.
THURSDAY, 20 OCTOBER
Things I must look at when I go to the Louvre: Fra Angelico’s Couronnement de la Vierge376 and whatever there is by Paolo Uccello and Filippo Lippi.
The book on the Primitives377 is beginning to interest me, even though it has been written in a most boring way. Yesterday evening I was reading about the techniques of old master painting. Fresco painting, egg tempera or glue-based paint were replaced by oil painting in the tenth century by the monk Theophilus and rediscovered by Cennino Cennini and also later by the Van Eyck brothers.
Monsieur Renoir says that he thinks true painting is done with thick oil rather than thinned with turpentine and that should only be used for quick sketches. I’ve been trying oil for a month and find it gives greater consistency.
Monsieur Renoir is in Holland with Faivre, Durand-Ruel’s son,378 Monsieur Bérard,379 and someone he calls ‘E’. We are so used to travelling with him that it seems very odd to me that they’ve gone without us. Monsieur Mallarmé laughingly used to call us the ‘Flying Squadron’. I have the feeling that I’ve learnt something about painting here but wonder if I am imagining it?
On Monday, 24 October Julie was summoned to Valvins, where Madame Mallarmé had been taken ill and Geneviève was desperately upset. She stayed with them for a few days before returning to Paris. Fortunately, Madame Mallarmé’s illness was not after all very serious and she soon recovered.
WEDNESDAY, 26 OCTOBER
Geneviève told us the life story of Villiers de l’Isle-Adam380 today: his death, his marriage to a woman who couldn’t even write,381 and the son he had by her. How very distressing it must have been for Monsieur Mallarmé to have to force his friend to marry because of the child. And he was taken aback to see this poor woman sign with a cross beneath the fine signature of Villiers de l’Isle-Adam.
The newspapers are carrying very bad news about Fashoda.382 What a disturbing issue it is. It would be horrible to have a war with the English; their navy is so strong. The very idea breaks my heart.
We are spending the days here sewing and chatting in the red sitting room which belongs to the person we would all like to see in it. We’ve been speaking of the past – to live among memories is still the most comforting thing, when one is sad.
We learned of the death of Puvis de Chavannes, who died so soon after his wife.383 The last time I saw him was at the exhibition of Maman’s paintings, when he said a few words to me.
I remember he would often visit us at home, especially when we were at Bougival and I was a baby. One day, seeing him at the door, I screamed: ‘Here comes the gingerbread man!’, a name I had given him because of his reddish complexion. He seemed quite astonished at the time – children are really such terrors.
He wrote a lovely letter to Maman in 1892 after her exhibition at Valadon’s. A long time ago they used to correspond regularly and I have many of his letters.
THURSDAY, 27 OCTOBER
Geneviève told us of Mauclair’s passion for Mademoiselle Leblanc;384 how she dropped him; and how Mauclair then had found his own passionate love letters to her in Maeterlinck’s possession. And how he eventually got his own back in the Soleil des Morts, where Mallarmé appears a lot.
Geneviève is in the grip of depression. One feels that nothing can help her out of it. It’s very distressing. She has lost both her father and her best friend. No one can get used to his death.
THURSDAY, 3 NOVEMBER
After a trip to the cemetery in Genevilliers to take my godfather flowers, we visited Tante Suzanne; then tried to visit the Renoirs, who weren’t at home, and finally on to Monsieur Degas, who was pleased to see us and took us into his studio where he was working on a delightful tiny wax model of a nude woman. We talked about the poor Mallarmé family, about Monsieur Renoir and finally Jeanne Baudot, whose way of greeting him he finds so charming.
‘Her charms have seduced me’, he added, then all of a sudden cried out: ‘And what if I married Mamzelle Baudot? Wouldn’t that be an odd sort of marriage!’ Monsieur Degas talks of nothing but marriage these days. While on the subject of Yvonne Lerolle’s with Eugène Rouart, he mentioned that last winter at the Louvre he said to Ernest Rouart: ‘Now young man, do you see these young ladies? To which one do you wish me to make your proposal? I can assure you will not be turned down. You are a nice boy, you are well off, and you don’t appear to be too much of a rascal.’ Monsieur seems intent on marrying us and goes through the list of eligible young men in such a funny, affectionate manner. He then shows us a magnificent portrait of Monsieur Norvins by Ingres385 which he has just bought.
FRIDAY, 4 NOVEMBER
Today I went to Jeanne Baudot’s studio, where we found Jeanne Clément looking charming in her grey dress and hat with two pink camellias in her black hair. Monsieur Renoir was there too, who looks rejuvenated.
We all paid a visit to Madame Clément, and made Monsieur Degas’s proposal of marriage to Jeanne Baudot. Catherine, one of the Baudot servants, declared that Monsieur Degas is far too old for Mademoiselle Jeanne.
MONDAY, 14 NOVEMBER
Here I am, already into my twenties – twenty years old today. I had a lovely birthday celebration at Bellevue where we went for lunch. All the children met me holding flowers and shouting ‘Vive Julie!’ Then an excellent luncheon was served on a table covered with flowers. We drank champagne to the delight of the five charming little ones seated around the table, with their lovely faces – Maxime and Juliette in particular, who are so blonde. Then they brought me a magnificent cake on which was written ‘Long live Julie – 14th November ’78’. Everyone was just wonderful.
We drove Jeanne Baudot to Monsieur Degas’s. She put on her most elegant clothes to visit her admirer, but unfortunately he received her in darkness. We spoke a great deal about Monsieur Bertrand’s letter in defence of Picquart.386 Monsieur Degas told us that the Rouart family goes to the anti-Dreyfus meetings and that Ernest even punched a pro-Dreyfus man once and knocked him over.
FRIDAY, 9 DECEMBER
I have just read Mauclair’s article on Mallarmé, which is quite outstanding. He knows so much about Mallarmé’s way of working that it is extremely interesting. Mauclair certainly has a brilliant mind.
THURSDAY, 22 DECEMBER
This evening we went to the party to celebrate Yvonne Lerolle’s marriage contract, which took place at Monsieur Degas’s. At the entrance, Ernest Rouart gave me his arm and led me in to greet Yvonne, who was wearing a glittering silver gown.
I was quite astonished to find Valéry there, and had only one idea in mind – that we should find an opportunity of bringing him and Jeannie together. Ever since that day when Monsieur Mallarmé mentioned him as a possibility for Jeannie, I have been mulling over the idea and wondering how I could orchestrate a meeting between them. Several times recently I have wanted to mention the subject to Geneviève, but I never saw her on her own. But this evening, Providence was offering us the chance to act.
I kept a close eye on him, then lost sight of him, but then he came over to talk to Monsieur Degas, who was near us. Suddenly Paule, who obviously had had the same idea as me although we hadn’t discussed it, took the plunge and struck up a conversation. Shortly afterwards, I saw Jeannie on Valéry’s arm, on their way to the buffet, chatting away. I was ecstatic, and who knows what it may lead to? Following Valéry and Jeannie on the arm of Ernest, the thought crossed my mind that maybe we were both on the arm of the person with whom we would spend the rest of our lives, but nothing was less certain, of course.
Because, yes, I must say I really liked Ernest this evening. He put his shyness aside a little, and, considering our similar tastes and same milieu, could he not be the one for me? Yes – I can certainly say that this thought crossed my mind during the party.
‘So, I have straightened Ernest out for you’, Monsieur Degas said to me. ‘Now it’s up to you to carry on.’
TUESDAY, 27 DECEMBER
Yvonne’s wedding today. She looked lovely in white with her pale blonde hair, and Rouart looked wonderful with his golden hair.
Yvonne kissed us affectionately in the vestry, where we met Valéry again. At the luncheon given by Madame Lerolle, he chatted to Jeannie and Paule a great deal. As for me, I concentrated on Ernest, to whom I had not been very nice on Thursday.
I complimented Monsieur Lerolle on his daughters. ‘They are lovely, aren’t they?’, he replied tenderly. Then he added that he hoped to be at my wedding soon. I must have looked truly astounded because he quickly added: ‘Um, of course, I don’t know to whom.’ Could it have been Monsieur Degas’s mischievous words the other evening which inspired him to say this to me?