SUNDAY, 1 JANUARY
Rain, snow, gales, simply atrocious weather, lots of visits, dinner at Tante Edma’s. The year started somewhat bleakly. Geneviève learnt through Valéry, who is in the War Ministry, that we are almost certainly going to go to war with England, and what’s more, in his opinion, very soon.
What a dreadful prospect! It was easy to understand why Fashoda might have been a pretext to enter into a quarrel, and that if it wasn’t over this, the English would have found something else. Instead of talking so much about the Dreyfus Affair, the government should concentrate on the defence of our own country, France. What a disaster it would be if those English rascals declare war on us or force us into declaring it on them, because we surely cannot continue to allow ourselves to be humiliated like this. I cannot believe this and dare less than ever to make any plans.
Everyone is keen for Jeannie to marry and I would like her to marry Valéry, but if there is war, how will we all be able to think of such things?
We had a visit from Général Clément and the Roudiers,387 whom Faivre, who brought us some very good chocolates, had met by chance. Nothing could be funnier than the mix of these very different personalities. They were followed by Leconte de Lisle and the de Loutes; also with bags of chocolates. It’s so nice to get sweets from all these young people.
TUESDAY, 10 JANUARY
We visited Monsieur Renoir, who has been ordered to bed with bad rheumatism. He seems quite resigned to it.
THURSDAY, 12 JANUARY
This morning, I was tidying up Maman’s canvases which we haven’t room to hang and which are being moved to another room on the sixth floor. The sight of those beautiful colours and the drawings instilled in me pure admiration. It’s all there in Maman’s œuvre, from a woman in a million, whose charm is evident in everything about her: her painting, her speech, her attitudes, her looks, her tenderness… Ah! Maman, you will live on in your canvases; but I can’t help crying because I don’t have you here. How I would like to embrace you. At times I feel so unhappy; my only wish is to speak to Papa and to you Maman.
TUESDAY, 17 JANUARY
Today is the feast of Saint Anthony, which is also called the feast of ‘Saint-Cochon’, during which all the members of our ‘piglet society’ can call each other by their diminutives and nicknames, so we had a very jolly evening at which Abel [Faivre] addressed us as ‘My poor little Jeanne, my tiny Jane, my dear little Jeannie, my dear little Julie and my Queen Paule etc. …’ because we had made sure he got the lucky charm in the Epiphany cake, which meant he gave a hilarious acceptance speech and chose Paule as his queen. Young Gallimard was made a new member of our ‘piglet society’ after a few dares and teasing all round.
SATURDAY, 28 JANUARY
I went to Monsieur Degas to ask him to do a drawing to be published with Monsieur Mallarmé’s poetry but, needless to say, he refused since it’s to be published by a pro-Dreyfus publisher.
Given his opinions, I can understand him a bit. He showed us the Delacroix still life388 he has just bought and a portrait by Ingres.389 He gave us lots of things for Jeanne Baudot, saying: ‘Everyone knows I have a crush on her.’
SUNDAY, 29 JANUARY
We went to see the Pellerin Collection390 with Jeanne B. I don’t understand how this man who knew nothing about painting at all managed to adore Oncle Edouard’s work – of which he has some superb examples: for instance, one of Léon Leenhoff391 wearing velvet in front of a table covered in quantities of beautifully painted things; Nana,392 La Femme en espagnole couchée sur un canapé,393 which I didn’t know and which is marvellous. What fantastic paintings! Then Le Skating,394 Le Bar,395 L’Artiste,396 which I like less, a Femmes nues with which Pellerin is enchanted, although I am mystified by the black background, and lots of sketches and some little things: Homme suicidé,397 astonishingly real, Eva Gonzalès;398 and a little Spaniard, done in just four brush strokes. Some charming pastels and a sketch of Maman in profile in a violet hat and a fur coat,399 which is so lifelike. I would dearly love to have that one. We saw Maman’s portrait of Lucie Léon au piano,400 which is really ravishing and unusual; then Maurecourt401 and a Femme en rose sur un canapé done with back lighting, in pastel. Pellerin also owns the pretty Femme qui tient un enfant402 of a toddler taking its first steps by Monsieur Renoir; a pretty little landscape by Sisley; and many things by Monet, among which a charming one of the banks of the Seine done en plein air.
We came home really excited about this collection, which shows Oncle Edouard’s œuvre to such advantage. What a truly great painter he was! Nothing but real life in his pictures, and how well he captured movement too.
TUESDAY, 31 JANUARY
This frightfully sinister weather prevented us from working and Jeanne Baudot from coming to see us. We miss her terribly if a day goes by without seeing her. The more I get to know her, the more charming, intelligent and gifted I find her and at the same time so young at heart and jolly.
As we were rather depressed, Paule and I took advantage of one of the days when we weren’t working to show some pictures to Monsieur Renoir, who found them quite good and cheered us up a bit. While we were talking about the P. Collection, Madame Renoir told us that the Bernheims403 had repainted a picture by Oncle Edouard, which they sold to Monsieur Pellerin for 100,000 francs. Paule and I realized it was the background to Femmes nues,404 which looked so weird.
Monsieur Renoir is saddened by the death of Sisley,405 who was his best friend when he was young and for whom he has kept a great affection even though he hadn’t seen him since the death of Oncle Edouard.
On painting, Monsieur Renoir repeated that it is best to work for short periods and rest a good deal. ‘Madame Manet knew how to work in the best way’, he said. Jeanne Baudot says that he constantly speaks of Maman with admiration and always finds very special words for her. Sometimes I recall Monsieur Renoir’s remark to Monsieur Mallarmé when one Thursday evening, on the doorstep, he was speaking of Maman: ‘and with all these qualities, any other woman would be insufferable’.
We spent a good part of the day at Monsieur Renoir’s. What lovely things he has in his drawing room. Yvonne et Christine Lerolle au piano406 always charms me.
We had the Angoulvents, de Loutes, and Lahalles to supper, and had a fun evening dancing, jumping around, singing and behaving like babies.
THURSDAY, 2 FEBRUARY
Ysaïe and Pugno407 concert this evening – three Grieg sonatas, much too long. You can imagine our astonishment at seeing Jeanne Baudot, who had only left us a quarter of an hour before and who never goes to concerts. Paule stayed at home and received a visit from Jacques Blanche, who owned Oncle Edouard’s Baigneuses with a rubbed green background and several legs. He sold it to the Bernheims this summer, who wanted it for Pellerin. So, no more doubt to be had about that repainted background. It’s outrageous – I have a good mind to sue those horrible Bs.
TUESDAY, 7 FEBRUARY
I went over to see Tante Suzanne to discuss Pellerin’s retouched painting and to obtain her authorization to start proceedings. I find it quite unacceptable to allow Oncle Edouard’s works to be damaged in this way. But when I left, I was beside myself with rage. There’s nothing that can be done because Tante Suzanne had written on the back of the picture that she recognized it as authentic, although she had hesitated at first, noticing several slight alterations. ‘I couldn’t say that the whole painting wasn’t by my husband’, she said to me with her Dutch nonchalance ‘because the women were definitely by him.’
THURSDAY, 9 FEBRUARY
We learnt yesterday of the death of Madame Monet’s poor daughter Madame Butler, who had been paralysed for many years. Her funeral took place today at Giverny and Paule and I went to it. We found the poor family grief-stricken; as they really had no idea just how ill this young woman had been. Madame Monet had bronchitis and Germaine is in a horribly nervous state. For some years now, these poor people have had nothing but sorrowful events in their lives.
After having left at about seven this morning, we got back at about five and found my cousin Georges408 at home. We were most surprised to see him in Paris. Then Drogue409 came by; then Valéry arrived – Geneviève had warned us he was coming. He is very nice and does probably have several points in common with Monsieur Mallarmé as a young man: he is charming, enjoys music and is interested in people.
FRIDAY, 17 FEBRUARY
Charlotte woke us this morning with the news of Félix Faure’s410 demise. It’s unbelievable, such a sudden death!
Edme411 left for Germany yesterday. Tante Edma took his departure with great courage.
SATURDAY, 18 FEBRUARY
A new President of the Republic has been named. I had a feeling that Cavaignac412 might be named, and was wishing it could be Méline.413 I cannot understand his hesitation and why he ended up withdrawing and giving everything away to Loubet,414 the pro-Dreyfus candidate. It’s just ghastly to have a head of state a man sullied by Panama415 and to think that the army is forced to serve and protect a man who is on the enemy’s side. He can’t be French if he’s pro-Dreyfus, can he?
I am enraged as well as heartbroken for our poor country over this latest event. I wish I were a man and could demonstrate and shout slogans. It must be thrilling to engage in politics, but at the same time quite nerve-racking.
SUNDAY, 19 FEBRUARY
There were a great many demonstrations yesterday evening, but unfortunately what will probably happen is that they’ll shout for a couple of days and then calm down and Loubet will remain president
At Tante Edma’s as well as at home, we are totally obsessed with the newspapers. We bought L’Aurore416 out of curiosity. It’s a totally disgraceful paper. Such horrors about the army should not be allowed to be published.
By asking for help from Général Roger yesterday, Déroulède417 was only trying to be patriotic and has ended up in prison. What’s more, he is not attracting nearly as much attention as that other prisoner on L’Ile du Diable!418 Although there was some disturbance in the streets of Paris this evening, quite obviously it’s all going to die down and the pro-Dreyfus lot, the Panamists, the Jews and all the others are going to be able to govern at their leisure. Poor old France!
THURSDAY, 9 MARCH
We called briefly on Madame Mallarmé, where naturally enough we found Bonniot419 and Valéry.
We celebrated this third Thursday in Lent by dining at Madame Baudot’s, and after supper we decided to go to the Boulevards420 to throw confetti about and have fun, but we gave up because it was far too dangerous with all the louts around.
FRIDAY, 10 MARCH
Went to the private view of an exhibition of young painters at Durand-Ruel. Denis421 seems to be the only really interesting artist in the group. We met lots of people – Redon,422 Paule’s admirer, Chausson,423 the Lerolles, even Yvonne Rouart and her husband Eugène Rouart, Fauché,424 etc … Nothing could be more amusing than the opening of an exhibition, where one meets all the interesting people one knows.
SATURDAY, 11 MARCH
We left for Le Mesnil in a thick mist. Plessis425 had asked me to go down to check on the repairs which must be done; but the place is not yet in ruins and I am sure I shall not see Le Mesnil collapse in my lifetime.
Towards midday, the mist evaporated in the rays of the hot, golden sun, allowing us to sit on the grass in front of this dear little château which reminds me of so many things. I have scarcely lived here and yet have such fond memories. I remember our walks from Mézy to Le Mesnil, when Papa and Maman were thinking of buying it; I felt it would be paradise to live here. And now the curious thing is that my memories are no longer so sad but sweet, and I would still like to live here.
The property is most delightfully unusual. The low main building against the huge chestnut trees on the terrace, with its old courtyard, dovecote and kitchen garden, is typically French. It exudes great charm, and aided by the marvellous weather it makes me want to just sit back and dream.
How enjoyable it would be to redecorate the interior of Le Mesnil – I could do such pretty things with it. When will I be able to live there? Who knows? Never, perhaps. It is after all a home for a real family, for lots of friends, for a couple, for a bride…
MONDAY, 20 MARCH
We had Jeanne Baudot for lunch; then I went to see Miss Vos at the Salpêtrière Hospital. She is really quite well, but she’s quite discreet about all the happenings at the hospital – disputes among the nurses, who leave poor dying women to wail all day long without giving them their injections as they’ve been ordered to. Wouldn’t it be better to have nuns in hospitals instead of these nurses whose interests lie elsewhere than with sick people? Nurses who on operating days think of nothing but curling their hair and dressing in fashionable clothes to please the interns and flirt with them? Some pretty disgusting things seem to go on, but somehow everyone gets used to them.
Monsieur Renoir came to have lunch with us. He was adorable and quite cheerful and said it gave him such pleasure to be at our house. He has a lovely way with words. He told us about the time when Courbet made it fashionable to paint kitchens and everyday subjects, Corot used to say: ‘That never stopped me from putting a few little goddesses into my landscapes.’
I told Monsieur Renoir that I had met Pellerin, who had urged me to come and see his ‘new Manets’, which have never been seen by anyone so far. ‘You should have told him that even Manet himself hasn’t seen them yet!’, laughed Monsieur Renoir.
Then we spoke about Sisley, of the exceedingly withdrawn life he led during his last few years at Moret,426 because he believed everyone had grudges against him. When he met Monsieur Renoir, with whom he had after all once lived, he crossed the street so as not to have to speak to him. He made himself very unhappy. Monsieur Renoir reminded me that on one of our visits to Valvins with Maman we met Sisley by chance in Moret. Maman invited him to come and visit us at Valvins. At first, he accepted the invitation; then, after having said his goodbyes, he ran after her, shouting: ‘I’m sorry but I won’t come after all!’
Paule showed Monsieur Renoir the portrait of me in a red velvet dress she has just finished and I showed him my study of Jeannie at the piano with Paule listening to her. He gave us a few tips and told us to correct things here and there. Monsieur Renoir is really rather encouraging.
All in all, we spent a most delicious day with Monsieur Renoir, who stayed until 5 o’clock. Seeing him here was wonderful as it had been so long since he had visited us.
This evening, we went to the Opéra with Blanche to hear the Walkyrie. I was absolutely enthralled and captivated by this grandiose, engaging music. It’s probably because I don’t understand a thing about Wagner that I find the opera itself quite straightforward. In any case, it gave me great pleasure, and that’s all I ask.
The whole day was really enjoyable.
TUESDAY, 25 APRIL
We went to the Hôtel Desfossés427 to see the collection of paintings which are to be sold tomorrow following his death. Among them were the Toilette by Corot, and L’Atelier, among other Corots; Delacroix’s Mise au tombeau,428 which is magnificent, very poignant; some beautiful river landscapes by Monet; a pretty garden scene by Renoir; a rather curious Manet watercolour painted after the Petits Cavaliers by Velazquez; and some Courbets, among which was L’Atelier, which I didn’t find very interesting.
We met Monsieur Degas there. While I was attentively looking at the admirable Delacroix, he took me by the arm and whispered: ‘Here’s a very eligible young man!’ I turned round, and there was Ernest Rouart, and we both laughed. What an embarrassing way to be introduced to someone.
THURSDAY, 27 APRIL
We had Geneviève with us for most of the day, which was lovely; then Madame Redon429 came to visit for the first time. Valéry arrived: he seems to be becoming a Thursday ‘regular’.
He must have been rather embarrassed to see Geneviève here because only a few days ago, while he was discussing marriage, she asked him if he was thinking of one of her three girlfriends. ‘Yes, I am actually!’ he replied.
Jeannie seems to think he’s quite nice – how I wish it would all work out.
We attended the view of the paintings which were left in Sisley’s studio and which are to be sold for his children, as well as others donated by various artists. Monsieur Monet, who is organizing it, asked me for one of Maman’s canvases, and I of course gave him one: Maman would certainly have done the same to help the children of an artist who exhibited with her for so many years. I chose a small picture of a woman in profile wearing a straw hat, which went well with the other paintings on show.
There we met Monsieur Monet, then Germaine Hoschedé, 430 and caught a glimpse of Madame Monet, who seemed to be in a very nervous, depressed state. The only thing she could talk about was the death of her daughter.
SUNDAY, 30 APRIL
We went to the opening of the Salon, where we met up with Jacques Drogue. He rushed us extremely rapidly past all the paintings, so that we might miss seeing his contribution; the result was we didn’t see anything at all.
Rodin’s Eve is beautiful.
We met Miss Cassatt,431 the Baudots, the Cléments and Ernest Rouart, whose painting we searched for in vain.
MONDAY, 1 MAY
Today is the Sisley sale: the prices for his paintings went quite high, with Monsieur Monet bidding them up. One could see that he had really taken the sale to heart and was dealing with it very seriously. Maman’s painting was bought by Durand-Ruel for 3,200 francs.
We went to the Petit Gallery to see the drawings from the Doria Collection:432 there were some curious Corots, Delacroix and Baryes. We met the Rouart family again. Ernest is a very good fellow and I would really like to get to know him better. I really wanted to talk to him today, but I didn’t dare to because I got the feeling that Paule might make fun of me. But I have no idea why, as I would have thought she’d have been in favour of him.
I don’t think I was very nice to him, but I was afraid of annoying him. Oh, if only he liked me! I may never see him again after this!
SUNDAY, 7 MAY
Tante Edma took us to see Jacques Blanche. His painting is very nice and so is he. He showed us his collection by other artists, for instance the lovely Baigneuses433 then the two pretty dessus de portes434 on the theme of Tannhaüser, both by Renoir, a watercolour by Maman435 and two paintings by Oncle Edouard436 and some dancers by Degas437 which were astonishing. It occurred to us that before we left it would be polite to ask if we could see some of his own work and I can say that we were able to make him some very sincere compliments, especially about his still lifes.
SATURDAY, 20 MAY
We went to Geneviève’s. She’s arranging a luncheon party at home on Monday for Valéry. She’s so kind in the way she has taken this affair to heart and one can see that she wants things to work out as much as Paule and I do.
SUNDAY, 21 MAY
On Whit Sunday, I took Communion at the 8 o’clock Mass and prayed to the Holy Ghost. There’s something I am really concerned about: I haven’t ever been confirmed and I am getting more anxious as time goes on. In Mézy, which is such a tiny place, the bishop was only able to come once every three years and, unfortunately, the year I celebrated my First Communion and the one when I renewed my vows, he didn’t visit. Then, when we were in Paris I didn’t have the heart to ask my parents if I could be confirmed. I think about this every day and will have to speak to my father confessor about it.
MONDAY, 22 MAY
The luncheon with Madame Mallarmé, Geneviève and Valéry went very well. Valéry went on to the balcony to smoke and Jeannie stayed out there with him, chatting. He seems to think she’s quite witty, judging by the way he laughs at whatever she says.
He spoke rather amusingly about de Heredia,438 whose youngest daughter is to marry his friend Pierre Louÿs, and he told us a few little juicy stories about both of them. Jeannie played Schumann’s Humoresque with amazing charm. Valéry seemed too shy to praise her and Jeannie was rather annoyed by his lack of interest.
WEDNESDAY, 24 MAY
We went to see if Madame Mallarmé wasn’t too tired after her outing on Monday; then we went on to visit Monsieur Renoir, who is in better spirits these days but who nevertheless has changed a lot. He has decided to take his health into his own hands, to take a tonic and keep warm instead of making himself weak with a stringent diet. He was working a little in his studio today, doing a pretty woman in a blouse. We also popped in to see Monsieur Degas.
The newspapers relay the news about Loubet, who yesterday was booed at Auteuil, had eggs thrown at him and was even hit with a walking-stick.439 At long last, the whole country is rebelling against this unworthy representative of the state. In the pro-Dreyfus papers such as the Figaro, they say that only the aristocrats are demonstrating and that it is a monarchist plot. To add support to this fiction, the government released every prisoner who had been arrested except members of the nobility.
To be President of the Republic and be the butt of insults from the very people one is supposed to be representing must be frightfully disagreeable, but Loubet is just like his friends, the Jews. He puts up with insults and will never ever resign. If he had wanted to resign, he wouldn’t have needed to wait longer than an hour after his election.
Jacques Cor440 was sweet enough to give us his box at the Théâtre Sarah Bernhardt to see Hamlet. We went with Jeanne, who was in town, and Blanche. He also booked one for the Roudiers and his sister.
In a box close by, we saw the Régniers, the Heredias and the Louÿs couples. We had a wonderful evening. There is simply nothing better than Shakespeare – Hamlet is quite sublime.
Wit, subtlety, tragedy, philosophy and morals are all there and Shoeb’s441 [sic] translation was astounding because it hardly seems possible that the play could be more powerful and charming in French than in English. Sarah Bernhardt,442 as Hamlet, was much better than I had ever thought she could be, and I liked her more in this than in Phèdre, which was the only other time I had seen her act. I was expecting to find her quite ridiculous but, well, she wasn’t at all. Her voice, which was rather gruff, was something of a shock at first, but I got used to it. She is very agile and her appearance is quite astonishing. Her big mistake is to surround herself with the most pathetic actresses so she can shine even more herself.
TUESDAY, 6 JUNE
After bidding farewell to Madame Mallarmé and Geneviève, who are off to Valvins tomorrow morning, we were to have supper with Monsieur Degas. Jeanne Baudot was alone when we arrived; but then Ernest and Louis Rouart joined us. We all had a look at their Psst!443 collection, in which are some very good Forain drawings; and then it was Monsieur Degas’s turn to join us.
We went into the dining room soon after. Monsieur Degas gave his arm to Paule, Louis to Jeannie, and Ernest hesitated between Jeanne and me, then muttered ‘I have chosen’ – and chose me. I sat next to him at dinner and we chatted. He told me that he had been at Autun for the fair of the feast of Saint-Ladre. I asked if he went to see his brother at Autun every year and he replied that he went there last year to shoot and would be going back this year, which was what I wanted to know. The meal was a very jolly affair. Ernest made himself useful, carving a leg of lamb, then a chicken, and making coffee. After his dinner Monsieur Degas took elderflower tisane, which he shared with Jeanne Baudot, who promised to send him some more from her garden. Monsieur Degas joked about their future domestic arrangements, but it transpired that she likes duck not chicken, whereas he likes chicken and not duck. We told them it would never work.
During the evening we talked about the ‘Dreyfus Affair’. The Rouarts said that Quesnay de Beaurepaire444 speaks well. They went to a meeting in favour of the acquittal of Déroulède. It’s marvellous to see such patriotic young people; they should all be like that, but unfortunately many don’t care a jot about France.
Before leaving we went down to see the studio; there Ernest carried a lamp to light the paintings. He is so polite and thoughtful: I can hardly help myself from gushing, but on the way he was constantly trying to help others. He is totally wonderful, just perfect. What a handsome beard! What dark eyes! And I have finally managed to speak to him – he’s not a bit as shy as he was when we met him at the Louvre last year, and I am extremely pleased to have got to know him a bit more. I really like him, yes, I must say I really do. On our way home, in an open carriage, I thought about it all and told myself that Ernest is the one for me …
MONDAY, 12 JUNE
After a delicious supper at Bellevue, we get home to learn that poor Chausson died in a cycling accident: he apparently crashed headfirst into a wall of his garden. What a terrible way to die! The funeral is on Thursday.
THURSDAY, 22 JUNE
Poincaré,445 the minister who was supposed to join Waldeck-Rousseau, finally did so today. It must have been no small task to coerce a minister to acquit Dreyfus, who is soon to be set free amid loud applause. It’s disgusting to have such an unpatriotic government. They want people to believe that the Republic is under threat from the monarchist party, but those silly Orléanists are just a dozy lot and more than useless. It’s the government itself that is attacking the Republic. There’s no liberty any longer; one can no longer declare ‘Long live the Army’, but only ‘Long live Loubet and Dreyfus.’
During the course of the next few days Julie visited Monsieur Renoir at Saint-Cloud and she visited the Salon with Paule, but was disappointed by the poor quality of the paintings on view, deciding that the only decent thing was a mural by Maurice Denis intended for Le Vésinet College.
The Choquet Collection, on view at the Georges Petit Gallery on 29 and 30 June, struck Julie as being one of the most beautiful she had ever seen, with many works by Cézanne, Manet, Delacroix, Pissarro, Renoir and her mother, among many others. Julie spent two days carefully examining the collection, and planned to buy a small sketch by Delacroix, if she could acquire it for not more than 100 francs.
SATURDAY, 1 JULY
Today is the Choquet446 sale: I was very excited at the prospect of trying to buy a Delacroix. Paule and I went to the saleroom early and asked Vollard to bid for me.
We followed the sale with Fauché and saw Monsieur Degas from afar peering in a very comical way at each lot through his magnifying glass. He was sitting next to the Rouarts. I got quite worried when Maman’s painting came up, but was quickly reassured when the price went straight up to 8,000 francs and finally stopped at 10,100. This was the highest price for her.
The Renoirs did well, as did the Monets and the Cézannes, thanks to Vollard; but not the Manets, which was surprising. The Delacroix paintings went for practically nothing. Ovide chez les Scythes,447 which I thought was wonderful, only made 1,800 francs, whereas I had been expecting it to go for thousands. I’m almost sorry I didn’t try bidding for it; it would have been worth having a fling. Still I was pleased as in the end I got my little sketch for 460 francs.
After the sale, we went over to join Monsieur Degas and the Rouarts. Ernest immediately asked me if I had bought anything and we talked about the prices in the sale. He said that if he could have bought Ovide448 he would have done so. We discussed Renoir’s portrait of Choquet,449 which Ernest thought very good. He was extremely talkative today and joked that as he was forced to carry the very large Bataille de Nancy450 that Monsieur Degas had just acquired, he had decided to give it to me as a gift. I stayed behind to talk to him when everyone had left the saleroom, and think we really make rather a good couple.
Monsieur Degas invited us to accompany him in his carriage, with the Delacroix purchase, so we took our leave of the Rouarts. Monsieur Degas was very sorry not to have got the Choquet portrait (‘the portrait of one madman by another’, as he put it). He liked it enormously. Durand-Ruel bought it for only 3,500 francs, but Monsieur Degas had been especially relieved that Camondo451 didn’t buy it.
Zoë didn’t seem in the least surprised to see Monsieur Degas coming back with paintings. ‘When Monsieur told me he would be coming back to change, I was expecting him to bring back some pictures’, she laughed. We studied the Delacroix paintings he owns – the one from the Desfossés sale is still the most poignant.
Monsieur Degas is an absolute darling. He was discussing painting with us, then suddenly added ‘I’m going to show you the “orgies of colour” that I’m doing at the moment’, and showed us up to his studio. We were very touched as he never shows anyone what he’s working still on. He got out three pastels of women in Russian costumes452 with flowers in their hair, pearl necklaces, skirts in lots of bright colours and red boots, dancing in an imaginary landscape that looked most realistic.
Monsieur Degas asked us which of the three looked the best; then showed us some torsos and dancers, all of which must pay for today’s purchases!
We left him at half past nine after having spent the truly lovely sort of day that comes once in a blue moon. He arranged to meet us on Monday at the drawings sale.
MONDAY, 3 JULY
At the Choquet drawing sale we meet Monsieur Degas, who was already there. Next to him are Alexis Rouart and Ernest. So are the Fauchés, Madame Baudot and Jeanne, who is in quite a state because she wants to buy something, and keeps on pinching me, leaning across to ask nervous questions, can’t decide who should bid for her, nearly bids on the wrong lot, so that if Monsieur Degas hadn’t been kind enough to bid on a magnificent Delacroix watercolour for her, she would have ended up with nothing. It was the Mort du cavalier,453 which went for 260 francs. Some of them went for a lot of money and so did the ones I wanted, needless to say. Ernest seemed to be amused by Jeanne Baudot’s nervous behaviour and it made him laugh a lot. He was just in front of me facing sideways, so I could gaze at him without any problem, and from time to time we exchanged remarks on the results. I like him such a lot – he’s wonderful. There won’t be any other chance of meeting him now. All I can hope for is that he’ll be at Autun the day we go to visit Yvonne, that’s if we go. He probably won’t be, although he did say he was going shooting in Burgundy, didn’t he?
By the way, nothing could have been funnier than the heirs at the Choquet sale – market traders and barrow boys who acted as though they had never set foot inside a proper house before, let alone walked on carpet! They were all there in the front row sitting on a bench, carefully noting the price of each lot in case they were cheated.
We went to Saint-Cloud for dinner. Monsieur Renoir looked very well and was wearing a white hat, which suited him. We dined with Wyzewa, who was charming, and his wife, who’s lovely, as well as the Fauchés and Vollard, who never stopped telling us funny stories while devouring everything in sight. We all laughed when Vollard told us that he had bought Queen Christina’s wardrobe at the Choquet sale and that each time he opens the door he thinks he can hear the rustle of the Queen’s silk dresses.
On 13 July Julie leaves Paris to spend a few days in Valvins to be near Madame Mallarmé and Geneviève, returning to Paris on 21 July.
SUNDAY, 23 JULY
Stayed at home all day; then went to the de Loutes for dinner, where we quite enjoyed ourselves. Going there is like nothing else I can think of. We drove home at midnight in the most superb moonlight. I went out on to the balcony for a breath of air in the light of this enigmatic and enticing celestial body. This reminds me of a curious story by Edgar Poe about a trip to the moon which is almost believable because of the author’s vivid style.
MONDAY, 24 JULY
Recently I’ve been reading Edgar Poe’s454 extraordinary stories translated by Baudelaire, which Valéry lent us. They’re beautiful, full of life; the plots are realistic and the philosophical parts are interesting too. Nothing grips me more than the sort of literature that makes me think; I’m fond of philosophy, though it demands a certain amount of concentration.
I like the horror stories as well. ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’, ‘The Black Cat’, not to mention ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’, which is so frightening and really gives you a shock at the end – strange tales capture one’s attention and lead to flights of fancy.
THURSDAY, 27 JULY
We have been at the Baudots at Louveciennes since Tuesday. We had a conversation on the subject of sentiment in art. I began by surprising Drogue, stating that as far as I was concerned the very word ‘sentiment’ was anathema, and Jeanne Baudot and I were of the same opinion: sentiment in painting is perfectly ridiculous, and that goes for poetry and music too.
Jeannie, on the contrary, said there must be sentiment in poetry and in music, that Wagner was full of it. But I, who am not capable of understanding anything whatever about music, feel that it is to diminish the genius of Wagner to call him ‘sentimental’. His art is pure passion to me and I think sentiment takes away its grandeur. Sentiment should be built in to art. To say a great artist is sentimental is to denigrate his talent. Perhaps I am interpreting this word in the wrong way, and mixing up sentiment and sentimental? Jeannie sees Corot as sentimental but I think he is better than that. Not passion exactly; I leave that to Oncle Edouard.
We continued this discussion until late into the evening with Jeannie.
She and Paule think that I don’t understand sentiment in anything. Take love for instance – she thinks I wouldn’t mind being a spinster, that I have some sort of a hatred of marriage, and obviously I let her believe all this. Sometimes I wish I could come out of my shell just a little, but then Jeannie and Paule might think that I don’t like my life with them if I expressed the slightest wish of getting married. Yet, isn’t it quite natural to want what everyone else surely wants? The thought of remaining a spinster is pretty dreadful. Still, I mustn’t complain if that it is my fate, since I have an occupation – painting – which I love so much. I have the means to pay for a few pleasures, buy pictures etc. … but how much nicer it would be to use what one has to bring up a family.
I am in fact totally in favour of marriage and desire it fervently for my cousins. When I listen to them saying they are made for it, when Jeannie talks about the happiness it gives her to be loved, I want to reply that they aren’t the only ones. But I keep up the appearance of being a cold-hearted person who doesn’t understand anything. Oh! but I think I do actually understand the enormous charm of being loved, of loving, of being looked after by a man to whom one has given oneself entirely.
Perhaps I am against marriage because I won’t tolerate arranged marriages that bring together two poor souls who don’t understand each other, don’t know each other, and just don’t get on. With divorce, marriage has lost its importance – which I find odious. For me it’s still absolutely sacred.
And what about the person who inspires all these considerations and my dreams? Shall I even dare to write his name on this page? For a person who doesn’t like sentiment, I am a total joke!
FRIDAY, 28 JULY
We went to Saint-Germain455 this morning with Jeanne, who had only one idea in her head and that was to go and see Maurice Denis,456 whom we had only ever seen from afar so felt it was a mission impossible! We didn’t know how to go about it at all. However, Paule went in to a framer’s shop and just asked for his address, which he gladly gave her, but we got as far as the front door of his house but no further.
Later in the afternoon, we left the Baudots to go to spend a few days with Monsieur Renoir, who is without his wife and children at the moment. He looked quite well and his rheumatism seems a bit better.
He spoke about socialism, which does so much harm. ‘It has taken everything away from the people, from the workers. Reli-gion, which for them was such a consolation, has been replaced by an extra 25 centimes a day. It’s not by making the worker toil fewer hours a day that you will make him happy, because a man without work gets up to no good and he will spend his free time in a bar. What is needed is to get him to do work which is less backbreaking. There is nothing to interest the working man anymore. In the old days, he would design and craft a whole chair with pleasure; now, one man makes the legs, another the arms, and a third assembles it. The job has to be done in the fastest time possible so they can be paid. Before, a painter painted the Virgin who lead him to heaven with great care; now he chucks the paint at her to get her finished more quickly.’
31 JULY AND 1 AUGUST
Monsieur Renoir continued with my portrait, which is very nice. ‘People don’t understand that what is hidden and has to be imagined is what gives a thing its charm’, he told me. ‘That’s why Arab women, who only allow one to see their eyes and seem so pretty, would be far less so if they removed their veils.’
WEDNESDAY, 2 AUGUST
Everyone was in town today. Arsène Alexandre, Vollard and Monsieur Renoir’s nephew came to dinner. We talked about Gustave Moreau. Arsène Alexandre, who wrote the most complimentary article on him at the time of his death, wanted to defend him, saying that the things in his house were nothing like the things on view at the Luxembourg.457
‘It’s art for Jews’, concluded Monsieur Renoir. What an apt definition of Moreau’s painting!
FRIDAY, 4 AUGUST
Monsieur Renoir’s health seems to change every day. Sometimes he seems to be fine, then his feet or his hands swell up with arthritis. The illness is troubling for him and yet he, so sensitive, puts up with it very patiently. He is jolly, kind to us, and talks so interestingly about so many things. What a mind! He sees things clearly and accurately in life, just as he does in his art.
‘Instruction is the downfall of the people’, he told us. ‘Look at all these people who don’t believe in the good Lord anymore and for whom there is nothing left but science.’ This is the same idea expressed by Edgar Poe, who also said that science was the downfall of mankind.
Monsieur Renoir makes fun of people who imagine that painters nowadays should steer away from the old masters. He said that Geoffroy concluded an article on Corot’s centenary exhibition by alluding to the Impressionists: ‘This was the art of the past; now we are going to see the art of the future.’ ‘So I’, concluded Monsieur Renoir, ‘told Alexandre to reply in an article that Corot’s painting was also the art of the future.’
MONDAY, 7 AUGUST
Today saw the start of the retrial of Dreyfus by a court martial at Rennes. So this pro-Dreyfus lot are going to get their revision of his sentence, the only result of which will be even more trouble for our poor country. How powerful these Jews are!
WEDNESDAY, 9 AUGUST
Monsieur Renoir’s elder brother458 came for lunch and we talked about Aix-les-Bains459 – Renoir wants to have done with his treatment there, taking the waters, as he does not believe in it. He’s only going there to avoid being told off for not following the doctor’s advice.
‘If the treatment is too awful, I’ll make Gabrielle do it too’, he added, because he is taking Gabrielle460 with him while Madame Renoir stays quietly at Essoyes. We all advised him to be careful and not to tire himself out too much. It’s often said that the waters do more harm than good, but if they could relieve the congestion in his hands and feet it would be excellent. It’s so awful to see him in the morning not even having the strength to open a door.
He is finishing a marvellous self-portrait: he had started off by painting himself with a lot of wrinkles and a stern expression. We made him paint out some of the wrinkles and now it’s more like him. ‘But the eyes are still those of a silly calf!’ he concluded.
THURSDAY, 10 AUGUST
We went to the museum at Versailles to look at the Nattier paintings; some of them are very beautiful. Next we visited Madeleine Matter,461 and on the way back we saw Monsieur Renoir leaving in a little carriage towed along by a steam-driven tricycle. He was off to have dinner with Monsieur Degas at Durand-Ruel’s but didn’t look at all happy with his method of transport.
As soon as we got home, Vollard arrived and we didn’t dare not invite him to dinner. It was comical to see the three of us girls having supper alone with Vollard. Monsieur Renoir came back at half past eleven in a very jolly mood, and we had to turn Vollard out in the end.
On Saturday, 12 August, Julie and her cousins bade farewell to Monsieur Renoir, who left the following day for his treatment at Aix and then went to stay with Madame Baudot and Jeanne at Louveciennes for a week, before returning to Paris. The political situation was very turbulent, with the Dreyfus retrial under way, and Jules Grévin, co-leader of the Anti-Jewish extremists, under siege in a house in the Rue Chabrol with forty members of the League of Patriots.
On 22 August, the three cousins set off once more, visiting Madame Mallarmé and Geneviève at Valvins before going to Givry, where they had rented a small house near the home of Général and Madame Clément.
SATURDAY, 2 SEPTEMBER
We were woken this morning by a telegram from Yvonne Rouart inviting us to lunch and dinner with her on Sunday at Plaines. I had written to her during the week to ask if we could visit at some point this month and she was nice enough to reply straight away. We’ll have to leave for Autun tonight if we’re to be there for lunch. We’re looking forward to this little ‘escapade’! And tomorrow is the opening of the shooting season: Ernest Rouart told me that he would be going shooting in Burgundy. So he just might be at Plaines. We accepted the invitation, of course.
SUNDAY, 3 SEPTEMBER
We went to High Mass at Autun; then on by carriage to the farm at Plaines. Yvonne was there, dressed in white. Her husband and Ernest (because, yes, he was here) were out shooting, so we went to meet them, then had lunch. We talked about Monsieur Degas, Monsieur Renoir, painting, literature, Valéry, Mauclair, and after lunch Jeannie played the piano for us.
In the evening we all met again for dinner. Eugène Rouart announced that he’d like to meet Mademoiselle Baudot, about whom he had heard so much. Since Jeannie wanted to meet Bonnard, she said she’d introduce Jeanne Baudot if he would introduce her to Bonnard. We left about 10 o’clock for Autun after having spent a very pleasant day.
MONDAY, 4 SEPTEMBER
We woke up at half past six, and went shopping in Autun for a few foodstuffs that Yvonne didn’t have, as we were going for a picnic at the Château de Moyeux.462 At nine, Yvonne and Ernest came to fetch us because Eugène couldn’t come. Ernest drove and I climbed in beside him ‘very lightfooted!’, as he put it, and off we went.
Arriving in front of the château, we could see a long row of mountains, which Ernest likened to a Poussin landscape. We have discussed painting together and he has told me that he doesn’t work en plein air – in this respect, he is most certainly a disciple of Monsieur Degas.
Ernest sees us on to the train, opening the windows to air the compartment, carries my suitcase and waits on the platform until the train leaves. What a lovely two days we had!
SUNDAY, 10 SEPTEMBER
Dreyfus has been condemned yet again! This time to ten years of solitary confinement. Only two out of the seven members of the Council of War voted for his acquittal. Madame Clément had written to one of her young friends, asking him to tele-graph us the outcome as soon as possible in code: ‘Alphonse’ for an acquittal and ‘Charles’ for a conviction. The telegram arrived this morning: ‘Charles: 5 for, 2 against’.
MONDAY, 11 SEPTEMBER
The pro-Dreyfus newspapers are furious. Clemenceau is quite disgusting about it. Gip has written an amusing article in the Libre Parole and Cassagnac another in L’Autorité, which is both serious and well written.
On 19 September Waldeck-Rousseau’s government quashed the sentence of the Rennes court martial and ordered a full pardon, though not, as his supporters wanted, a proclamation of innocence and reinstatement in the French army. That was to come much later. On 20 September, Julie wrote in her diary that she was sending 6 francs to La Libre Parole towards a fund for the repatriation of Jews to Jerusalem.
SATURDAY, 30 SEPTEMBER
We gave a lunch party for four young men and four young ladies. Unfortunately, we were missing boys as usual, because only Jacques Drogue and Robert Faure-Beaulieu463 were available, so Jeanne Baudot and Mademoiselle Ritter dressed up as men, and took the assumed names of ‘Chevalier Gaëtan des Effluves’ and ‘Baron Guy de la Hutte’; they were extremely rowdy, filled their roles as enterprising young men most admirably. Jeanne B. was very funny, showing not the slightest hint of femininity.
After the meal we took photographs; the new consorts in ludicrous, sentimental poses with Jeanne C. Paule and Jeannie; me with Faure-Beaulieu and Drogue dressed up as a woman etc. …
From Givry, the three cousins set off on a tour of the South of France, travelling to Lyon, then down the Rhône by boat to Avignon, where they arrived on 12 October. They stayed there for three days, at the Hôtel Crillon, visiting the Palais des Papes and other tourist attractions, making excursions to villages in the area, while painting and sketching.
From Avignon, they travelled to Arles, Marseille, l’Estaque, the Côte d’Azur, including Cimiez, where Julie and her parents had spent the winter of 1888. Then on to Cagnes, Menton, Grasse, and back via Aix, Nîmes, Clermont-Ferrand, and finally back to Paris on 7 November.
TUESDAY, 14 NOVEMBER
I am 21 today. I am not even thinking about it and wasn’t the least bit sad at the prospect, although I gather that young ladies are supposed to take reaching their majority rather badly. Still, Jeannie cried on my behalf and that was good enough for me. I celebrated at Bellevue, where they had very sweetly invited people for lunch to spoil me, and everyone drank my health.
Poor Madame Guastalla, who has just been operated on for a cataract, and whose profile appeared even more Jewish than ever, made the wish that I would find a handsome young man: as ugly though she may be, she simply worships beauty! After this, my thoughts strayed in the direction of vain hopes, and I pictured Ernest as the handsome young man. I no longer have the slightest hesitation in saying that he is definitely the one I would like to marry.
We had several visitors today. In the evening we visited the Lerolles, who had asked us to come and see Yvonne, who is in Paris. There, we met the Bernards, the Renoirs, and Ernest Rouart, with whom we chatted about the South of France and so forth. I somehow had a feeling we would see him there.
Yvonne told us about the row between Monsieur Degas and Monsieur Renoir. What a shame to hear that these close friends have quarrelled. I think that Monsieur Degas went a bit too far by writing a rude letter to Monsieur Renoir just because he sold one of his pastels. Even though they have argued dozens of times before, this seems to be quite serious, unlike the other times. I even remember them making it up at one of our Thursday dinners at home.
SATURDAY, 18 NOVEMBER
Geneviève has lent us Boissière’s book Les Fumeurs d’Opium, which is very interesting as an analysis of the state of someone’s mind under the influence of opium, and is well written too.
MONDAY, 27 NOVEMBER
I went to Asnières for a violin lesson with Jules and was amazed to see he’d grown a beard. He didn’t look well and was very downhearted about everything. What’s more, he didn’t seem too impressed with my playing either.
On my way home, I called in at Monsieur Renoir’s studio to say hello. He seemed to be well, and is able to work at the moment. From there I met Paule and Jeannie at Madame Heudé’s and we went to Madame Mayniel’s for dinner, where we had one of Loubet’s pheasants.
WEDNESDAY, 29 NOVEMBER
We went to visit Monsieur Degas and found him, as usual, in his darkened studio, where he has a nap after working. We chattered non-stop in order to stop him from saying anything about Monsieur Renoir, and thankfully he didn’t bring up the subject, which makes me think that he probably regrets having sent the letter. He showed us a portrait of himself as a child, which still looks astonishingly like him, as well as one of his recent acquisitions – a Corot of the Pont de Poissy,464 which is superb.
FRIDAY, 8 DECEMBER
It has suddenly become very cold and during a visit to Valentine Scheffer I stupidly fainted while listening to an account of an accident that had happened to her. I was sent home in a carriage, but I kept on feeling faint for at least two hours with the weirdest sensations, of a paralysed hand and fingers. I thought I was going completely crazy and imagined I was leaving Poe’s Doctor Goudron’s465 hospital. I couldn’t form a sentence and didn’t know what anything meant. I tortured my brain in vain looking for words, thinking I would never again be able to speak, all this with a dreadful headache. Paule and Jeannie thought I had had a stroke and were terribly worried. When I began to feel a bit more like myself, Docteur Martin came to see me while Tante Edma and her daughters stayed in my bedroom.
Julie’s illness remains unexplained, but thankfully seems to disappear as quickly as it happened.
TUESDAY, 12 DECEMBER
We went to visit Alexis Rouart’s collection with Madame Renault and Berthe. Entering the salon we saw Ernest, who pointed out his uncle’s favourite paintings to us, among which were some lovely Degas dancers and milliners; Corots – one of Chartres Cathedral,466 two landscapes and a charming figure study; some Delacroix flowers; Japanese things, etc. …
Going up the staircase were plates decorated by Monsieur Degas with jockeys, as well as singers from the café concerts, and dancers. I stayed looking at them for ages with Ernest while the others went into a room filled with glass cases containing Tanagra statuettes and Chinese vases, which left me quite cold. So we chatted while admiring the humorous plates without even noticing that the rest of the party had gone downstairs. I was thrilled to be able to ‘talk painting’ with him, a subject we both adore, and I think that, as we share the same tastes, we should be able to agree on a lot of things. He chats away most agreeably and is perfectly likeable and nice.
He has to go and see Iphigénie en Tauride467 with Monsieur Degas on Friday. We have already asked Drogue to get seats for us at one of the performances but I fear it won’t be the same one as Monsieur Degas and Ernest – it would have been so nice to meet him there.
I went home completely under Ernest’s spell, happy to have seen him, and only wishing I had invited him to come and see the paintings at home.
WEDNESDAY, 13 DECEMBER
Drogue has written to say he’s taken a box for Iphigénie for Friday! I couldn’t be happier…
We visit Monsieur Renoir, who is in better health and is really a patient soul: ‘Summer is a coming!’ he laughs. He looks grand in a quilted jacket and a peaked cap.
SUNDAY, 17 DECEMBER
The hard frost continues so we go skating with Christine Lerolle and have great fun and then she has tea at home.
TUESDAY, 19 DECEMBER
More skating.
Julie in profile at the time of her engagement, c.1899
Julie’s father-in-law, the industrialist, art collector and painter Henri Rouart, c. 1900
FRIDAY, 22 DECEMBER
We bid farewell to Monsieur Renoir, who leaves this morning for Grasse.
SATURDAY, 23 DECEMBER
We went to the opera to see the Meistersingers [sic],468 which are being sung for the first time this year, in a tiny box up on the fourth level with Blanche. I was expecting to feel sleepy but I found the whole experience interesting and far from tiring: Jeannie declared that the Meistersingers are probably the best antidote to Tristan and Isolde!
Cor, who is an adjoining box with two old cousins, takes us to supper at the Café de la Paix, where the waiters sniggered when they saw him enter followed by six ‘ladies’ of varying ages and one of whom, Paule, had a skirt covered in wet stains after a fall in the mud on the Place de l’Opéra!
