A fascinating insight into the everyday life of the impressionists... I couldn't stop thinking how exceptional it was to get to grow up, surrounded by some of the greatest artists of the time - not only painters like Julie's mother Berthe Morisot, Renoir, Monet, Degas and so on, but also writers like the poet Stephane Mallarme.
Being brought up in this enviroment shaped the way Julie saw the world beautifully. And I mean this literally - when she talks about something that she saw, like the visit of Tsar Nicholas II, she describes it as if it was a painting:
"A couple of ordinary carriages went by and at last, to the excited cries of the spectators, the procession appeared. First, lots of different soldiers, riflemen, hussars all in blue mounted on lovely white horses; then Algerian cavalry in their turbans, their wonderful robes in the most delicious shades of almond green, red and yellow, flapping in the wind, on beautiful Arab thoroughbreds, their hindquarters covered in long embroidered blankets in the most magnificent colours and practically trailing on the ground. It was like looking at a Delacroix when one of these proud horses in their magnificent harnessing reared and snorted. What a treat for the eye! All this through the branches of the trees seemed to take on the colours of the most brilliant flowers or the most exquisite jewels."
Following are some of my favorite parts of the diary with my thoughts on it:
"My dearest little Julie, I love you as I die; I shall still love you even when I am dead; I beg of you, do not cry; this parting was inevitable. I hoped to be with you until you married… Work hard and be good as you have always been; you have never caused me one single sorrow in your little life. You have beauty, money; make good use of them. I think the best thing would be for you to live with your cousins in the rue de Villejust, but I do not wish to force you to do anything. Give your Tante Edma a souvenir of me, and your cousins too; and give Monet’s Bateaux en réparation131 to your cousin Gabriel. Tell Monsieur Degas that if he founds a museum he is to choose a Manet. A keepsake for Monet; one for Renoir; and one of my drawings for Bartholomé. Give something to the two concierges. Do not cry. I love you more than I can tell you.
Jeannie, take care of Julie." - Berthe Morisot's final letter to her daughter, written on her deathbed.
"Monsieur Renoir came to see us at the same time as Monsieur Mallarmé, who brought each of us a box of bonbons with a charming little four-line poem. He has done this every year for the last nine years. This one is very pretty, particularly sweet and terribly ‘Mallarmé-like’. We kissed him, and took the opportunity to kiss Monsieur Renoir too.
It was lovely to see our witty painter and our charming poet chatting together as they had done so frequently on those Thursday evenings at home, in the lofty pink salon, where my parents, surrounded by their works, entertained their wonderful friends.
It made me think of Monsieur Renoir’s comment, which touched Maman so deeply when it was repeated to her. The poet and the painter were on their way home after dinner with Maman, and were talking about her charming way with guests, her looks, her talent. ‘And to say that any other woman with all the talents she has would have a thousand reasons to be quite insufferable’, said Monsieur Renoir." The evening described is an example of what I was talking about - we get to see how the artists and their families interacted.
"Until now, I have been very ambitious – I wanted to have real talent. Now I want only to be a bit more accomplished than a silly young lady who paints fans and lampshades, and perhaps in due course I won’t even have that meagre ambition. Isn’t virtue the greatest glory? We should just do what we can and, doing that well, we will be satisfied. Pleasing God is really the only true happiness."- this passage touched me because despite the fact that Julie had amazing luck growing up with all the people, mentioned above, I think it was also hard for her to make peace with the fact that she may not be as talanted as her mother and her uncle, Eduoard Manet. It was quite natural for her to dream about being a great artist, like her relatives and many of their family friends. You can see all of this clearly in this section: "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!"
"When Monsieur Renoir took off the bandages on his arm this evening, I was appalled at the sight of all that hair: men are just so ugly, aren’t they?! An animal at least has thick fur to hide the skin below, but the skin shows through man’s hair; it’s quite revolting! I would certainly need plenty of courage to marry one of them." This one really made me laugh. She is right though.
The following is written shortly after Mallarme's death:
"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.’ "
All in all, the diary impressed me (pun intended).