RECIPE FOR VEGETABLE SOUP
Wash the vegetables carefully—especially the leeks.
Peel and chop the vegetables (except for the peas!) and cook them in butter.
After that add water (enough to cover the vegetables), salt and pepper.
Let the soup cook gently until the potatoes and carrots are soft.
Voilà! Vegetable soup!
August 16, 1892
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
Yesterday, an English painter with a funny name (Mr. Dawson Dawson-Watson!) invited Papa to play tennis at the Baudy Hotel. They played against Mr. Perry and Margaret. Edith and I kept score. The Perrys won, four sets to three, so Papa and Mr. Dawson-Watson had to buy everyone a drink.
After the tennis match it was hot so we all went down to the river to swim. There was another swimming party already there. When we saw that it was Monsieur Monet and his children, we went on a little farther. Monsieur Monet likes his privacy. Still, I couldn’t help but look back to watch him dive in. He made quite a splash!
While we were in the water we saw a very strange sight . . . Mrs. Perry’s straw hat came to life! One minute it was on the blanket; the next, it seemed to be running through the meadow. We scrambled up the riverbank as the hat led us on a merry chase. Of course, it was Degas underneath the hat—up to mischief again. Everybody thought it was very funny—even Mrs. Perry!
August 21, 1892
Nettle Island
This morning, we drifted slowly down the Epte in the large rowboat. As we went, using short, feathery brushstrokes, Papa painted sunlight sparkling on the river water. Mama and I wrote letters. We have to sit still when we are in the boat so that it doesn’t tip over. Edith said that last year one of the American painters fell in the river! He still had his palette in his hand. When he crawled up on the riverbank he was a sight, with paint all over his face and beard!
When we reached the Seine, we rowed the boat to Nettle Island and tied it to a tree. The island has a fine sandy beach for picnicking. While we were having lunch, Papa said if things continue to go well here he might like to stay on longer than a year. Mama doesn’t seem to mind the idea. Of course, if Lizzy comes I won’t mind either.
After our picnic we sat for a while, watching the river traffic. I never knew there were so many different kinds of boats. Steamboats and barges, sailing yachts and skiffs. We even saw the boat Mr. Dawson Dawson-Watson made for the new Mr. and Mrs. Butler. He made it out of wooden packing crates. Everybody laughed and said it wouldn’t float, but it does—and very well, too, by the looks of it.
Then, Papa set up his easel. After moving Mama this way and that, he settled on a pose and began to paint. I was glad not to have to sit for the painting and went off to explore.
The cows at the River Epte
September 1, 1892
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
The other day, a man bicycled up to our house. His name is Mr. Philip Hale and he studied with Papa in Boston. Papa was so surprised to see him here! The Baudy Hôtel was full, so Papa invited him to stay with us.
Yesterday, we went down to the river to watch the regattas. Mr. Hale said he wasn’t interested in boat races and went off along the river to paint. At the start of the races, we all stood on the riverbank, waving our handkerchiefs to cheer the boats on. When the boats disappeared from our sight, we sat down to lunch at tables under the apple trees. There were stuffed eggs and little fruit tarts—as many as we could eat. Afterward, Edith and I took some cider to Mr. Hale. He seemed very grateful and I peeked at his canvas. It was of a woman washing clothes in the river.
Everyone else seems to be painting haystacks! Papa says it’s because Monsieur Monet had such success with his exhibition of haystack paintings in Paris last May. One of the Americans, Mr. John Leslie Breck, was so inspired by Monsieur Monet that he made fifteen paintings, all of the same haystack! He painted it at different times of day, in different light, even setting his easel up in the middle of the night so he could paint it by moonlight.
September 4, 1892
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
We’ve been busy in the orchard, picking fruits as fast as we can. If we don’t hurry, the birds get to them first and gobble them up! Solange and all three Perry girls are helping. We fill huge baskets with fuzzy peaches and apricots, juicy plums and sweet, black cherries. Raymonde is making jars and jars of jams, jellies and preserves—enough to fill all the shelves in the pantry as well as those in the cellar.
Today, Raymonde let us try her cherry jam. We spread it on thick slices of bread for “goûter”—our four o’clock snack. It was delicious!
September 15, 1892
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
This morning, the dreaded tutor came for the first time. When I opened the door she began speaking French and didn’t stop until she left. I couldn’t understand very much of what she said. I think she speaks English, but she pretends not to. Her name is Mademoiselle Bertout. Mama wants me to learn French and botany so we went out to the garden and I learned the French words for what I saw.
All at once, Degas appeared. He was covered with dirt and looked very pleased with himself. No wonder! He’d finished the tunnel he’d been digging beneath the wall that separates our garden from the Perrys’. Mademoiselle Bertout tried to shoo him away with her hat, but Degas was much too quick and ran circles around her, barking as he went. And then I learned a French phrase I like very much: “La leçon est terminée.” “The lesson is over.”
When I returned Degas to Edith, he covered my face with kisses. I think he was saying goodbye. In two days they leave for Boston. Their trunks are packed and waiting in the hall and the house already feels empty. I’ll miss them so much! I wonder if Degas will remember me. Mrs. Perry says he’s sure to, because he’s so smart.
October 1, 1892
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
It gets dark early now. When I look out my window the garden is bare. Solange and I picked the last of the vegetables and put my potager to bed until spring. She showed me how to cover my strawberry plants with straw to protect their roots from the winter cold. Is that why we call them “strawberries?” I wonder. . . .
I can see Papa through the large window in the studio, painting in the last light of the day. He is finishing a landscape he began last summer that is also a portrait of Mama and me. When I look at it I can almost feel the warm sun on Nettle Island and smell its sweet meadow flowers.
Tonight we are having mushroom omelettes for supper, “omelettes aux champignons.” The mushrooms are from this morning’s lesson with Mademoiselle Bertout, and Solange and I gathered the eggs from Monsieur Seurel’s hens.
At first, I didn’t want to go inside the henhouse. It’s dark and smelly. Besides, the hens squawked fiercely and flapped their wings when they saw us. But Solange told me not to be afraid and showed me how to smooth their soft feathers. Then, ever so gently, we reached underneath the hens and pulled the warm eggs from their nests. Twelve big brown ones! Raymonde was happy to have the eggs and mushrooms. “Bien fait!,” she said. Well done!
October 30, 1892
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
I didn’t think we’d be able to have a jack o’lantern this year. I looked everywhere in the village for a pumpkin but couldn’t find one. But then I drew one on Monsieur Seurel’s market list. “Ah! Une citrouille!,” he said, and the next time he came back from Vernon there was a big fat pumpkin on the wagon seat next to him. The French may not have Halloween but they do eat pumpkin soup! Papa says that if we’re still here next year, we’ll grow our own.
Solange came over and I showed her how to cut around the stem at the top and scoop out the seeds. Then we carved a face—the scariest face ever—and put a candle in. At nightfall, we put it on the garden wall and lit the candle. People stare and don’t know what to make of it! Tonight, Papa and I went for a walk and saw another jack o’lantern glowing in the dark on a fence post in front of Solange
’s house.
The French don’t have Thanksgiving either, but we will. All the Americans in town are going over to the Baudy Hotel for a big feast. Mama says that we’ll have all the same things to eat that we have at home, except for cranberry sauce, since cranberries don’t grow in France. But I don’t mind because I don’t like cranberry sauce anyway.
November 6, 1892
This came today. Can it be? Will it be? Lizzy ici? Here in Giverny?
November 15, 1892
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
It’s been snowing all day. I could hardly wait for Mademoiselle Bertout to leave. The minute she did, I went out to the garden to make a snowman. With Monsieur Seurel’s hat and Papa’s scarf, he certainly is a well-dressed snowman. “Très chic!,” said Raymonde, Very elegant! By the time I saw Papa this afternoon, he looked like a snowman, too. He had gone down to the woods to paint. There was an umbrella over the easel, but his coat and hat were white with snow. And he had icicles in his hair! It wasn’t hard to find him—all I had to do was follow his footprints. He seemed happy to have the hot chocolate I brought him.
Last night there was a winter ice party. After dinner we bundled up and set out by moonlight across the frozen fields. The marsh looked like a fairyland. Lanterns glowed in the trees like big, frozen fruits. Everyone was there—even the Monets. We put on our skates and set out. It was very still and quiet, the only sound the swish of skates on ice.
December 24, 1892
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
I’m wide awake. Papa says Santa Claus won’t come until everyone is fast asleep. But what about “Père Noël,” as Santa is called here? Does he care if someone lies awake on Christmas Eve?
We went to the Baudy Hotel tonight for “réveillon,” a special Christmas Eve dinner. After we sang carols, Madame served stuffed capons and lots of cakes, cookies and candies. I was much too excited to eat, although I did have some of her “bûche de Noël,” a delicious Christmas cake in the shape of a log. It looked just like a log you’d see in the woods, only, the bark was chocolate, the mushrooms were meringue and the moss was ground-up pistachio nuts. I brought a slice home for Raymonde to have tomorrow. We’ve left shoes, rather than stockings, by the fireside for Père Noël to fill because that’s what people do here. And next to the shoes, a tall glass of cider and a plate of Raymonde’s almond cakes, with a little Christmas note for Père Noël.
The tree Monsieur Seurel got for us is as big and beautiful as any tree we’ve ever had. The whole house smells of pine. When we were putting the candles on we noticed a tiny bird’s nest on one of the branches. Mama says that’s good luck. At the very top is our angel with golden hair. I didn’t know Mama had brought her. She looks right at home in Giverny—just like us! Joyeux Noël! Merry Christmas!
Christmas Night 1892
Giverny
In all my life, I have never had such a fine Christmas. When we went downstairs this morning there was a tiny puppy in my shoe! He climbed out as soon as he saw us and scampered across the floor to meet me. He looks just like Degas, with a bright little monkey face and soft red fur. Wait until Edith sees him! I’ve named him Toby Keeper. Now he is asleep on the floor next to me—in the bed I made for him, a basket lined with straw. I hope he likes his new home. I know I love him!
Under the tree, there was a beautiful dress for me—red velvet! And a fur muff, as well as sketchbooks of different sizes. And violet candies, combs for my hair and a sparkling brooch!
Just as we finished opening our presents, Solange came by for almond cakes and hot cider. She brought a little toy farm her father made for me out of wood. It looks like the farms here, with tiles on the farmhouse roof, a barn and stables. There’s a farmer and his wife, too, as well as a cow, a goose, a horse, a chicken and a goat. I’ll keep it forever. Solange loved her presents, too—a pink angora scarf with mittens to match, knit by Mama. And from me, a box of those candied oranges we like so much.
A New Year’s card from Edith. On the back it says:
Bonne Année! Happy New Year!
From Edith in Boston to Charlotte in Giverny.
Hugs and kisses from Degas, too.
P.S. I miss you, Charlotte! I’ll see you in the spring. Until then,
Love Edith
January 1, 1893
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
We had sleigh races last night to celebrate New Year’s. Everyone came out to cheer us on. Even the horses were excited! They tossed their heads, jingling their bells, and pawed the snowy ground. Mama said it was the full moon that made them so spirited. It was very cold. We pulled the fur blankets right up to our chins. All at once, the starting gun went off. Papa cracked the whip and away we sped over the marsh. The wind was chilly on our cheeks, but we were snug and warm. Afterward, Papa said we had lost by no more than a nose. I could tell he was pleased by the way he patted our horse.
This year, for the first time, Mama let me stay up to see the New Year in. The party was at the Baudy Hotel. Right after midnight I got very sleepy. All the music and laughter couldn’t keep me awake. Papa brought in blankets from the sleigh and made a cozy fur bed for me on the floor. But this morning I woke up in my own bed with Toby licking my nose and the sounds of Raymonde in the kitchen. She’s making French toast for breakfast, only in France it’s not called French toast! It’s called “pain perdu,” which means lost bread. That’s because it’s made with stale bread, bread that would be tossed out or “lost.” They don’t have maple syrup here, so I have mine with Raymonde’s peach preserves. This is going to be a fine New Year. I know it.
February 12, 1893
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
It’s been raining very hard and I have new rubber boots, just like Papa’s. They come all the way up to my knees. This morning I walked with Mama to the “boulangerie” to buy bread and I splashed through every puddle along the way. When we got to the store, we saw Suzanne Butler. She’s as pretty as ever. Mama overheard her say she’s expecting a baby in June. I can’t wait to tell Edith!
February 27, 1893
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
Everybody’s cross because of the rain. Especially Papa. He’s tired of painting in the studio day after day. Mama’s angry with Toby because he had an accident upstairs. (He doesn’t like to go outside when it’s cold and wet, and I don’t blame him.) And Raymonde complains about “la pluie” every time she looks out the window and sees more rain. The road to Vernon is closed and she can’t get to market.
The flood
March 1, 1893
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
It’s still raining buckets. When Monsieur Seurel came by with the eggs this morning, he and Papa talked a long time about the river. The river water has risen so high it could overflow and flood the valley. As it is, the railroad tracks are under water, so there’s no train and no way of going anywhere. At breakfast, Mama said, “Oh, what a few days in Paris could do for me now!” But, of course, she can’t get there. Now Papa looks cross and worried.
The only good thing is that Mademoiselle Bertout can’t come and I don’t have to have my lessons. Instead, I paint in the studio (oil paints!). Papa cleared a small space for me and a place for Toby’s basket. I’m painting the garden as it looked last spring, when we first got here—before I met Edith or had a potager or set foot on Nettle Island. On my palette I have rose, ultramarine, dark green, vermilion, Naples yellow and cobalt. These are the colors I remember. Of course, Toby and I have to keep very quiet in the studio so as not to annoy Papa. On days when he doesn’t want to be disturbed at all he hangs a little sign on the studio door—“Ne pas déranger” (Do not disturb)—and I know not to go in.
March 21, 1893
Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny
Now that the rains have stopped, we are very busy. Papa is up at dawn and off to the river with his easel. He stays there all day, painting in any light the sun and clouds may bring. On one canvas, I saw a row of trees bending
over the river and their reflection in the water below. This morning he set out with ten canvases in his wheelbarrow!
Raymonde is happy again because she can get to the market in Vernon. But sometimes the market comes to her! This morning, when I was in the kitchen, a man poked his head through the window. I was frightened at first, but Raymonde seemed to know him. She bought nearly all the herbs in his basket . . . right through the window!
Last night, Mama had the artist Mariquita Gill and her mother to dinner. They’re from Boston, too, but we met them here. Raymonde made a delicious dinner. We had “soupe à l’ail” (garlic soup), then roast beef, and meringues for dessert. At dinner, Miss Gill talked a lot about a large flower garden she’s making for herself. She plans to spend the summer painting rows of white lilies, poppies and hollyhocks. I’m going to plant poppies, too, and pumpkins—enough for Halloween and soup.
Solange and I are helping Monsieur Seurel get our garden ready. And Toby, with his digging, is just as busy as everyone else. Mostly he’s good about staying away from the potager and Mama’s rose beds. But he does like to dig along the wall between the Perrys’ garden and ours. Just like Degas! I wonder what Edith is doing right now. And Lizzy!
Charlotte in Giverny Page 2