Rodin's Lover
Page 33
Cane in hand, he climbed into a hackney and rode across town to the Quai de Bourbon. Camille’s apartment on the bottom floor sat dark and lifeless. Spring rain fell steadily, wetting his hair and coat. He sucked in a breath of damp air, gathered his courage, and peered inside. Heaps of garbage and puddles of water, wine bottles, and smashed maquettes filled the apartment. He could imagine her there, bent over a piece, oblivious to the rest of the world. She would look up from time to time, say something funny and irreverent, then kiss him with force before ignoring him completely again. A lump lodged in his throat.
Auguste remained there, clutching her windowsill, until nightfall.
When the sky blackened, the ravens in the courtyard dispersed, and his coat was soaked through, Auguste turned to go. Later, he arrived home in Meudon and changed into his chemise. Rose had fallen asleep hours earlier. He lit a lamp and climbed the stairs to his office. His brave, féroce amie had gnashed her teeth at convention. She had been an outlaw as he had, creating only for herself. And when he had fallen into the trap of pleasing others, she had set him on track once more.
The golden glow of lamplight bathed his paper. He dipped a steel-tip pen into its inkwell and paused. Was she truly mad, or too impassioned to contain her emotions? He did not know. Didn’t they all possess some degree of madness? He, for his work—and for her. They all toiled in their humanity, and for what? Love did not conquer all; it only made life more bearable for a short time before it consumed its victims. They had both striven to capture love’s essence in marble and clay, to shape it and perfect it.
To leave a mark of beauty on the soul of humanity.
Black ink seeped into the paper as Auguste wrote a letter:
Ma Chère Camille,
Where do I begin? My heart is crowded with words unspoken and regret. I have failed you. I could not leave Rose—I did not have the strength. She is my family, a confidant, and yes, a woman I have loved. I do not desert those in my heart, as I have not deserted you. I will take care of you, forever, in any way I can. I always have.
I wrote to Paul to discuss your collection of works. Upon my death, my art will be bequeathed to the French state and will reside at the Hôtel Biron, a property I hope to make my museum. It is spacious and beautiful—a place befitting for us. I say us, because, you see, I have requested that rooms be reserved for your work as well, for all to admire. You will be known as I have known you, loved as I have loved you, your Eternal Idol. We will reside, side by side, and never be parted. I will fulfill that promise to you in death, as you deserved all along.
This is my confession and my plea for your forgiveness.
I will never stop loving you.
Yours,
Auguste
When he finished, he hobbled across the room and tossed the letter on the fire. He watched as the flames devoured it. Paul would help him gather what had not been destroyed. Her brother would do this for her—he must. And the eternal struggle of the artist, of one great love, would never be forgotten. His eyes blurred with age and unshed tears.
Auguste sat at his desk once more and opened his sketchbook.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Camille Claudel’s career reached its apex in the first years after her final split with Auguste Rodin. Her hard work, as well as Rodin’s tutelage, had begun to pay off, and she exhibited her work somewhat regularly in Paris. In an effort to delineate her vision from her lover-teacher’s, Camille ventured in a new direction, experimenting with materials and ideas yet unexplored by either of the pair. If Rodin produced grand-scale works in the nude, she created smaller pieces of intimate scenes, figures clothed; if he worked with soft marble, she utilized the hardest jade and onyx, demonstrating her immeasurable talent for crafting with difficult materials.
During this time, Camille’s interest in Japan blossomed, along with a fascination with Art Nouveau—a style emphasizing curved lines and natural scenes. Her most notable works of this period include The Age of Maturity, The Wave, and The Gossips, among others.
Though she battled progressive mental illness, Camille continued to work and exhibit until 1905. As promised, her brother, Paul, donated her pieces to the Musée Rodin, but not without repeated prompts from Rodin himself and his critic friend Mathias Morhardt. Today, the largest collection of her works resides in the museum at the Hôtel Biron in Paris.
Much can be debated about the life of Camille Claudel. Did her style derive from Rodin’s experience and artistic lens? Certainly, as her style also evolved from her own inspirations and those of her first art tutor, Alfred Boucher. But Camille influenced Rodin a great deal as well, as shown in his “beautiful period,” between 1883 and 1898, the dates coinciding with their relationship. In this book, I demonstrate this co-influence.
Another question arises about the date of Camille’s final break from Rodin. While some sources cite 1893 as their separation, others favor 1898, the date of Camille’s last letter to Rodin, in which she praises his Monument à Balzac, the controversial piece entwined with the Dreyfus affair. Since relationship lines blur and the lovers had such a tumultuous affair, I portrayed their final days together in the later year.
In addition, some histories assert Camille’s mental diagnosis to be dementia; others, schizophrenia. The rash behaviors and violent outbursts that intensified for Camille around age eighteen and progressed through adulthood, as well as the crippling isolation and paranoia later in her life, are characteristic of schizophrenia, as are the variable waves of its symptoms. Whether or not Camille heard voices is up for discussion, but it is one of the most common symptoms of the illness. I chose to use these voices to highlight the inner workings of her mind and the ways in which she battled not only the male-dominated art world, but herself.
Fictionalized elements in the story include policeman Alphonse Bertillion’s courtship of Camille, though he was, in fact, the earliest known criminologist. While there is a historical account of Rose Beuret shooting at Camille, the policeman on the scene was not Bertillion. Other fictional elements involve Camille’s tutors Monsieur Colin and Alfred Boucher, who both visited her originally in the town of Nogent-sur-Seine, rather than at the Claudels’ summer home in Villeneuve. I also invented Jules Dalou’s flirtation with Camille, of which there is no record; and his attending Victor Hugo’s birthday celebration in 1883, though he attended a fete in 1885. Finally, Camille’s works Young Girl with a Sheaf and Head of a Slave were claimed by Rodin and labeled Galatée and Tête de Rieur three years after Camille had designed her own, as illustrated in the novel, but neither piece was exhibited at the 1889 Exposition Universelle.
Though all letters and reviews have been fabricated, they are based upon authentic letters and journal reviews. The only exception is one in which Rodin quotes reviewer Jules Claretie from Le Temps, May 5, 1898, regarding his Monument à Balzac, which is, indeed, authentic.
For more information about Camille Claudel’s life and times, visit my website at www.HeatherWebb.net.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There aren’t enough words in the English language to express my gratitude to Michelle Brower, the kind of agent writers dream of. And to the entire team at Plume, especially my lovely editor Denise Roy and my publicist, Mary Pomponio—I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Also, there’s no replacing a great copy editor, so thank you, Kym Surridge.
While I am lost in the rabbit hole of research, certain questions arise that demand the input of experts. For Rodin’s Lover, I owe special thanks to Chris Troup, Kerry Schafer, and Andrea Catalano—authorities and friends.
I’d like to thank early readers and dear friends Susan Spann, Julianne Douglas, Kris Waldherr, Chris Troup, and L. J. Cohen for all of their input and cheerleading. I’m not sure where I would be without you.
To my rockin’ critique group, the SFWG, for their continued support and love: Amanda Orr, Janet B. Taylor, Marci Jefferson, Candie Campbell, DeAnn Smith,
and Arabella Stokes. Writing in a bubble without friends just isn’t as much fun.
I owe much gratitude to my former student-turned-artist, and a brilliant one at that, Joshua DeLillo, for beautiful renditions of Camille’s pieces: L’Aurore, La Valse, and La Vague. I hope to view your works in a museum one day, Joshua.
Lastly, my beloved family and friends—you inspire me with your love, courage, and wisdom daily. You make this life, and this passion of mine, an incredible experience.
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