Estelle

by Linda Stewart Henley

  “Let me think. Yes, I was seeing him when we talked about that. . . .” She hesitated. “Oh, I guess I know where you’re going with this: perhaps he was responsible for the vandalism. Well, it’s possible. He sometimes got violent when he used drugs.”

  Anne inhaled deeply. “I’d love to know who the culprit is. What did your boyfriend look like?”

  “Darker skin than mine, and muscular.”

  “Did he have a scar on his face?”

  “Yes. From an old fight. On his cheek. Why do you ask?”

  “My neighbor saw a man on the night of the vandalism at the house who fits that description. Is he around?”

  “No. He died of an overdose two months ago.”

  “Oh. Were you still seeing him?”

  “No. We had broken up.”

  Stella’s shoulders slumped. She stared down at the table.

  “I’m sorry,” Anne said.

  The waiter came to take their order.

  “We need more time, please,” Anne said. “Actually, I’m not hungry.”

  “Me neither,” Stella said. “We’ve both had our problems, I guess.”

  “People need to talk honestly if they’re going to be true friends,” Anne said.

  “You’re right. I’ll admit I didn’t tell you much about myself before, but I wanted you to like me, to feel we were sisters.”

  “Same with me. And I do like you. We need to get to know one another better, that’s all.”

  Stella met Anne’s eyes. “I hope that we will be friends and love each other as sisters, but I’ve decided I can’t move into the house.”

  Anne met her gaze. “I’ve come to the same conclusion. Our lives are too different. Maybe someday . . . but it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, as you’ve said.”

  “Right. I’d like to be your friend, sister Anne.”

  “And you will be. This is a good beginning.”

  They grasped hands across the table and smiled at one another.

  Chapter 36

  June 1971

  Wearing her suit, Anne walked up to the podium at the Isaac Delgado Museum of Art in New Orleans. She had been invited to talk to the curators about her painting, her great-great-grandfather Philippe’s portrait of her great-great-grandmother Sophie Fontenot. The museum planned to exhibit it, and the curators wanted to know the story behind it. Anne had invited her father to the presentation. The director introduced her as an intern who had completed a year’s work at the museum and who had restored and now lived in her Creole ancestors’ house on Esplanade Avenue. Anne held up Marguerite’s diary.

  “First, I’d like to say that if I hadn’t discovered this journal in my attic, stories about Philippe and Sophie Fontenot would have disappeared into thin air, along with information about my family’s connection with Edgar Degas. He stayed a few houses away when he visited in 1872 and ’73, and the two families established a friendship. As most of you know, Degas had a special fondness for his sister-in-law Estelle, whose portrait hangs in the museum. She influenced his career, and if Degas hadn’t painted her and other family members while in New Orleans, they would have been lost to us as well, and he might never have achieved the fame that A Cotton Office afforded him.”

  She went on to summarize other information she had learned from the journal. Enthusiastic applause followed her presentation, and she answered the audience’s questions. A man asked about her plans for the future.

  “I’ll stay on for another year at the museum, but with reduced hours. I’ll be working with Peter Knight on the upcoming Degas exhibit. The new schedule will allow me time to complete paintings of buildings that are being demolished and of inhabitants who are being displaced because of the urban renewal projects in the city. I’ve received a few commissions for this work and hope for more.”

  Mary Wharton spoke up.

  “Excuse me, but isn’t that a bit hypocritical, to create paintings to raise consciousness about the lack of public housing when you’re obviously living in luxurious accommodations, yourself?”

  Anne took a sip of water, cleared her throat and composed herself. She spoke out in a clear voice. “I hoped someone would ask me that question. I’ve decided that destroying beautiful houses with historic value doesn’t improve anything. It’s like, uh, throwing the baby out with the bathwater, to use a trite expression.” She paused. “Please excuse that one—my best friend has just had a baby. Let me rephrase. I think both are important: preserving great buildings of artistic value and keeping less affluent historical neighborhoods intact as well. Community and culture are shaped by many levels of prosperity.”

  She caught Mary’s eye and observed a flicker of a smile.

  After she had answered a few more questions, the audience applauded, and she stepped down from the podium. Her father rushed to meet her.

  “A fine presentation. I’m proud of you,” he said, giving her a hug.

  “Thanks, Dad. I think it went well.”

  “Let me treat you to a meal to celebrate. I’d guess you might miss those good dinners these days. At least, I hope you miss the food more than . . . uh, that young man of yours.”

  “Sam, you mean. Don’t worry. I’m glad he’s gone. Disappeared, probably undercover. I’m not sitting home much these days, and I have occasional invitations for meals.”

  “I must say, I’m relieved to hear this,” François said. “Now, where shall we go?”

  They decided on Antoine’s, one of François’s favorite restaurants.

  After dinner, they returned to Anne’s house. They mounted the freshly painted steps of her front porch and entered the house. Several of her mother’s paintings hung in the hallway beside two of her own cemetery paintings.

  “It’s really wonderful, everything that you’ve done here,” François said approvingly, as he glanced around. “You’ve managed to create a beautiful home out of that mangled old dwelling. I love the inviting warmth. Must be the color of the walls.”

  She smiled with satisfaction. “I’m glad you like it. Come and stay whenever you want. I’ll show you to your room.”

  They climbed the stairs to the second floor. The bathroom door stood open, the new fixtures gleaming white. Anne smiled to herself with a deep sense of pleasure that the work had recreated such a lovely home, one worthy of her ancestors’ early investment.

  “I’ll turn in now, if you don’t mind. It’s been a long day,” François said.

  She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “See you in the morning,” she said.

  Grateful for a few minutes to herself, she poured a glass of iced tea. Relaxing in the living room in a comfortable armchair, she opened Marguerite’s journal and re-read the last entry, written a few days before Degas had left New Orleans for good.

  March 10, 1873

  I took up Edgar’s notebook again today. There are sketches of me, the De Gas family, ballerinas, and horses, and notes about us all. Estelle appears in several places in different poses. I like her so much. She’s kind and embraces life, despite her blindness. Edgar said she has encouraged him to paint more than anyone. I know he’ll be famous one day.

  He told me nothing is more important to him than his art, not even me. I couldn’t help crying when he said that; I hoped he might propose marriage. When he saw how upset I was, he gave me the notebook, and said I can keep it in memory of him. I prefer his company to all the young men I’ve met, even though Maman says he’s too old for me. Why did he say I should keep his notebook “in memory of him”? Is he planning to leave soon? Oh, I hope not.

  Anne heaved a sigh as she closed the journal. Poor Marguerite. Had she continued to paint, only to become another artist lost in the thrust of time? Well, at least she, Anne, would keep her memory alive. Marguerite had been resolute, never wavering in her interest in Degas.

  Perhaps Homer had been right about the forlornness of empty houses. No ghosts had appeared since Anne had moved in, and probably wouldn’t, now that she understood the truths about some of her
more troubled ancestors.

  Remembering the portrait of Estelle, she bowed her head. Estelle had left a poignant memory, and she could almost hear her strong voice echoing from the walls urging courage, kindness, and hope.

  She stood up, ambled to the window and lifted the sash. Cool breezes fanned her face, and the honey aroma of magnolia filled her with the familiar longing for understanding. Beyond the garden she could see twisted live oak branches covered with Spanish moss swaying in the wind, ghostly gray objects, blending with green and blue shadows. Too bad Degas had never painted those.

  Or had he?

  Epilogue

  This is a work of historical fiction. The Degas and Musson characters existed in real life, but Anne Gautier and her friends, associates, and relatives, including the Fontenots, and Marguerite’s journal, are entirely fictitious. Summarized below are some of the facts about the Degas–Musson family members, as well as some true events included in the story and after Edgar Degas’s return to Paris in March 1873.

  Degas’s masterpiece A Cotton Office in New Orleans was shown at the second Impressionist Exhibition in Paris in 1876. Highly praised, it was sold to the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Pau, France in 1878. Gail Feigenbaum, Curator of European Painting and coauthor of the book, Degas and New Orleans: A French Impressionist in America, that was prepared to accompany the exhibit of Degas paintings at the New Orleans Museum of Art in 1999, stated, “He had not painted New Orleans. With A Cotton Office, he had redeemed his experience: He had painted America.”1

  Degas kept notebooks of sketches and his comments throughout his life, many of which still exist in collections. No notebook has ever been found containing sketches of New Orleans or of the approximately two dozen paintings started or completed there.

  Edgar Degas was the only French Impressionist painter to work in America. Many scholars believe that the five months in New Orleans represented a turning point in his life and art. Upon his return to Paris he eased the family’s financial burdens by selling some paintings. He had planned to stay in New Orleans for only two months, but he missed his train, for unknown reasons, and stayed on. It is possible that, had he left earlier, there would have been no Cotton Office painting.2 Later in 1873, Degas’s father died, his estate greatly in debt. Degas never married, and kept most of the paintings of his New Orleans family in his studio for the rest of his life. He died in Paris in 1917 at age eighty-three, almost blind.

  The family’s cotton business, the firm of Musson, Prestidge, and Company, declared bankruptcy on February 1, 1873.

  Degas’s painting of Estelle, Portrait of Mme. René De Gas, née Estelle Musson, 1872–3, was purchased in 1964 by the New Orleans Museum of Art by means of the “Bringing Estelle Home” fundraising campaign. On the day before the museum’s option to buy it was due to expire, a last-minute donation was made, and the museum acquired the painting. It remains in the museum’s collection today.

  Estelle De Gas, née Musson, married René De Gas, her second husband, in 1869. They had five children together (two were born after Degas left New Orleans). René abandoned her and the children in 1878. The Musson family moved from the house on Esplanade Avenue that year, and lived temporarily in a house in the French Quarter. Meanwhile, Estelle’s cousin James Freret built a house for her at 125 Esplanade Avenue, and she and Désirée lived there until Désirée’s death. Estelle lost vision in her left eye in 1868 and her right eye in 1875. She was known for her spirit, kindness and fortitude, and died in 1909 at age sixty-six.

  René De Gas left Estelle and their children in 1878, five years after Edgar’s visit to New Orleans, and eloped with America Durrive Olivier. They married bigamously in Cleveland, Ohio, soon afterward. After obtaining a divorce and marrying legally in 1879, René moved with his wife to Paris. They had three children together. René was unreliable in his childcare payments to Estelle, and never repaid the debts he owed to the bankrupt cotton business. The abandonment caused a rift in the family, particularly between René and the Musson family and between René and Edgar. Many years later, the brothers reconciled, and Edgar left René half his estate. René died in 1921 at age seventy-six.

  Achille De Gas caused a scandal when he returned to Paris and wounded the husband of his former mistress. He spent a month in prison. Five years later he married a woman from New Orleans. He died in 1893 at age fifty-five.

  Matilde Bell, née Musson, and six-year-old Jeanne De Gas, Estelle and René’s third child and Degas’s godchild, died of yellow fever in 1878.

  Jo Balfour, Estelle’s daughter from her first marriage, died in 1881 at age eighteen of scarlet fever. Pierre De Gas, Estelle and René’s oldest son, died the same year at age eleven, also of scarlet fever.

  Désirée Musson never married, and died in 1902 at age sixty-four. She was devoted to her family and assisted her father when he became deranged at the end of his life.

  Michel Musson made poor investments in Confederate bonds, which hastened the demise of his cotton business in 1873. He was furious with René for leaving Estelle and their five children, whom he legally adopted, changing their names to Musson. He became mentally unstable at the end of his life, and died in 1885 at age seventy-one.

  A word about New Orleans

  During the 1970s, the city was engaged in a number of urban renewal projects. Large areas of the Tremé district and other low-income neighborhoods had been or were in the process of being demolished. Esplanade Avenue had deteriorated; crime-ridden and dangerous, it was no longer considered a safe area, and most of the fine Creole houses built in the 1850s had fallen into disrepair. A number of preservation groups fought to save historic buildings in several areas of the city, and some were successful. Now, in 2020, many houses have been renovated, despite the destruction of Hurricane Katrina in 2005. Anne’s house is a composite of several of these restored houses and does not exist; however, 2306 Esplanade, the former Musson residence, still stands. Smaller than the original estate, part of the old mansion has been preserved, and it is now a bed and breakfast.

  Afterword

  Although this is a work of historical fiction, I have attempted to portray Degas’s character as accurately as possible during that period of his life. He acquired a reputation for being surly, difficult, and a misogynist, though witty and capable of generosity. But while in New Orleans, he wrote to friends in Paris of his interest in marriage and children. Gail Feigenbaum in her essay “Edgar Degas, Almost a Son of Louisiana,” states, “Edgar was immediately at ease with his Louisiana relatives. They brought out a gentler side of his personality in contrast to the sharpness remarked on by many of his familiars.”3

  The Notes section provides references for many actual quotes that are scattered throughout the story. I hope the novel captures something of the spirit of the era and that I have done justice to the painter and his family at a remarkable time, both in his life and in the city of New Orleans in 1872–73. I believe it’s a story worth telling.

  A list at the end of the book provides details about the paintings referred to in the story that Degas started or completed during his time in New Orleans. He is thought to have painted about two dozen there. I tried to weave references to the paintings into the tale and to write scenes describing several of them. I regret that we are unable to publish all the images here, but they may be found online or in art books. All of them appear in the New Orleans Museum of Art’s publication Degas and New Orleans: A French Impressionist in America.4

  Notes

  Throughout the notes section, where translations from the French are used, the exact words may differ from the source. Translations reprinted from Degas’s letters reprinted by Marcel Guerin are by Marguerite Kay.

  Frontispiece

  Genealogical Chart: De Gas–Musson Family in New Orleans/Fontenot Family.

  Modified version of chart. In Feigenbaum, Gail, and Jean Sutherland Boggs, 1999. Degas in New Orleans: A French Impressionist in America by James B. Byrnes and Victoria Cooke, Appendix I, p. 277. The N
ew Orleans Museum of Art.

  Chapter 2

  “great artiste.” The actual words used mockingly by René appear in a letter he wrote to Estelle on July 17, 1872: “Prepare a fitting reception for the Grrrande Artiste.” Quoted by Feigenbaum, Degas in New Orleans: A French Impressionist in America, p. 12.

  Creoles are sometimes defined as descendants of colonial New Orleanians.

  Chapter 4

  “what a good thing family is.” From a letter written by Degas to Désiré Dihau on November 11, 1872. In Guerin, Marcel, ed. 1947. Degas Letters.

  “turkey buzzard.” René wrote to Estelle on July 12, 1872, “Edgar . . . is crazy to learn to pronounce English words . . . he has been repeating turkey buzzard for a whole week.” Quoted by Benfey, Chris, in Feigenbaum, Degas in New Orleans: A French Impressionist in America, p. 25.

  “a good woman, a few children of my own, is that excessive?” From a letter written by Degas to Henri Rouart on December 5, 1872. In Guerin, Degas Letters.

  Chapter 8

  “I prefer to paint what is familiar.” Degas wrote, “one loves and gives art only to which one is accustomed.” From a letter written to Henri Rouart on December 5, 1872. In Guerin, Degas Letters.

  Chapter 10

  “everything here attracts me,” Degas wrote to Lorenz Froehlich. He also described his pleasure at seeing white children in black arms. From a letter dated November 27, 1872. In Guerin, Degas Letters.

  “I promised Estelle I would paint the family, and I will content myself with that.” Degas wrote to Rouart on December 5th, “A few family portraits will be the sum total of my efforts, I was unable to avoid that and assuredly would not wish to complain if it were less difficult and if the models less restless. Oh well, it will be a journey I have done and very little else.” In Guerin, Degas Letters.