Morisot had left behind a daughter, sixteen-year-old Julie, about whom Degas felt almost paternally protective. The case of Morisot merely reiterated the complex negotiation process a woman artist was forced to undertake when pulled between love and art. It raised questions about a woman painter’s priorities – but offered no answers.
Between illness, grief and the compelling call to support Julie, Degas was again obliged to content himself with only written contact with Suzanne later in the month.
‘You see, my poor Maria, I still cannot climb the hill to see you. Zandomeneghi and Portier have passed on your news. I would like to hear it directly. Have courage and take care.’21
When Suzanne finally did resume contact with her mentor, a new, practical focus relieved the need for uncomfortable talk of recent events. Degas wanted Suzanne to try soft ground etching, a technique whereby the artist executed a pencil drawing on a sheet of paper placed over a copper or zinc plate coated with a soft sticky ground.22 The pencil pressure would lift the ground where it had passed, so that when the paper was removed, the plate would show the marks of the drawing. Next, the plate was immersed in acid, which would eat into the exposed metal. The plate could then be inked up, wiped so that only the lines would retain the ink, and finally printed from. The technique was thought to have originated in Italy in the 17th century, but it had been used frequently by late 18th and early 19th-century English landscape artists. Degas had become a master of the procedure, and other artists would sometimes come to him for advice.23
With Suzanne’s command of line, soft ground etching was a fitting progression. It was the first formal art teaching she had ever received. Suzanne produced a series of nudes on Degas’s press, several of her maid, Catherine, drying herself by the side of a tub. The shapes and contours of the human form tending to itself fascinated her. However, one of the first pieces she produced betrayed her noviciate; when she signed her name, she failed to take into account the mirrored effect of printing, and on the finished piece, her signature came out back to front.
The sheer all-consuming physicality of the technique had Suzanne thoroughly absorbed. When she first started, she pressed far harder than was necessary. It was, one critic later said of her early etching, ‘almost as if a sculptor had defined the planes’ and ‘given so much weight to each form, in particular to the nudes which, although produced on white paper, have the gloss and the hardness of marble.’24
The act of creation obliged Suzanne to immerse herself fully in the present moment. It was a welcome release, a form of therapy. But no amount of creativity could ease the loss of a very personal kind which came later in the year. That May, word reached Suzanne that her half-sister, Marie-Alix, had passed away at Ancenis near Nantes, where she lived. It was a devastating blow. Though latterly the sisters had led very separate lives, they had been marked by poignant moments of shared history. Besides Madeleine, Marie-Alix was one of Suzanne’s last surviving connections to her Limousin roots. The sisters had shared the flight to Paris and the anxiety of arriving in a strange city. Suzanne had stayed with Marie-Alix as she tried to find her feet in Nantes, and since they had lived apart, regular letters between the sisters had made the geographical distance seem less divisive.25
For Madeleine, the trauma was of a different kind. She had now outlived two of her children. It merely consolidated the importance of Suzanne and Maurice.
If ever there was a time for a change of horizon, it was now. In his quest to establish a secure family home, Paul Mousis settled on the picturesque suburban town of Pierrefitte, which lay just under 13km north of Paris. There was now plenty to recommend the idea to the rest of the family. Maurice’s performance in school might have been improving, but he was approaching that notoriously difficult age where less distraction and more discipline were critical. Madeleine would come too of course. And with Paris so close, Suzanne could still work in her studio during the week if she liked and travel the short distance to Pierrefitte at weekends and during the holidays. Madeleine was more than capable of supervising Maurice, and in the country doing so would be even easier. Meanwhile, like a true bourgeois couple, Mousis and Suzanne could enjoy time alone together in the Rue Cortot and then rejoin the other two at the weekends. Besides, country air was said to work wonders for a person’s health; Suzanne’s annual winter malady would be a thing of the past. And surely Suzanne, so liberal in her views, must occasionally feel a pang of yearning to distance herself from the virulent anti-Semitic remarks of acquaintances like Degas? Then, with all that light and air and inspiration – what more could an artist desire? The move was decided.
Compared to Paris, Pierrefitte was claustrophobically small. With a population of just under 2,500, the inhabitants largely comprised members of the farming community. It had just one tabac and no market, and was decidedly quieter than the neighbourhood the Valadons had been used to in Montmartre. But there were trains running into Gare du Nord throughout the day and at only seventeen minutes each way, it did not take long to reach the capital. Added to which, there was a good boarding school for boys, the Institution Molin, where Mousis felt sure that Maurice’s academic potential would be realised, even if he were only enrolled as a day pupil.26
Maurice would later recall the rainy September day when removal vehicles arrived in Montmartre to collect the family’s belongings and transport them to their new home. After a short but symbolically significant journey, the convoy drew up outside 18, Avenue de Saint-Denis, Pierrefitte. It was a pretty country house close to the village of Montmagny, and situated next door to a bakery.27
From the very first, Maurice was deeply unhappy. His fragile frame, pristine white beret and city accent immediately turned him into an object of ridicule among the rural community. To their ears, he sounded like a show-off. Trying to get him to speak so that they could laugh at his pronunciation became a popular pastime.28
But there was a silver lining to the dark clouds obscuring Maurice’s horizon. The Limousin sense of family solidarity had not left Suzanne, and with her sister’s passing, she felt compelled to reach out to the brood Marie-Alix had left behind. Suzanne was desperately fond of her late sister’s eldest daughter, Marie-Lucienne, and she always loved receiving her niece’s amusing letters. It was no hardship to welcome the young woman of twenty to come and stay with the Mousis-Valadon family towards the end of the year. The age gap between Maurice and his cousin was significant, but the presence of such a bright young woman in the house was a welcome distraction which made home life more interesting and justified his withdrawal from the hostile world outside.29
However, by the New Year, Marie-Lucienne had returned home, taking with her the sense of hope and energy she had temporarily injected into the household, even in her grief. By January, Madeleine and Maurice were feeling the chill of the season in a house in which, for much of the week, they rattled around alone. Madeleine was not inclined to dissuade Maurice when he decided that the time had come to write to Miguel.
Dearest Michel,
I don’t want to start the year without telling you that I love you and think of you constantly. I hope everything you could wish for comes to you quickly, but I beg you, I would so like to see you. Why don’t you come to the house? Why don’t you think of me? I am so miserable, because Maman tells me all the time that you will never come back to us and I cry as I write this to you on New Year’s Day, I am alone with Grandmother, my cousin Marie no longer living with us, and Maman has gone to work in Paris today. Maman is very unhappy and always sick, you wouldn’t recognise her, she’s aged so much, it’s Grandmother who told me to write to you. Monsieur Paul came to put me in a boarding school in Pierrefitte and since we’ve lived here he hasn’t come back and it’s been three months since we’ve seen anyone. I’m bored and unhappy and so is Grandmother. I’ve wanted to write to you for a long time but Maman didn’t want to give me your address because she said you didn’t want to see me anymore. But I begged so hard that this morning, before she left
for Paris, she gave it to me, but she didn’t want to know what I was writing to you. Dearest Michel, I’m not writing because I want you to send me New Year’s gifts. Anyway, I’m too old now and I think New Year’s presents are for sissies. I only want one thing and that is to see you soon, because it hurts me not to. If you are angry with Maman, Grandmother says that you should address your letter to her, that way I will at least have some news from you. Grandmother sends you a kiss and I love you with all my heart and hug you as hard as I can.
Your son, who would very much like to come and find you.
Grandmother is sending you a little picture of Maman when she was 14 years old that she found in some packages. She wants you to see how much it looks like me. But because Maman knows that Grandmother found the picture, send it back to us as soon as you have looked at it, so that Maman doesn’t find out that we sent it to you. I send you another kiss, dear daddy. Write to me very soon.
Maurice Utrillo
Here is the address:
Madeleine Valadon, 18 Avenue de Saint-Denis, Pierrefitte (Seine).30
The letter failed to bring the deliverance the youngster craved. And as 1896 unfolded, his experience at his new school merely compounded his misery.
The Institution Molin (‘Pension Pluminard’, he nicknamed it) was, even Maurice had to concede, ‘a superb building with a large orchard and lawn, a vast playing field and a playground of adequate proportions’. It was situated in the Rue de Paris and had 45 boys at the time the Valadon-Mousis family moved to Pierrefitte.
The headmaster welcomed Maurice warmly, and at first glance his fellow pupils, all dressed in the same uniform as him, seemed affable enough. But once the bell rang to announce break time, those hopeful first impressions evaporated. Maurice was a quiet, introspective child, and his reluctance to participate in the other boys’ physically boisterous games immediately signalled his difference. He was picked on, jostled, teased and goaded, and his attempts to buy friends with sweets failed miserably. The weakling city boy was branded a dope and merciless teasing became a regular part of his daily routine.31
There seemed little chance of Maurice’s bleak country existence changing, either. That year, Suzanne reconciled herself to the idea of forming a tie with a man, and Mousis’s parents finally agreed to approve the match. The union was announced and the banns read on 26 July and 2 August. Then at midday on 5 August 1896, Mousis’s family demonstrated their ultimate consent, as they stood in the town hall of the 18th arrondissement to witness Paul Mousis’s marriage to Marie-Clémentine Valadon. The Mousis family’s approval was dependent on things being done properly and, accordingly, Mousis gave his address as 13, Rue de Clignancourt, the family home, while Suzanne gave hers as 2, Rue Cortot. She also took two years off her age, giving her year of birth as 1867. Had it been true, Suzanne would only have been sixteen when she gave birth to Maurice, and he would represent not the error of an adult woman who should have known better, but an accident which had befallen a girl, a no doubt innocent minor.32
But on one point, Suzanne refused to conform to expectation. Less than eighteen months earlier, Berthe Morisot’s death certificate had declared her to have ‘no profession’.33 Suzanne’s wedding certificate described her proudly as an ‘artist’.
Suzanne’s marriage to Paul Mousis marked the start of a new chapter in her life. She was now the wife of a bourgeois gentleman, the mistress of a fine country house, whose material comfort was guaranteed. She had two maids, Catherine and another help named Louise, who ensured that her domestic surroundings were to her taste, and who obligingly served as models whenever Mme Valadon-Mousis (as Degas delighted in calling her) felt inspired to draw them.
That year, Paul Mousis also rented his wife a new studio with living accommodation at 10–12, Rue Cortot, the same street as her previous atelier. The bright, airy studio was located in a grand 17th-century building which had once been home to the actor ‘Rosimonde’ from Molière’s troupe. The building had since been divided into ateliers. Indeed, Renoir had rented two rooms there in the mid-1870s in the left wing of the old stables, where he worked on a number of canvases, not least his important Ball at the Moulin de la Galette (1876).34 Perched high above Montmartre, spectacular views were just a few steps away, and a leafy orchard garden provided a tranquil rural idyll in the heart of the city. Paul Mousis even bought Suzanne her own tilbury and mule so that she could travel between the studio and Pierrefitte whenever she desired. The sound of hooves and cartwheels rattling over the cobbles alerted people to her arrival and departure, and heads would turn as the tiny figure of Suzanne sped up or down the hill clasping the reins, her hair windswept and her cape flowing out behind her.35
Suzanne loved animals, and now that she had two stable homes, she could at last surround herself with pets. She kept five wolfhounds, which she adored, as well as goats and even, for a time, a deer. It satisfied a deep yearning for the country – until she fully assimilated the practical demands of keeping such an agile, unhousetrained creature in a town and reluctantly conceded to give it to a zoo.
She also now had a pretty cottage garden to dig, plant and study. All at once, she was consumed by the earthy scent of freshly dug flowerbeds, the elation as fresh green shoots pushed through, the grateful jubilation at the smell of rain on sun-parched soil. Nature fulfilled her at a deep, spiritual level. ‘Nature has a total hold of me,’ she enthused. ‘The trees, the sky, the water and living beings charm me passionately, deeply.’36
With a home of her own and domestic worries lifted, Suzanne also discovered previously unexplored channels for her creativity. Fallen timber and abundant woodland turned her mind to carpentry. With practice, she became handy with a saw and hammer, a chisel and a plane, and produced rugged carved seats and other furniture in oak. She was complimented on several pieces and certain of the neighbours even asked if they might purchase an item.37
Paul Mousis made every effort to ensure that his new wife was blissfully happy. Indeed, surrounded by animals and with a garden to tend, Suzanne edged closer to that sense of equilibrium that she always told people she craved. Peace of mind, that quality which had proved so elusive, at last seemed within reach. Suzanne began to work prolifically, creating studies of nudes and a poignant oil painting, Grandmother and Little Rosalie (1896).
But if her husband had lifted the pressure of money worries and the need to fret over domestic comfort, Suzanne was expected to fulfil her part of the tacit, bourgeois bargain. When it was first performed in Europe in 1877, Henrik Ibsen’s play A Doll’s House caused a public outrage by ending with a wife rejecting her role as the pretty, obedient actress on her husband’s domestic stage. At the turn of the century, the angel of the hearth was still held as the ideal figure of womanhood, and bourgeois society proved themselves reverent disciples. Accordingly, a model bourgeois wife was considered personally responsible for her husband’s contentment. She was expected to manage the household efficiently, oversee the servants, entertain her husband’s guests, speak intelligently, charm visitors and present herself immaculately. The pressure on women was immense. The more highly regarded a man was, socially and professionally, the more was expected of his wife. Paul Mousis did not remain in the same job throughout his career, and people remembered him working variously for Bel et Sainbénat; the fabric company A. Founeude et Cie; and later, for the Banque de France.38 But at that level, the roles blended indistinguishably into one another and each new group of colleagues or clients Suzanne was expected to impress set another challenge in her path. It demanded that she rally herself whether she felt like it or not, speak politely and smile sweetly. She had become a sociable creature, but on her own terms. And she always spoke her mind. The task now demanded of her drew her into unfamiliar territory – but it was a role, and Suzanne excelled at playing roles.
However, in addition to her wifely duties, Suzanne had another concern: Maurice. His school grades were not especially poor, but his behaviour was alarming his teachers. His unpredi
ctable temper would transform him from a timid and self-contained child to a wild and furious feral creature in a moment. He seemed to have no close friends and took little interest in the pastimes boys his age usually enjoyed. Suzanne was his idol. He pined for her when she left, worshipped her when she returned and pleased her in what he had learned to be the best way to win her attention: posing.
It was hoped that he would respond favourably to a move to the Collège Rollin in Paris at the end of 1897, when he was due to start 5ème (the year group for twelve- to thirteen-year-olds). And indeed, for a time it did seem to have eased the problem. Although he declared the building ‘austere’, Maurice appeared to enjoy his train ride back to Paris, and his grades were good.39 But before long, bad behaviour and truanting marred what had been a promising start. Although it was hard to pinpoint what, something was seriously amiss.
The weight of marital and parental responsibilities started to take its toll. Suzanne’s artistic output dried to a trickle.
Nonetheless, with Suzanne’s extant work as ammunition, Degas continued his crusade to promote her. Her work was now regular currency with dealers like Vollard and Portier.40
Suzanne was determined that her art should be consumed and evaluated for what it was, and not through the distorting lens of gender. But for a financially disadvantaged female painter like herself, it was, ironically, only through marriage to a man like Paul Mousis that she could enjoy the luxury of painting full-time and developing her art free of monetary concerns. Having witnessed Suzanne’s early struggles, and seen the very different opportunities afforded to Berthe Morisot and Mary Cassatt as a consequence of inherited wealth and status, Degas understood more than most men of his class what a blessing Suzanne’s marriage was.
Degas wrote to Suzanne after her wedding, following another of her seasonal afflictions. ‘I wish to remind you that once you are feeling better, you must – since your livelihood is now assured – think only of working, of using the singular talent that I am proud to see in you, those wicked drawings that I want to see again. You should have more pride.’41
Renoir's Dancer Page 18