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EIGHTEEN

édouard’s portrait of her, Berthe Morisot with a Bouquet of Violets , is not only positioned by itself on a wall but attracts much attention, most of it negative.

A few critics praise his tight brushwork, but more deride his novel approach to portraiture, which delves too deeply into the inner life of his subject.

And there are many complaints that his depiction of her is too modern, her straightforward confrontation with the viewer a challenge to the traditional ideals of femininity France holds so dear.

As Berthe feared, this bleeds into aspersions on her character, accusations that she’s shameless and unseemly, fomenting speculation about possible impropriety between model and artist. As édouard is well-known for taking his models as mistresses, the same is assumed of Berthe.

To further verify that she is indeed Manet’s paramour, the reviewers point to the fact that no woman of her class would dare stare that unswervingly at a man if she were not.

There are crude caricatures in the newspapers, mocking édouard as a Lothario and Berthe as a fallen woman.

After the Salon’s opening day, Berthe doesn’t return, humiliated by her own artistic failure and the insults to her honor.

Cornélie is furious at the derision, and she declares to their circle that Bouquet of Violets is a masterpiece that is being cruelly misjudged by those who only look backward rather than forward.

And, as she was present during all the sittings, she can attest that Berthe did nothing indecorous, proclaiming the shame should fall on those who speak ill of an innocent girl who posed as a favor to a family friend.

Antoinette Manet expresses the same sentiments, and the influence of the two women quiets the rumors but does not silence them.

Hurt and humiliated, Berthe is grateful for these vocal protestations in her defense but fears that, as Maman has always said, Degas too, édouard will be responsible for destroying her.

And perhaps he already has. When she thanks her mother for standing by her, she also apologizes for not aways appreciating Cornélie, and promises she will do better to value her kindnesses in the future.

Maman is delighted to hear this, and the two begin to argue less frequently.

Antoinette’s next soiree is more crowded than ever, now that the war is two years past and Paris is reigniting its social life with vigor.

Berthe is in a fit, as édouard, unlike their mothers, has said nothing to counter the attacks on her.

She finds him in lively conversation in the parlor, more vibrant than ever, intoxicated by the notice he’s garnering.

When he sees her, he flashes an enormous smile, seemingly unaware of her mortification and distress.

Or perhaps he’s just unaware, as she believes most men are, of anything beyond himself.

She catches his eye and sternly nods toward an empty corner of the room.

He joins her there after a few more minutes of regaling his admirers, maintaining a respectful distance between them. Under cover of the raucous noise of the crowd, he says, “Suzanne is in Switzerland with Léon, visiting her family. If only you and I were able to spend the long night together.”

She glares at him, not about to allow his flirtatiousness to dissuade her. Her standing in society is at stake, as is their happiness. “Are you aware of what is being said about me? About us?”

He laughs. “You cannot listen to the chattering hordes. They know not of what they speak.”

“Unfortunately, they know exactly of what they speak,” she snaps. “And although you may think this aggrandizes your reputation, it is destroying mine.”

édouard looks as if he’s been slapped. “It’s all idle speculation, my darling, I promise you. No one takes these rumblings seriously.”

“I take them seriously.”

“I wish there was something I could do, but I am sure that in a week there will be a far greater scandal that will surely eclipse this nonsense. And then it will all be forgotten.”

“There is something you can do,” she retorts, maddened by his flippancy.

He glances around. “Anything,” he whispers. “You know I will do anything for you.”

“If that’s true, then you must do what you have promised. You must tell our families, our friends, and our colleagues that we are in love and plan to marry.”

He nods slowly, looking off into the distance. “Suzanne will return by the end of the month. I will speak to her then.”

Berthe is suffused with happiness, amazed that something so hurtful has been transformed into something so splendid.

He will declare their love, and their future together will be assured.

But before she can respond to édouard, Degas hooks his arm through hers.

“Come,” he says. “There is someone you must meet.” He drags her into the dining room, where there is no one for her to meet.

She turns to him with a smile that’s more telling than she knows it should be, but she cannot contain her exhilaration. “Soon your silly tricks will be quite unnecessary, Edgar.”

“I fear, my dearest Berthe, that this will not be so.”

THE SALON’S RESPONSE to their group’s work is in stark contrast to the sales the Durand-Ruel Gallery in London is generating for their “sloppy” paintings.

Claude Monet, in particular, is doing quite well, and Berthe and Degas are pleased with how many of their pictures have been purchased by collectors, and how many others the gallerist has bought or consigned.

Not only is Durand-Ruel optimistic about the future of what he refers to as “your movement,” but the English reviewers hold more approval than derogation, although some of their criticisms mirror what is being said in Paris.

This praise, however muted, makes the Salon’s rebuff all that much more difficult to abide.

To be spurned in their home country, misunderstood and belittled by their own.

Monet is the first one to bluntly voice their dilemma.

The Salon’s rejections were stinging, but he’s further enraged by the appointment of the Salon’s new director, a man who has just coordinated a show at the école des Beaux-Arts exhibiting only works by the old masters.

“There is no future for us at the Salon,” he tells Berthe, Renoir, and Pissarro at the Morisots’ soiree the week after the director’s selection.

“If we are to go anywhere, we must get there by ourselves.”

“At least we have Durand-Ruel,” Berthe points out.

Renoir nods. “Why can’t we continue to pursue both?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Auguste, we cannot continue with both,” Monet says, “as the Salon will not have us. And the new director will make this even more so.” He purses his lips.

“Berthe is correct that we have Durand-Ruel, and now is the time to take advantage of the success he has brought us.”

“So you’re back to reviving the idea that we put on our own exhibition?” Pissarro asks, his voice betraying neither encouragement nor derision.

édouard steps up to them. “Not that failed plan again, Claude. If you ever did manage to put such a rash enterprise together and actually exhibited, the Salon would take it as an affront and never again consider anything you submit.”

“Perhaps we don’t care,” Monet retorts.

“Of course you care. You might have been rejected this year, but this doesn’t mitigate the Salon’s power. Nor the possibility that next year the jury’s decisions will be different.”

Although Berthe doesn’t wish to disagree with édouard, his view is restricted by his own achievements at the Salon and his desire for the trappings of traditional success.

“I don’t believe the decisions will change,” she tells him.

“Everything they do is based on the premise of upholding French traditions and sustaining the past. How will this ever include us?”

“Where else do the critics go to see art?” édouard demands. “The dealers and collectors? To alienate the Salon with an alternative exhibition is suicide.”

“Don’t you understand, édouard?” Berthe asks him. “As far as the Salon is concerned, we’re already dead.”

SUZANNE RETURNED FROM Switzerland over a month ago, and as far as Berthe is aware, édouard has said nothing to his wife about their situation. Ever since the insulting reaction to Berthe Morisot with a Bouquet of Violets , her mother has kept an even closer eye on Berthe and édouard.

No more sniffles or luncheons to interfere with her scrutiny of the painting sessions, whether they are alone or with the bande.

No more walks with Antoinette or naps over a closed book.

Cornélie has even taken to interrogating Rémy about where he brings Berthe and when he will be retrieving her.

Although Rémy is more than willing to help her thwart her mother, his employer’s close surveillance makes this difficult.

Berthe hasn’t been alone with édouard in weeks.

Between Cornélie’s scrutiny and the end of the spring season’s events and parties, there have been no opportunities.

As the Manets are planning to join the Morisots for a portion of their summer holiday in Biarritz, on the southwest coast, Berthe anticipates this will finally allow them time on their own.

And it will offer the opportunity to tell the families their news.

But when the Manets arrive at the coast, it is only Antoinette, Gène, Suzanne, and Léon who disembark from the carriage.

Berthe does her best to hide her disappointment, although devastation would be the more apt description.

From Cornélie’s sour expression, she assumes she is doing a poor job, and she concentrates on the possibility that édouard will be coming later.

During dinner, she discovers that he’s in Argenteuil, painting with Monet, and will remain there for the coming weeks.

In fact, it turns out the mothers have arranged this visit with the express purpose of encouraging Berthe to accept Gène.

She doesn’t know what’s more infuriating, édouard’s absence, Cornélie’s scheming, or the fact that Gène appears content with the maneuvering.

Berthe decides that he looks less like édouard than he did when he was younger.

He’s nervous and fidgety, not particularly talkative, prone to migraines and other illnesses, she’s been told.

She always thought him a sallow shadow of his brother, but now she sees he isn’t even that.

He has none of édouard’s exuberance, sense of humor, brilliance, or swagger, and she wants nothing to do with him.

But Cornélie and Antoinette will not be deterred. They arrange picnics and hikes, painting and swimming outings. Both families are present at the start of these contrived activities, but soon each person expresses a reason why he or she must depart early.

If Gène weren’t so dull, they might share a laugh over their mothers’ lack of subtlety, but he seems incapable of appreciating such absurdity.

Admittedly, he’s a nice man, kind to his mother and Léon, respectful of her and Maman.

He even dabbles a little in painting, although his efforts are only a smudged version of his brother’s. As is he.

Cornélie takes Berthe aside when she returns to the house with a full picnic basket hours before she and Gène were due back. “The bloom is off the rose,” she tells her daughter. “Beauty fades quickly when you are beyond thirty.”

“I thought you always claimed I never was a beauty.” Berthe’s tone is sardonic and, even to her own ears, disrespectful. So be it. Their newfound compatibility has evaporated under Cornélie’s latest meddling.

“‘Fades’ is the foremost word here.”

“If you believe your cruel disparagements are going to entice me to marry him, you’re much mistaken. They do the opposite. I don’t need to be a wife, and I surely will not be his.”

Her mother’s face softens, although Berthe is suspicious of this. “Bijou, Gène is of good family, with a private income and property.”

“So you’ve said before. And as I said before, I’d rather spend the rest of my life as a poor spinster than be chained to a dull man.”

“You can’t mean this,” Cornélie pleads. “Tell me you will at least consider him.”

“You don’t even like him. All your railing about how much of a laggard he is. No job. No ambition.”

“That’s irrelevant. All that’s important to me is your future. Please, Berthe. Please think about it.”

“If you actually care about me and my future, you’ll give up this outlandish fantasy.”

Cornélie’s eyes fill with tears. “Oh, my baby girl, don’t you see that it is you who must give up your outlandish fantasy?”