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TWENTY

B erthe wants to take to her bed, hide beneath the covers, lie there until there’s no life left in her body.

But Papa is too ill, and she must help her mother tend to him.

Edma and Yves can’t come because they must care for their own children, and although Tante Désirée was to stay with them in Paris for a week, her bad temper made everyone, including Papa, feel worse.

Much to everyone’s relief, after two days Maman sent her sister home.

Many of Cornélie’s friends offer their assistance, but they do little more than send their maids with food, and Marie is completely overwhelmed by the extra work a sick man creates.

Berthe doesn’t have a free moment to think, let alone paint, and, as she has neither the time nor the desire to go to édouard’s studio, there’s no opportunity to discuss the fine points of the upcoming exhibition with her fellow artists or to smooth over their disagreements.

She despairs over her father’s fate, her ability to produce anything worthy in time for the exhibition, and édouard’s betrayal.

Papa’s death is shocking, although expected.

But there’s also a sense of peace, as his last weeks had been dreadfully painful for him as well as the rest of the household.

Out-of-town family descends, and there’s tumult and tears for the week before the funeral.

Berthe is grateful to have her sisters and brother with her to share the burden of their mother’s grief.

The funeral is dignified and well attended, with mourners including her father’s many political colleagues: the mayor of Paris, the president of ?le-de-France, and the entire regional council.

These high-ranking officials, Berthe’s extended family, and the Morisots’ wide social circle spill beyond the church’s main sanctuary.

Even Cornélie is heartened by the size of the gathering, gratified by the respect the large company conveys. All of Berthe’s painter friends are there, each noting their sorrow at her loss and then informing her of the many impediments the others are creating for the exhibition.

After the service, Antoinette, édouard, and Gène approach.

Berthe refuses to acknowledge édouard, although the lure of him is no less powerful than always, and she greets the other Manets as civilly as she is able.

She’s grown suspicious that the meddling she initially attributed solely to Cornélie and Antoinette stretches beyond the mothers, that both Gène and édouard were also involved in the machinations last summer, perhaps the real reason for édouard’s absence.

When the others turn their backs in chorus and begin speaking to one another, leaving Berthe alone with Gène, her suspicions solidify, deepening the pain of édouard’s deception.

Gène smiles at her tentatively and says, “I hope you are bearing up under your loss.”

“I am doing as well as can be expected.” She searches for someone, anyone, who might want to express their condolences.

How could édouard scheme for her to marry Gène while promising it was he whom she would wed?

She presses a handkerchief to one eye and then the other, grateful her tears will be interpreted as a daughter’s sadness.

Gène touches her sleeve, his expression earnest. “I am so sorry, Berthe. I, too, had difficulty after my own father passed. It seemed so premature. So unfair.”

Berthe is relieved when Edma joins them. As Gène turns to greet her sister, Berthe tries to slip away, but Edma grabs her hand. “I was just about to ask Gène to join us at the house this afternoon for a small repast,” Edma says. “I was wondering if you are available to escort him there.”

Aghast, Berthe stares at her. Edma too? “This luncheon is only for family.”

Edma doesn’t meet her eye and instead smiles at Gène. “And a few close friends.”

FINALLY, THE MOURNERS disperse and quiet descends on the house.

Berthe and Cornélie sleep for two days. When Berthe crawls out of bed, she discovers that the strain of the last months has caused her to lose so much weight her clothes no longer fit.

And now that Cornélie doesn’t have her husband to fret over, she turns to her daughter.

Berthe allows her mother to believe she’s only mourning her dear papa, but her grief is more sweeping, beyond even édouard’s latest act of duplicity, encompassing the demise of the future she foolishly believed would be hers.

One that has now been replaced by a yawning barrenness stretching before her.

Condolence letters and notes arrive daily, tied together by the postmaster into large packets.

Cornélie claims that responding to them makes her too sad, so this task falls to Berthe.

One day, a note arrives from Gène, asking Berthe to accompany him to dinner at Maison Dorée, one of the most elegant restaurants in Paris.

She answers quickly, claiming she’s too busy with her newly widowed mother and the upcoming exhibition to consider such an outing.

She hopes her response will put an end to Gène’s efforts but fears it will not. A deep and dark dread consumes her, merging panic over what may come to pass with sorrow over what will not. The malaise is so heavy she can feel its weight pressing down on her shoulders, squeezing her stomach.

But she must not give in to self-pity, nor allow the desires of others to determine her fate.

She has always claimed her wish was to live her life as a painter, not as a wife, and that is exactly what she will do.

The exhibition is in three months, and this is her way forward.

She has a few pictures she hopes may be good enough to be shown when completed, but she needs more.

She dons her overly large painting outfit and returns to her studio.

WHILE BERTHE WAS nursing her father, Degas brought her a copy of the agreement that formally established their new communal enterprise.

She signed it and paid her sixty francs dues without giving the details much notice.

Reading it now, she sees she’s become a member of the Anonymous Cooperative Society of Artists, Painters, Sculptors, and Engravers.

A true collective, in which all the artists share both the costs and the profits, although one with a dreadful name that never would have been adopted had she been involved in the decision.

There are eleven founding members, but she, Degas, Monet, Renoir, Sisley, and Pissarro form the governing council.

The first thing she suggests is that, as their purpose is to promote independent art, they refer to themselves as “the Independents,” rather than the title on the charter.

This is immediately agreed to, followed by a much less pleasant discussion of which other artists to include in their show.

Berthe is consumed by painting, which has the dual effect of producing a number of pictures that are suitable for the exhibition and suppressing her thoughts of édouard.

She offers three watercolors, two pastels, and four oils.

The oils are the ones she has the greatest hope of selling, or at least of receiving some acclaim: Hide and Seek , The Harbor at Lorient , The Mother and Sister of the Artist , and The Cradle .

When she goes to look over the suite Nadar has loaned them, she’s impressed by the many large rooms, all with tall windows facing the fashionable avenue.

There will be more than enough space to hang single rows of paintings, in contrast to the suffocatingly overstuffed walls of the Salon.

In their exhibition, each piece of art will have the opportunity to be seen and valued without being squeezed out by others.

And, as all of the city’s high society will be strolling by, they will inevitably be drawn to the colorful spectacle on full view from the street.

Thirty artists are represented, many of whom have been rejected by the Salon and some completely unknown to the Parisian art world.

The council selected each work with care, choosing those they believed to best represent the independence of spirit they’re promoting, as well as being of the highest quality.

The founding members draw straws for the favored locations, and, under Renoir’s direction, hanging the show is completed in a week.

The exhibition is set to run from April 15 to May 15, starting two weeks before the Salon and overlapping it for another two weeks.

Each of the artists is assigned a date when he, or in the unique case of Berthe, she, will be responsible for selling tickets at the front table.

Although the expectation is that the group will earn money from the sales, the entrance fee should at least cover their costs if things don’t go as hoped.

The day before the exhibition, Berthe and Degas review the suite of rooms. “There will certainly be derision from all the well-known sources,” Degas says.

“But I believe there will also be many others who will appreciate that the staid art of the Salon is just that, and recognize we are the future.”

Berthe would like to agree with him, but she’s afraid to be too optimistic.

Even works that have been accepted by the Salon are routinely derided if they lean too far beyond the traditional, which all of these do.

And although Durand-Ruel has been selling their paintings in London, the same is not true here.

As it’s Parisian gallerists and collectors who will be their audience, along with the Parisian critics who have been the most disparaging, this does not bode well.

She doesn’t voice any of this, just links her arm through Degas’s and says, “From the lips of a child to the ear of God.”