Claude and Camille (2010) by Cowell Stephanie

Author:Cowell, Stephanie [Stephanie, Cowell,]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-01-14T19:18:52.421000+00:00

Part Four

1869

I'm chasing the merest sliver of color. It's my own fault, I want to grasp the intangible. It's terrible how the light runs out, taking color with it.

--CLAUDE MONET

AS THE OPENING OF THE FIRST EXHIBITION OF THE SOCIETY of Anonymous Artists approached that autumn, the artists themselves were so excited they could talk of nothing else. Claude and Auguste met at a new framing shop near the Ecole des Beaux-Arts to decide how to frame their work. Each painter could contribute six or eight paintings, and Claude had decided on two of his redeemed seascapes from Le Havre, which were already framed. The others needed framing, including some he had made the past summer while staying with Camille and Jean in a small village near a little bathing spot on the Seine called La Grenouillere. Auguste, whose parents lived nearby, had painted with him.

The two artists stood together under the hanging forest of frames hung on ropes from the ceiling: they were of every sort of wood and weight, painted or gilded, or carved with flowers. Each seemed to whisper, "Within me might live the work of a great artist."

Auguste asked, "Do you remember how we met in art class? You spoke to no one."

"I didn't feel very confident."

They reached up to take down samples of one frame or another. They touched them gently and set them swinging like chimes, clinking into one another and moving away again. They knelt and tried the samples around the paintings.

After several hours they chose, deliberating between beauty and cost, compromising.

"Monsieur," Auguste told the framer. "You will accept a small deposit from us, the rest payable in three months?"

"Bien sur," replied the man. "Come back in a week and all will be ready for you."

ON THAT BRIGHT autumn day they went whistling up the street to their old cafe in the Batignolles district, leaping up like boys to touch branches of trees, knocking into a baby carriage and raising their hats, saying, "Pardon, madame!" Claude looked around the streets of Paris, at the churches, the shops, the chairs on terraces of cafes that would offer outdoor seating for a short time more. Glasses glittered on the tables, and the trees hung gravely in their late September fullness.

The painters were waiting at their table with its cracked marble top, their hats hung on hooks above them. They shook hands and sat down and ordered. "Well, we've chosen our frames," Auguste said, beginning to eat someone else's bread.

"What did you choose?"

"Second-best for me, best for Claude. The dandy!"

"I'm not worried. I'll sell the ones we did over the summer for six hundred francs each. You'll do the same. Have you seen the two rooms where we'll exhibit? They're right on the Champs-Elysees. I saw the first few posters for the show this morning, and the first newspaper announcement. But where are Sisley and Frederic? We did say two o'clock." They peered through the dirty window at the street and the tables and chairs outside.

They had

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