Renoir's Dancer by Catherine Hewitt

Author:Catherine Hewitt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2017-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

He who believes not in God,

Raphael or Titian may not enter.44

This was the start of a new chapter for the family. Disregarding the warning, the Unholy Trinity opened the door and stepped inside.

CHAPTER 12

New Horizons

Vau mielhs tener un lapin que segre una lebre.

(It is better to hold a rabbit than to chase a hare.)

OLD LIMOUSIN PROVERB1

Number 12, Rue Cortot comprised a sprawling warren of dimly lit passageways and bright ateliers. Émile Bernard’s former studio was in the opposite wing from the apartment where Suzanne and Paul Mousis had begun married life and it had valuable advantages. Arriving in front of the huge arched doorway, Suzanne could find the concierge in the tower-like structure on the left, and on the right, the wooden staircase which led to her new home. Mounting the creaking steps to the first floor, the muffled sound of a dog barking urgently could be heard on the other side of a nearby wall, while a heap of coal on the landing signalled occupancy. From the landing, the door on the left opened into the family’s hallway, where approaching the window, Suzanne could gaze down at a spectacular panoramic view over the rooftops of northern Paris. There was a dining room, a cosy little bedroom of three metres squared, perfect for Maurice – and all the other living space the family could desire. Then from the hallway, two further rooms and a short corridor led to the engine room of the apartment: Suzanne’s atelier.2

With its huge skylight, wooden slatted floor and rectangular windows looking out over the treetops, the whole studio felt as though it were a ship coasting through the air. Light flooded the room and the view across Paris was breathtaking. All around, a jumble of wood and canvas completed the furnishings: there were easels; part-finished paintings stood up against sturdy cupboards; and here and there, a chair or coffee table served as a temporary resting place for jars of turpentine, tubes of paint, brushes and palettes.

With Madeleine shuffling around keeping house, Suzanne settled into her new surroundings and quickly became as relaxed and comfortable as if she had been born there. Once the dogs had been walked in the morning, the working day saw Suzanne, Utter and Maurice busily engrossed in their own corners of the apartment. Every so often, a misplaced tube of paint or a borrowed brush triggered an explosive row, with abuse being hurled unrestrainedly at one artist by the other. When the equipment had been returned, peace was restored and industry resumed. Evenings were regularly interrupted by Maurice’s ungainly reappearance after one of his drinking binges, either alone or in the custody of a police officer from the station in the Rue Lambert. When the blood and vomit had been mopped up, the revelation that he had yet again drunk the proceeds of a sale provoked more fiery disputes. But another masterpiece was never far away and it invariably redeemed him in his mother’s eyes. It was a tumultuous existence, but for the most part, everyone was content.

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