Charlotte in Giverny Read online

  To Ann Keay Beneduce

  and the memory of my mother

  Elinor Glidden MacPhail

  —J.K.

  For Arista

  —M.S.

  Charlotte in Giverny

  BY JOAN MACPHAIL KNIGHT

  WATERCOLOR ILLUSTRATIONS BY MELISSA SWEET

  Here’s a picture of our ship.

  It’s from the breakfast menu.

  April 24, 1892

  On board the La Lorraine

  I’ve never been on an ocean liner before. It was very exciting back at the dock. Crowds of people came to see us off and everybody waved and shouted. We waved until the crowds were tiny specks on the dock. Now all is very quiet and the deck is empty except for Papa and me. When I look over the ship’s railing there is nothing but sea and sky. Papa says it will take the ship a whole week to get to France.

  This journal was a going-away gift from my best friend, Lizzy Foster. I’ll write down everything that happens, to share with her when I see her again. But that won’t be for an entire year!

  Our cabin is very small, with barely room to turn around. There are two bunks—Papa has the upper and Mama the lower. Opposite is a little horsehair sofa, where I sleep, and a tiny sink for washing up. When we want a real bath, we walk down a long corridor in our robes to a tub of steaming salt water. There’s even a special salt-water soap for scrubbing! When the sea is calm, we can rinse with warm, fresh water. The bath steward places a pitcher of it on a rack above the tub. If it got rough, the pitcher could overturn. I hope it stays calm, or we’ll all have itchy skin from the salt.

  April 30, 1892

  Somewhere off the coast of France

  Today it’s calm again, and not a moment too soon. Terrible storms have kept Mama in the cabin with nothing but sweetened tea. Papa and I put on oilskins and made our way up on deck whenever we could. The waves were as high as a house! The sound of doors slamming and china breaking could be heard all over the ship. Luckily, the tables and chairs are fastened down, and the tablecloths were dampened to keep the plates and glasses from sliding.

  A very important artist and teacher from New York is making the crossing with us. His name is Mr. William Merritt Chase. He even looks important, with his black top hat and long black cape! He and Papa spend a lot of time talking about “Impressionism,” the new French way of painting. Mr. Chase says that Giverny is the perfect place to see it. Everybody paints outdoors, instead of in a studio, so they call it painting “en plein air,” which means in the open air. I am going to learn more French words—as many as I can.

  When we woke this morning there were gulls outside the porthole for the first time. A sure sign that land is near, says Papa. Tomorrow we should reach the French port of Le Havre. I can’t wait!

  Next stop . . . Paris!

  Paris, le 3 Mai 1892

  Paris is the most exciting city in the world! Yesterday we visited the Eiffel Tower, an iron tower so tall it made me dizzy just to look up at it. The streets here are very, very wide and filled with carriages. Everywhere you look there are cafés. People sit at tables set out right on the sidewalk. Mama says that people here must have a lot of time on their hands.

  This morning we walked along the River Seine with Mr. Chase to a store to buy art supplies. It's a busy river, filled with yachts and barges and tugboats. On the riverbank there was a beautiful lady with a parasol waiting for her dogs to be washed and groomed. And there were so many things to buy: not only books and maps but all sorts of birds, including a peacock. There was even a pet monkey for sale. He was wearing a red cap and a tiny belt!

  After Papa found everything he needed, he surprised me with paintbrushes of my very own, made of squirrel hair. We said goodbye to Mr. Chase and went to the zoo at the Jardin des Plantes. I got to ride in a cart drawn by an ostrich. I'd never seen an ostrich up close before. I wanted to touch him but the man said I shouldn't get too close to his beak...or his feet! We had photographs taken—one to send to Lizzy and one for me.

  May 5, 1892

  On the train to Giverny

  The Gare Saint-Lazare is the busiest train station I have ever seen! A huge, noisy place filled with steam engines and tracks and smoke that rises right up to the big glass roof. Mr. Chase came to see us off, but as we waved to him from the train he disappeared in a cloud of white steam. All we could see was his black top hat!

  We are now in the countryside and can still see the Seine. The train runs right along the river’s edge. When I paint, I’m going to paint fat cows and bright red poppies like those I see in the fields. There is even a plowhorse wearing a blue collar with fur trim. I’ll paint that, too! And women washing clothes in a stream and a girl my age tending a flock of geese. I waved to her—I wonder if she saw me.

  The train doesn’t go all the way to Giverny, so we will get off at Vernon. Papa has arranged for someone to take us the rest of the way by carriage. Vernon isn’t far from Paris, but the train makes many stops—it even stopped once where there was no station to take on three boys with a canoe. I can’t write any more—too bumpy.

  May 9, 1892

  On the road to Giverny

  The train station at Vernon was not nearly as busy as the one in Paris. A nice man was there to meet us with a white horse and a carriage. His name is Mr. Theodore Robinson. When I asked him how such a little horse could pull all of us and our luggage, too, he said the horse was small but sturdy. He also said the horse could rest from time to time because he planned to stop and take photographs along the way. “Studies,” he said, “to make paintings from later.” First, we stopped at a bridge where he took pictures of a countrywoman and her cow. Now he is setting up his camera where there are women drawing water from a well. He wears a béret and when I saw him I thought he was French, but he’s not—he’s from Vermont. He was one of the first Americans to come here to paint, so he knows all about Giverny. He says the smell in the air is wild mint. I’ve never smelled anything like it before.

  May 12, 1892

  The Baudy Hotel, Giverny

  The hotel is a lot of fun. It’s filled with painters—some, like ourselves, waiting for a house to be ready. Others are just visiting for a short while. Tonight at dinner there were twenty-seven of us, all at one long table. No one seems to mind a bit that people come to the dining room with paint in their beards! (And on their shoes!) It’s very noisy—everybody talks at once and laughs so loudly that the dishes rattle. The dining room is filled with paintings, some painted right on the walls! Mr. Robinson says that when a painter can’t pay his hotel bill he leaves a painting instead. He must know what he’s talking about—many of the paintings are signed “Th. Robinson.” After dinner everybody dances. I hear laughter and music long after I have gone upstairs to our room. Tonight I am in bed early so I can get up at dawn tomorrow. Papa will finish working on the house and I want to keep him company.

  May 13, 1892

  The Baudy Hotel, Giverny

  I love our little stone house and can’t wait until we move in. Papa says it won’t be long now. There are red tiles on the roof and the front is covered with vines. You can’t see my room from the street—it’s at the back, on the second floor. Papa just finished painting it—sunflower yellow!

  Behind the house are rows of fruit trees in bloom. The air smells so sweet! At the far end of the garden is a stone wall, covered with thick, green moss. Then, a meadow filled with flowers and, just beyond, the River Epte. Mama says that when summer comes we’ll have our own boat and spend lots of time out on the water. All the artists here do.

  I miss Lizzy so much! Yesterday I posted a letter to her. I can’t wait to hear back from her.

  May 20, 1892

  Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny


  We have new neighbors—the Perrys. From my window, I can see down into their garden. There are three girls and a funny little dog that likes to bark and dig. Papa says they’re from Boston, too. Mrs. Perry is a painter and Mr. Perry, a writer. I wonder what the girls like to do.

  This morning, Monsieur Seurel, the gardener, helped me plant my very own vegetable patch. Only, he calls it a “potager.” We put in peas, leeks, carrots, potatoes and lettuce. And strawberry plants all around the edges. When my vegetables are ready to be picked, Raymonde will show me how to prepare them. Raymonde is our cook. Today she made a special dessert for me—“Charlotte aux abricots” (apricot Charlotte)—out of ladyfingers, apricot jam and vanilla custard. It was delicious!

  There is always a lot to do here. I don’t miss school one bit—except for Lizzy, of course. And Mama says I don’t have to have a tutor until September. Au revoir! Goodbye!

  June 1, 1892

  Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny

  Today Mrs. Perry invited us to tea so I could meet her daughters. Edith is my age. Her sisters are named Margaret and Alice. Their dog is named Degas after a famous French painter. We tried to play ringtoss but Degas kept snatching the rings out of the air and running off with them. He’s full of mischief and quick to learn tricks. Edith says he can pick the red ribbon from the rest of the colored ribbons on a hat and can bark “Yankee Doodle.” I wish I had a dog just like him.

  Edith spent last summer here, so she knows everyone. The big pink house on the other side of the Perrys’ has a huge garden and belongs to a French painter named Monet. Edith says he is very famous and doesn’t like strangers—especially Americans who might want to marry his daughters. He must like Mrs. Perry, though, because I often see them walking and talking in her garden. He has a black beard and a big belly and wears bright purple shirts.

  Papa has started to build a studio at the back of the house. He says it’s for rainy days when he can’t paint outdoors. Also, for still lifes and portraits . . . and for me, by invitation only!

  June 2, 1892

  A letter from Lizzy from Appledore Island! And photographs, too! It made me miss her all the more to see her picture. I wish I could be in two places at once. Especially when I read about all the fun they’re having—fiddler-crab races and corn roasts on the beach! People here don’t eat corn on the cob. Monsieur Seurel says that it’s for pigs. And there aren’t any blueberries either. Papa says he can’t understand why Mr. Foster insists on painting in Maine when he could be in Giverny learning something new.

  June 6, 1892

  Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny

  Edith saw Monsieur Monet’s daughter with an American painter this morning! Mademoiselle Suzanne was sitting by the bridge when Mr. Butler came riding up on his bicycle. When he saw her he jumped off, and they stood talking for the longest time. Just when Edith thought there might be nothing more to see, Mademoiselle Suzanne handed something to Mr. Butler. It could have been a letter, or even a book. Edith wasn’t sure. Then he got back on his bicycle and rode away. What would Monsieur Monet say about this if he knew?

  June 12, 1892

  Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny

  This morning we got up early and went down to the river to paint. Papa put his easel and paint supplies in the wheelbarrow. Mama and I carried the picnic basket and parasols. The meadow was wet with dew, but I didn’t mind. I was wearing my “sabots,” my new wooden shoes. Monsieur Seurel gave them to me to wear when I am gardening. When I first put them on they felt heavy, but now they’re as comfortable as can be. I can even run in them!

  When we got to the river, it was covered with mist. The water was as smooth as glass. Papa set up his easel and waited until the light was “just right.” When it was, he began to paint very fast. When I asked him why he painted the same scene from dawn until dusk, he said, “It’s not the scene that matters, it’s the light. I’m painting my impressions of light and air and color.” Mid-morning, when the sun came out, Papa showed me how the changing light made everything look different. By lunchtime, the meadow was filled with plein air painters and white parasols.

  After lunch the sun was very hot, so Mama and I crossed the meadow to a shady wood. Just as we got there, who should we see but Mademoiselle Suzanne and Mr. Butler! They were laughing and talking and didn’t see us. Mr. Butler was carrying his banjo and a picnic basket and she had a crown of wildflowers in her hair. Mama said it was none of our concern, but I can’t wait to tell Edith. The Perrys have gone to Paris and won’t be back until tomorrow.

  June 13, 1892

  Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny

  When I heard Degas barking this afternoon, I knew the Perrys were home and ran straight there. Mrs. Perry was painting Edith’s portrait. She had to sit still and we couldn’t talk. I thought I would burst with the news! Then it seemed as if Mrs. Perry had read my mind. All at once, she surprised us both by announcing that Theodore Butler and Mademoiselle Suzanne are going to be married! And we are all invited! Mama is making a special trip to Paris to find fabric for our dresses. I cannot wait! I’ve never been to a wedding before!

  The road to Edith’s

  July 6, 1892

  Chez Madame Gautier

  Vernon

  Today we’re at the dressmaker’s having our final fittings. I had my fitting first. “C’est parfait!,” said Madame Gautier, over and over again. That means it’s perfect. And my dress is perfect—white eyelet with ruffles at the neck and wrists. Mama found everything we need for the wedding in Paris, from our hats down to our shoes and stockings. Even my hair ribbons, made of the palest blue silk. Now Mama is having her fitting and it seems to be taking forever. After we finish here, we’re going to shop for things we can’t find in Giverny, like special teas and cheeses. And for me, because I’m being so patient, some of those delicious candied oranges that Mrs. Perry often serves us.

  Only fifteen days until the wedding!

  July 10, 1892

  In the studio, Giverny

  Today is Lizzy’s birthday. Bonne Anniversaire! Happy Birthday, Lizzy! I bet there’s a clambake on the rocks and Mrs. Foster’s gooey chocolate cake. And then a moonlight sail on the Skimmer. I hope my birthday card got to Appledore in time.

  We have two boats: a large rowboat for fishing and painting trips and a small skiff for when we want to get someplace quickly. Sometimes, when we find something we want to paint, we stop and tie the boat to a tree trunk. Other times, we let ourselves drift with the current. This morning I caught a big shiny fish! But it was squiggly and slipped away, back into the water. Papa said I should try to catch another, for Raymonde to cook for supper. But just then the sky grew dark and we raced home from the river as a storm was breaking.

  It’s still pouring, but we’re cozy and snug inside Papa’s studio. I like the pitter-patter sound the rain makes on the skylight. Papa has been in a good mood lately and doesn’t seem to mind at all that I’m here, as long as I’m quiet. It’s probably because he sold seven paintings to a gallery when he was in Paris. Mama thinks he may have found a patron—someone to buy his paintings and help him become successful. I hope he writes Mr. Foster all about it. Then, why wouldn’t the Fosters come?

  July 21, 1892

  Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny

  The wedding was so much fun and even more beautiful than I thought it would be. Mademoiselle Suzanne looked like a fairy princess in her long veil and dress. And Mr. Butler was as handsome as could be in his silk top hat.

  There were two ceremonies. The first one was at the “mairie,” the town hall. The whole village came. I hardly recognized the farmers; they looked so different in their Sunday best! And Monsieur Monet’s friend the painter Caillebotte sailed all the way from Paris—in a boat he made himself! As the bride and groom left the town hall, huntsmen fired their guns in salute. Then, everybody walked to the church for a second ceremony, where Monsieur Monet gave the bride away.

  Afterward, we were all invited back to Monsieur Monet’s
“atelier,” his studio, for a breakfast, which lasted most of the day. Then, just when we thought the party was ending, dinner was served in the garden! It was magical. Colorful Japanese lanterns twinkled in the trees. There was champagne (Edith and I had a sip—the bubbles tickled our noses) and iced grenadine with heaping plates of “crevettes”—delicious shrimp. I saw Monsieur Monet put so much pepper on his salad that it turned completely black—and it didn’t even make him sneeze! Later that evening, the bride and groom left to catch the Paris train. Then, Monsieur Monet led us all on a walk around his garden which was filled with sweet-smelling flowers. I never knew there were flowers that bloom only at night. But Monsieur Monet has some! He also has lots of hens and ducks, including some beautiful little Mandarin ducks.

  Just before dinner, when Edith and I were feeding the goldfish in the pond, we met a girl named Solange. Her father is one of Monsieur Monet’s gardeners. Tomorrow, Edith and I are going to show her how to play ringtoss. It stays light so late now that it’s hard to get to sleep. But I don’t think I’ll have any trouble tonight!

  August 11, 1892

  Rue de l’Amiscourt, Giverny

  Now there are lots of vegetables to pick in my potager. I took a big basket down to the garden this morning and filled it up with leeks, peas, carrots and potatoes. “Bravo!,” said Raymonde, and we made soup, only she calls it “potage.” Mama said it was the finest she had ever tasted and that it must be because I tended to my garden so carefully.