BOOKS OF THE WEEK
The Young and the Old Renoir
ON the dust-cover of the Phaidon Renoir one reads : " The present edition contains nearly all his masterpieces in large-size reproduc- tions, many of them in full colour. Most photographs have been specially taken for this book, which includes gone pictures hitherto not reproduced. This book is the first edition of Renoir's paintings worthy of the master." That claim cannot, I think, be substantiated.
We all know Renoir was a very great artist and his good pictures were almost perfection. Gaiety, the colour and sweetness of women and flowers, a gay sensuality, the loveliness of life and light, that is what he interpreted. He was poor, but it did not matter, for all the gifts had been showered upon him ; he had charm, he was lovable, he had this exquisite sense of life. Unfortunately he was attacked by arthritis. He was born in 1841 and by 1866 he was already painting beautiful pictures. Up to 1895 he hardly ever painted a picture that was not delicious, but by 1905 things had gone wrong and it was then that, nailed to his chair, his legs without power, his arms and hands atrophied, he produced a mass of pictures on which so deliberate an emphasis is now, I think so wrongly, placed.
When I was in Paris M. Durand-Ruel befriended me and knowing of my adoration of Renoir's pictures he facilitated my seeing many in private collections ; and I actually spoke to the great man himself on more than one occasion. At the period when the fabrication of Corots was systematised (a friend of mine was doing some beauties) there was a good deal of speculation as to how many pictures that Master (Corot) had actually painted, and I asked M. Durand-Ruel about the output of Monet and Renoir. He said he did not know, but later he told me that up to date, 1902 (when Renoir was sixty), he thought that perhaps 700 would be a fair estimate, including the little ones. Then between 1902 and 1905 he did paint a series of large nudes, several of which are extremely beautiful, though I do not think Phaidon have chosen the best to reproduce, and number 98, the late one, I regret to see once more included.
Though in constant pain, he painted indefatigably; it was his only comfort and his circle agreed to call his late output better than ever. At his death in 1919 M. Vollard told me that the official total of his pictures was in the neighbourhood of 4,000, including the little ones. That is to say, in the last seventeen years of his life, though increasingly crippled, Renoir produced something in the neighbourhood of 3,000 pictures. A great many of these were, of course, small, hastily done, repetitive and to the lovers of his work shy-making. But there they were in great quantities, and somehow they had to be marketed and somehow it became fashionable to praise them. The public was told that in these mushy, "sleepy" (as a William pear is 'sleepy") pictures there was some esoteric quality which more than compen- sated for the lamentahle evidence of arthritis. But, now that they have been sold, is it not time to recognise the improbability of such statements as these :—
" . . . The brush stroke was fumbling yet this did not weaken the power of the visions he transferred to canvas, which seemed even to gain, in youth and energy, as it grew more difficult for him to work. . . ."
and " . . Prom the wheeled chair he could paint a portrait as well as ever. There is great verve in the portrait of Mine Galea painted at Nice in 1912, no less in the brilliant portrait of Vollard in 1917. . ."
Oh, Mr. Gaunt, have you never seen those portraits that he painted in the '70s ? Madame Darras of 1871 (Lewisohn collection), the portrait of Madame Charpentier alone, and another of her small daughter in a blue sash ; and Madame Choquet in white, and M. Fournaise smoking ? • There was no thought of pleasing me when the Phaidon selection was made, so I can only protest against many of the reproductions, especially from No. 81 onwards, and bewail the absence of : Madame Maitre looking at her bird-cage ; the young boy with the cat and the lovely Chinese embroidered silk (1868) ; La danse a la vile (1883) pendant to Dancing at Bougival ; a delightful little woman in a blue dress and a bustle (Gregynog) ; a lovely fat woman by a grand piano, which used to be in the Luxembourg ; Le petit dejeuner (1872) ; The Child writing (1888 ?) ; La fin defamer (1879), two women with a man lighting a bigarette, a miracle of observation ; La jeune mere (1881, worthy to hang with the Phaidon Le Premier Pas and La Fenune au
Chat); Au concert dans La Loge (1880) ; and above all the Baigneuse Blonde aux yeux bruits belonging to Sir Kenneth Clark and the L'Apres-midi des Enfants a Wargemont (1884).
I protest too against the absence of his lovely landscapes. It is true that he was, to a certain extent, influenced by Claude Monet, but that is no reason for leaving out Olive Trees at l'Estaque (1872), the Pont Neuf at Paris (1876), the Canotiers a Chatou (1879), the Seine a Chatou (1880) —a ravishing picture, the Seine a Argenteuil. And he painted wonderful still-lifes, flowers and fruit ; we are given but one, a late, mushy picture of roses (No. 92) of which there exist far too many versions. Why not the large bowl of lilac (1878) ; or the mixed bouquet of flowers against a mirror, which I thought lovely ; there is the Femme aux Lilas (1877) ; there is the still-life of peaches (of 1871) which I saw in New York—this is frankly a miracle of brilliance and achievement—there are the paintings Flowers and prickly pears (1884) and A sliced melon with sonic roses (1875). And in New York I saw a picture of a lady seated in an uncomfortable little chair holding a parasol over her head painted in 1874—delicious ; there is a picture of Mine Choquet reading in her apartment on the Rue de Rivbli ; all wonderful.
My almost life-long passion for Renoir has caused me to visit with delight all the great exhibitions held in Paris since 1902—I don't think I have missed one—and I have been lucky in at least two eery fine exhibitions in America, and I have not missed a single Renoir show in London. I am familiar with that Master's work, and I cannot feel that the Phaidon illustrations, though there are 104 of 'em, arc as representative of his genius as they claim to be.
GERALD KELLY.
P.S.-1 think it was easier to do forgeries of Corot than it would be to forge the beautiful pictures of Renoir ; on the other hand I suspect that it will be extremely easy to forge the very late Renoirs—and I only hope that several that I have been shown are, in fact, forgeries.
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