Excerpt of Estelle by Linda Stewart Henley

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” [Estelle said] “why didn’t you bring your paints from France?”

“Ah. That’s difficult to answer.” Edgar [Degas] hesitated before continuing, “I admit, I’ve not had the success I hoped for in Paris. Other friends have done better and have sold their work. I’ve been wondering if I should continue in this so-called profession. It is competitive, you see. And then, there was the problem with Manet.”

“Manet? Who is that?”

“Edouard Manet, my friend, a fellow artist. I offered to paint his wife, and did so, a portrait of her playing the piano—he appeared in the picture, as well. It turned out to be a disaster.”

“What do you mean? Wasn’t the portrait a good likeness?”

Edgar sighed. “He didn’t like it, said I had not portrayed his wife as an attractive woman. He was so displeased, he cut the canvas where her face was, cut her right out of the painting. Ruined it.”

“Mon Dieu! Terrible. Then what happened?”

“We have not spoken since. I was angry. The thing is, I cannot paint what is not realistic. I paint what I see, the truth without adornment. Not all artists do that. They often want to flatter their subjects, particularly women. Not me. That is one reason for my lack of success, I think. There are other reasons, of course, including my resistance to painting scenes out of doors, as my colleagues do in France.”

Estelle gazed at him and asked slowly, “Let me be sure I understand. Are you saying that you plan to give up painting?”

“I’ve considered it. Anyway, I had no thoughts of painting here. I intended to visit New Orleans and the family, nothing more.”

Estelle took a deep breath.

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to do a few domestic scenes while you’re here, and it would please all of us,” she said.