JJ GRANDVILLE wants to abandon illustration to join Nancy.

Jean-Jacques GRANDVILLE (1803.1847)

A set of three autograph letters signed to Jules Taschereau.

Nine pages in quarto, very dense in total. Autograph addresses.

Nancy. October 27, November 19 and 27, 1842.

"I'm not talking about colors, brushes, or paint, but only about the drawing, its accuracy, its refinement, and in what form I deem it appropriate to present it to enthusiasts."

These precious and deeply moving letters from the artist reflect on abandoning his work as an illustrator to devote himself to painting, while working as a drawing teacher in his hometown of Nancy. Grief-stricken by the death of his wife Henriette a few weeks earlier, disillusioned, indecisive, and pressured by local authorities to make a decision, Grandville sought the advice of his friend Jules Taschereau, co-publisher of the Fables of La Fontaine illustrated by the artist.

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October 27, 1842: “My dear Monsieur Taschereau, Here, first, is the explanation in a few lines of the phrase inserted in the short note I wrote to Monsieur ^Fournier , which has kept you in suspense. My sister Louise’s brother-in-law, obliged to go to Paris in haste on family matters, and thinking he could contact you for some information, had asked me for a note to present himself at your home. He did not think it necessary to use the note I had written to you and brought it to me here. And it was during this interval that your letter reached me. Now, I am grateful to have given Monsieur ^Fournier the quote you indicated because it fully demonstrates to you that I did not think it necessary to wait for news from you before giving you my own; as far as my duty was concerned, I am therefore in compliance.” However, it was not out of obligation that I wrote to you so promptly, but I eagerly seized the opportunity to demonstrate to you again that I did not neglect your friendship, and in this regard I do not wish to copy here the terms of that unfortunate note, unfortunate because it is the cause of the length of this preamble explanation.

What can I tell you now about my provincial existence, about my family life? You have, my dear sir, put your finger on the wound. It is still as painful to the touch. As for the material, mechanical, and artistic aspects of this life, I avoid dinners and other long meals, invitations, solicitations, and occasions for gluttony as much as possible. I play cards as much as I can with Madame ^Voïart , in order to dodge the obligation of taking them from museums to chapels… and I think I'm finally getting caught up in this very difficult game. As for art, I paint. Would you believe it? I have two oil sketches in progress … and as I write to you, I'm thinking that the last one is drying in my brother's living room, where he doesn't skimp on the wood the town hall provides. So I was thinking of finishing this epistle as soon as possible, so I could get back to my brushes, with which I defy you to make me return to ideas for illustrations, for a long time (please pass this on to Mr. ^Hetzel and Mr. Fournier). Truly, if you see this as nothing more than a simple joke, you are mistaken; I am quite seriously trying my hand at [?] my great hobbyhorse, this pet project, the cause of such pleasant and lively discussions between us.

Besides, if I found in this new occupation only a great distraction, a temporary diversion from my gloomy thoughts, I would congratulate myself on my courage and persistence , and you should, my dear Mr. ^Taschereau , you should, far from laughing, applaud and praise me for this proud resolution. I feel more keenly that I need support in the face of the new difficulties I encounter in this new path, in the handling of the brush . Away, then, with fanciful fantasies and frivolous thinking. A fine brushstroke and the peace of the provinces—that is the fulfillment of a great painter's happiness, if happiness exists anywhere, if it can be anyone's lot.

But pardon me, I'm writing in a room without a fire, the cold is creeping into my feet, I'm about to abruptly close my letter and my desk, but not without thanking you for your excellent newsletter which transported me to my home in the capital and showed me all the things that should still interest me, with as much artistry and truth as a daguerreotype print. I'm delighted that the caresses of my poor cat can somewhat compensate Louise for the arduous task of going down and up six flights of stairs every day. I fully intend to thank her upon my return. This note will prompt a question from you, if you still have the opportunity to write to me… when is this return scheduled?… that depends entirely on the completion of my two drafts, my two copies. However, if I saw that I had to go too far beyond the first 10 to 12 days of November, I would resign myself to abandoning them to their unfortunate status [missing word] and taking them back to Paris at the risk of [?] them right under the noses of the engravers-publishers… 

I have only received news of my son through you, and I haven't heard anything since your letter. I fill this gap with the confident thought that he is still both healthy and well cared for. I am already eager to see on his pale face the effects of good breastfeeding and those excellent walks you mentioned.

Maurisset (how can I possibly take care of that?) is he getting out of this situation fortunately and to Mr. Fournier's satisfaction ^? Did Mr. ^Old Nick have a good end (not in the way one understands it in my pious family)? And you, my dear Mr. ^Taschereau , are you enduring the rigors of the cold, the tedium of political debates and feature articles—and finally, the absence of the chambers? It's been three weeks since I've read a newspaper. Oh, selfish, vegetative, and atrophied province, yet sweet to the soul and restful to the body… Pardon my stammering, and a thousand regards, a thousand thanks, a thousand affectionate handshakes, and finally, all yours in heart. J.J. Grandville.

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November 19, 1842: “Dear Sir and friend, We have already arrived well beyond the date I set for my return to Paris, and yet I am not yet thinking of packing my bags; and no one here wants to hear for a moment about departure. However, barring some almost impossible circumstance, I am quite determined not to stay in Nancy next month, and consequently to embark definitively for the capital in the last days of this month.”

And yet, paraphrasing Montaigne, I could say to you, not: what do I know? but: what am I doing? Nothing, or at least, of the very bad work torn as I am in every direction by the thousand and one visits to make, to receive or to pay which take me away from all thought of work, of heart, of all business (and I do not take into account, note well here, the lunches, dinners and suppers whose number is incalculable and of indefinite length; you know the province and its charming and satisfying leisure). 

So when I count the days that have passed since I received your letter, I cannot understand how I could have remained so long without writing to you again and that I have not been able to find a good hour or two to find out again what is happening at my place and at yours, about the people and things which, although I have just said about them, continue to preoccupy me constantly, for in truth it is not the [?] that alone would have the power to make me lose sight of and forget all these things; first and foremost is my poor little boy, please give me some news, I beg you, my dear Mr. ^Taschereau , give me some good news, the nurse's payment, due on the 9th last, has not been settled, would you see to it that this sum is given to her; by whom, by Rose, for I suppose that faithful to her instructions and not imitating my example she must be back on the rue des St Pères and has relieved your excellent Louise of her care. The providence of tomcats, or more precisely, of former tomcats . I am truly ashamed not to have addressed a single word to my poor son's godmother, and it would be a great result and a testament to your exquisite and immense kindness if you were to apologize to her with a short note. Initially, I didn't write to her for fear of obliging her to reply, a reply I knew she didn't have time to give me; that is the essence of my excuse to her. Please grace it with your diplomatic [?] and perhaps you yourself will persuade her to write me a note.

I will now ask you how you coped with these sudden temperature changes, shifting successively from dry to mild and from spring to winter. It was these premature cold spells that, like a true snail, forced me to retreat my urges to leave back into my Lorraine shell; a very narrow, very confined spiral in which I can scarcely expand or lengthen. Speaking of which, if I were to tell you that a diabolical plot is afoot here to replace the curator of the Nancy museum, a position currently held by a former cook, with a drawing teacher. Firstly, the city council, pushed into a corner by a ten-member commission determined to manipulate it in this matter, finds itself obliged to open the position to competition. Nevertheless, the influential members of this municipal council, while acknowledging the meager emoluments, show a desire not to see me accept this position, by sparing me the competition while the acting head of the commission asks me for my opinion on the program of this same competition, which requires nothing less than the surgical and anatomical capacities of a Marx, combined with the [?] of an Ingres and the feelings of a Schefler, a Lacroix to give the chair of drawing in Nancy the gigantic proportions of the school of Rome and subsequently of the Callots, the Claude Lorraines, the Pierres, the Charleses… the Pauls, Jacques and many Jean Jeans.

You know my anxious, uncertain, tentative, indecisive nature ; Judge my position when I glimpse, at the end of all this, the possibility [?] vigorously the guides and the conductor's whip, and of creating for myself the prospect of a sweet and calm residence in Lorraine, with the reservation, however, of going to refresh myself at the sources and the artistic river of the Seine… but on the other hand, it would be necessary to climb onto the back of the current curator, boldly or furtively enter his bed, which he is so gently making for his nephew, and push him into the alley, and thereby succeed in one place in the two positions of curator and professor, which, as I told you, are distinct. But it would be necessary to say goodbye absolutely to all illustration , and especially to the patient Mr. ^Fournier , to the amiable Old Nick at the moment when wisdom pushes him into the alveoli, to Messrs. ^Meissonier , Gérard Seguin, Fillion, to JH Pléiade, great artists, finally to say goodbye to Philipon, to Curner, the explorers and exploiters, distributors of the genius to deliver so much and finally leave, delivered to their tools, a horrible thing to think, Mr. ^Laisné , Brugnot, Barban etc. etc.

I mix humor into all this, but truly, at the heart of this matter lies a very serious question of artistic existence, intertwined with paternal duties, affections, and memories that plunge me into great perplexity. Sometimes I want to rush into the arena that is opening up, and sometimes I resolve to remain a spectator in the camp and win only from the fight, from the assault, the small remarks and critical observations that might serve me later. When am I right, when am I wise? It would take more than the narrow confines of a letter to lay out all these contradictory reasons to you so that you could give me a truly direct opinion, a truly wise and judicious piece of advice, such as you always know how to give, except when you don't take the love of art into account .

My apologies, dear Mr. ^Taschereau , for the length of this letter, which you may read at your leisure and which I think testifies to the pleasure I take in conversing with you. My father-in-law has not received the latest deliveries of animals, which he nevertheless sees displayed at our merchants' stalls, a fact that breaks his heart and is painfully obvious to him… Will the shoemakers always be the worst shod? Add this courtesy to the others and fetch Mr. Jules Hetzel for me, ^to whom I send my warmest regards, as well as to Mr. ^Fournier , who always allows such dreadful printing to be done, in which the shadows are pushed to the blackest possible depth and the details [?] With heartfelt regards, JJ. Grv.

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November 27, 1842: “My dear Monsieur Taschereau, Our letters having crossed paths, and served as mutual replies in every respect, I thought, upon receiving yours, that I had no further reason to write to you, when a question I submitted to you, half jokingly, half seriously, reappears in a completely different and serious light. Therefore, allow me to return to the charge (no pun intended), and despite my awareness of tiring you with the obligation to reply on a matter you deemed unworthy of your attention or anger, permit me to remind you, perhaps at some length (including this preamble), of this question, which has become most serious for me, and on which I request your opinions and advice. My laziness would have been much better served by not speaking again, believe me, and I even deserve some credit for writing to you at such length; that is my first excuse. ” I'll get to the point quickly (thinking of the lawyer Petitgean).

A few days ago, the members of the city council, gathered in a spirit of generosity at the museum committee, offered me this professorship in the vacant chair of drawing in Nancy (now separate from that of the museum curator), without competitive examination , at a salary of 2,600 to 800 ^francs , including accommodation adjoining the museum . This will continue until the anticipated date when this position, combined with that of the curator, will increase to a salary of 3,800 to 900 ^francs . But considering the present situation, let us first address this financial matter, which, while not the primary one, still takes precedence in the logical order of things. You know, my dear Mr. Taschereau, that the savings I have been able to make can amount to 1,500 livres of income […] I would be obliged to teach some sixty young men, every day, in a provincial town, for one or two hours, the elementary principles as well as the subtleties of the art of drawing and painting . What a fall, you exclaim, and what folly… wait, it is precisely to avoid hearing this word uttered that I pause and consult, and truly, after very deep reflection, after also appealing to the judgment of my devoted friends, my family, both interested and disinterested, I find myself in such a state that I need very solid objections to prevent me from yielding to all the truly wise reasons I would have for accepting this position.

I'll move on to other considerations, the health of my child being of paramount importance, because according to all the doctors I've consulted, it would be a great blessing for him to spend the first years of his childhood here, from a health perspective. I won't say anything about the guaranteed care he would receive in my family; that goes without saying. As head of the committee, as with any artistic society or enterprise, I could take two months of leave, if not to maintain my illustrator relationships, then at least to follow, as I mentioned, the course of the art world (and the stock market, if necessary).

Returning to teaching, consider all the time I would have left, perhaps no longer to compete with our Meissonier, Gavarni, and all the rest, but to strengthen, through quiet reflection and calm study, what I have been unable to put into practice until now, pressed as I am by the necessities of life and training, by the fatal relentless grind of artistic, industrial, and destructive speculation . I am not speaking of colors, brushes, or paint, but only of drawing, its accuracy, its refinement, and in what form I deem appropriate to present it to enthusiasts later on. To this you add the errors of perspective and imagination, the petty squabbles, the narrowing jealousies, and so on, of provincial life—true Lilliputian miseries at every turn. I sense them and I weigh them, and I confess they play a significant role in my hesitation; they are the weight that may perhaps lead me to take the stage and move to Paris. Come now, a little more patience, my dear Mr. ^Taschereau . Look at your Paris, you don't even have the patience or the time to read me, despite the importance of the question?[…]

Rejected in the capital, I find myself once again forced to satisfy all these costly needs, grappling with duties, publishers, fashion, rents, rivals, and taxes, at the mercy of engravers and in the clutches of speculation, or at least in the no less diabolical and tenacious hands of booksellers, who use my name and my pen without restraint, without pity, and often without result. For on what does the outcome of these always commercial, never artistic, ventures depend? What new guarantee, in terms of self-interest (since it must be called by its name), would I have of not disposing of my poor little knowledge, without profit or great glory? This matter is all the more delicate to address as I have recent examples to offer here, a necessary, almost forced consequence of this kind of enterprise, of these bookselling affairs which, in your opinion, are generally nothing less than ruinous for those involved; and what other field of exploitation is opened to me today in the vicious circle in which circumstances, events, things (and perhaps advisors) have locked me from man to animal by the chisel of Mr. ^Rouget … This is forever my glorious lot and my immortality ; and when to these reasons I come to add the painful, cruel memories that await me, in this place where I lived and loved the absence of family, the anxiety, the boredom of a new existence; The disgust and bitterness of this same uninteresting existence, devoid of attachment, where even the fear of any new affection is a cause for anxiety, is dreadful. In short, as for that, I cannot write of the weariness of a struggle in a small arena, without new glory and without assured profit, for, you must admit, what I could do from now on would add nothing to my modest reputation , and maintaining it is perhaps even more difficult in Paris, for here, buried alive, with you doing nothing to increase or perpetuate it, I can die without risk of alienating it, at least […]

Parisians, and you first and foremost, dear sir ^and friend, make no distinction between the provinces and the centers; anyone living outside Paris is, to you, a Hottentot, a Huron […] relations with Nancy and Paris are all too easy and constant. The time for decentralization has come; the overflow of the capital must spill over into the provinces? This is, finally, an opportunity that, they say , will not come again in my life. I have never so closely examined the paintings and sketches of the great masters as since my stay here , nor so fully appreciated the wit of Messrs ^. Old N… and xxx, nor finally so strongly understood the necessity of escaping the murderous burins of Messrs. ^BBRJSH and the overly mechanistic laziness of Messrs ^. Aristide and Fournier.

Finally, thanks to the paper, I will finish, but before that, I beg you, combine your opinion with that of Mr. ^Fournier , my late printer, and with that of Mr. Hetzel, my former persecutor. I truly need, for myself and for others, powerful and conclusive arguments to combat the attraction (or the foolish yet wise idea) I find in settling here. It goes without saying that beforehand, after receiving your reply, whether accepting or refuting , I will still have to re-embark to settle my affairs in Paris, and this in the very first days of December. Please send me your reply as soon as possible, dear sir, as it will carry great weight for me in this difficult circumstance, as you will see from the length of this letter and the objections I have just raised. Moreover, the commission awaits my program and my ultimatum. With warmest regards, J.J. Grandville.