Jules Héreau

Jules Héreau - Monsieur Lafontaine visits Barbizon
September 1859
Private Collection

Born in 1839, passed away in 1879: it was impossible for me to find any other biographical data about the painter Jules Héreau. The exhibition at the Washington National Gallery presents one of his oils, this Monsieur Lafontaine (we don't know anything about him, either; of course any supposition linking him to the great French fabulist would be as speculative as linking him to the German politician Oskar Lafontaine).

So, we cannot assert anything about this Monsieur Lafontaine, but the painting is telling us a lot. He is just dismounting, a countryman is helping, there is a vivid dialog between the stubborn mule and the dog, the canvas communicates such a feeling of immediacy: this gentleman has just arrived, he is looking at us, seemingly he was waited at Barbizon. And more: Monsieur Lafontaine comes here often, he knows us and we know him. Yes, we know him, he is for sure an artist from the Barbizon circle (look at the way he's dressed, look at his nonchalance). He has a certain sense of humor, as he prefers riding a mule; or is it about his stubbornness?


I found on the web another oil of Héreau, the venue of Théâtre du Gymnase. The theater had been inaugurated in 1820, there was at the beginning an exclusive contract with the playwright Eugène Scribe (by the way, there is another painting by Jules Héreau, La Maison Natale d'Eugène Scribe). The theater is in Paris, 39 Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle, still functioning. During the years they played Balzac, Augier, Dumas-Père and Dumas-Fils, George Sand, Sardou, Feuillet, then Bernstein, Cocteau, Guitry, Genet, among others. The tragedian Marie Bell led the Gymnase from 1962 to 1985, and the theater bears today her name: Théâtre du Gymnase Marie Bell.

The painting of Jules Héreau was probably done sometime in the 1850s. It is evening, people are coming, by carriage or by horse. I am looking at the image and it communicates a subtle poetry. I am touched, I saw some of these plays, or I read them. Sometimes I was finding the books in my old home library: many had been bought by an uncle passionated by French culture; a book by George Sand was having inside a note from a great-grandmother. Sometimes I was finding the books at an antiquarian (I was inheriting the passion of my uncle, who had died before I was born). Sometimes I was seeing one of the plays at a theater placed on one of Bucharest boulevards.

And I'm looking again at the image: today the horses are there no more, but I think the kiosk with the posters is still in place.

Jules Héreau - The Theatre Gymnase, Evening

(In the Forest of Fontainebleau - from Corot to Monet)