How Caillebotte saved Impressionism

On a gray Paris day in 1874, two dozen men and one woman flirted with disaster and got away with it.

The First Impressionist Exhibition, as it soon would be called, only ran for a month. But when it closed, history had been made. For the first time, artists banded together to show their work to the public directly—without the sanction of the French government or the judgement of an Academic jury.

Art historian Paul Tucker, “The First Impressionist Exhibition in Context,” 1986

History was made on April 15, 1874, although the French Academy of Fine Arts refused to endorse this new style of painting. In fact, it would be another three years before “Impressionism” officially became a word.

Impressionism became a force in 1877 when lawyer-turned-artist Gustave Caillebotte practically willed the third exhibition into existence. By any measure, this show was the game-changer.

A remarkable debut

Caillebotte was studying law when Claude Monet first floated the idea of defying the French Academy. He obtained a law license in 1870, but was immediately drafted to fight in the Franco-Prussian War.

The war—and the political bloodbath between the French Army and the radical Paris Commune that ensued—left Paris in ruins and the nation demoralized. Caillebotte abandoned law for painting, with ease, as it turns out. Although he didn’t participate in the first impressionist exhibition, he nimbly contributed eight canvases to the second.

There was no timidity in Caillebotte’s debut. Of the eight pictures he showed in 1876, five are now well-known and they are remarkable. “The Floor Scrapers” was among the sensations of the second exhibition and was remembered as the artist’s signature work.

Art historian Kirk Varnedoe, “Gustave Caillebotte,” 1987

Although the subject matter was deemed vulgar, critics praised The Floor Scrapers for its palpable immediacy and the convincing play of light across bare wood and human flesh.

But are we looking at three different men, or one laborer portrayed in three successive moments? In 1875, adopting a cinematic perspective was a radical idea. Was Caillebotte influenced by contemporary forays into motion photography?

I spy only one wine glass on the floor. Might it be a clue?

A beacon in the rain

Caillebotte was looking forward to a third exhibition, but his friends were losing interest in hosting another show.

Understandably, they were worried about money. And Pissarro was exasperated with Monet and Renoir, whose talent, he said, was turning them into egotists. He was ready to quit the group when a letter arrived:

My dear Pissarro,

Will you come to dinner at my house next Monday? I am returning from London and would like to discuss certain matters with you, relative to a possible exhibition. Degas, Monet, Renoir, Sisley, and Manet will be there. I count absolutely on you. Monday at seven o’clock.

All my best,

G. Caillebotte

What did these seven men discuss during the most consequential dinner gathering of 19th-century European painters? The details remain a mystery—save for a single letter Pissarro kept for the rest of his life.

A force of nature

Caillebotte’s decision to keep the dinner party small certainly paid off. The show they curated that evening was the most balanced and refined of the eight impressionist exhibitions. Importantly, it was the first time they used the term “Impressionists” to describe themselves as a group.

Caillebotte procured the gallery space, helped hang the paintings, and paid for the publicity. He also took on the role of diplomat, smoothing over all the petty jealousies and resentments—no small task in my view.

Incredibly, he also contributed six new canvases, including Paris Street; Rainy Day, the painting historians consider his masterpiece. Even the harshest critics couldn’t help but admire it:

The group in the foreground seems a bit magnified given the closeness of the horizon. But the walk-ons in the distance are so alert, so complete, have such vitality….the whole group moves so easily through the vast intersection with its skillfully dampened, gray tonality….that I do not have the heart to heap criticism on the principal actors.

Art critic “Jacques” in “L’Homme Libre,” April, 1877

Lightning in a bottle

The third exhibition opened on April 5, 1877, and it was dazzling.

The standout was Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette. The artist brought his figures to life with a rich tapestry of emotions, everything from relaxed and angry to smitten. He even tucked a few bored children into his portrayal of a Sunday afternoon at a Montmartre dance hall.

Renoir’s lifelong friend Claude Monet chose to capture Paris becoming a modern, industrialized city:

In one magnificent painting, the train has just arrived at the Gare Saint-Lazare station. Like an impatient beast, stimulated rather than fatigued by the long journey, it shakes its smoky mane, which billows against the glass roof of the vast hall.

Men swarm around the monster like pygmies at the feet of a giant. We hear the sharp whistles of the engines and the panting of the steam.

Art critic Georges Rivière, “L’Impressionniste,” April, 1877

Not everyone was this enthusiastic. One critic questioned whether the Impressionists could even see correctly. “Blue again!” exclaimed Louis Leroy upon entering the Monet gallery.

On the other hand, the newspaper La Petite République called Camille Pissarro’s painting The Garden of Les Mathurins a remarkable canvas. It depicts pioneering women’s rights activist Maria Deraismes walking through the garden of her estate near Paris.

To capture the moment, Pissarro applied the scientific theories found in Michel Eugène Chevreul’s 1857 book On the Law of Simultaneous Contrast of Colors. For example, he placed thousands of unblended red and green brushstrokes side by side, successfully enhancing the vibrancy of each hue. (More about Pissarro)

A bold, playful vision

Down the hall in a separate gallery, visitors to the Third Impressionist Exhibition admired Edgar Degas for his originality, humor, and lively handling of color. In The Dance Class, his asymmetrical perspective positions the viewer as a bystander watching from the wings.

The movements of his dancers are piquant and accurate, and his color is brilliant, but do not ask Degas for anything more than approximations. He cares only for the pose, the contour enveloping the figures, their clothing. Do you want to look at their features? Degas forbids it.

Art critic Léon de Lora, “Le Gaulois,” April, 1877

Overall, portraits received higher praise than landscapes—although critics mocked Paul Cézanne’s depiction of a wealthy art collector. “His portrait of Victor Chocquet looks like the murderer Billoir in chocolate,” wrote a columnist for L’Evénement. (More about Cézanne)

Cézanne’s paintings were displayed in the same room as work by Berthe Morisot, the only woman in the show. Unsurprisingly for the time, critics overemphasized her ties to the celebrated painter Édouard Manet, even though her style was vastly more diaphanous than his.

Far more than a painter

Although 500 people a day visited the Third Impressionist Exhibition, sales were slow. Wealthy collectors questioned the long-term value of paintings depicting everyday life, while critics wondered whether images like these had the “moral fiber” necessary to rebuild a nation.

To help his friends, Caillebotte quietly purchased some of their paintings at auction. From time to time, he provided more direct financial support. For example, he rented the studio space that Monet used to paint the Gare Saint-Lazare series.

If it sounds like Caillebotte was wealthy, he was. He inherited a fortune from his father, a textile merchant.

At the age of 28, he took the unusual step of drafting a will—a remarkable commitment for someone so young. He bequeathed his growing art collection to France with the stipulation that it be displayed in a major museum. “He was at least twenty years ahead of his time,” said Varnedoe, “and he knew it.”

Six months before his 46th birthday, Caillebotte died unexpectedly. Pissarro wrote a letter to his son Lucien about the tragedy:

We have lost a sincere, devoted friend. Caillebotte died suddenly of cerebral congestion. And he is one we can really mourn. He was good and generous and a painter of talent to boot.

Today, the Musée d’Orsay in Paris features a world-class Impressionist collection that includes 40 paintings and drawings from Caillebotte’s personal collection of works by his friends. The museum is aptly located in the historic Gare d’Orsay railway station on the Left Bank of the Seine.

Postscript: If you happen to be near Richmond, Virginia…

Experience “The Impressionist Revolution: Monet to Matisse” at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts from November 14, 2026 thru April 4, 2027.