On a gray Paris morning 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, but the French Academy of Fine Arts refused to endorse the new style of painting. In fact, it would be another three years before Impressionism even became a word.
Impressionism became a thing in 1877 when a lawyer-turned-artist named Gustave Caillebotte practically willed The Third Impressionist Exhibition into existence. By any measure, this show was the game-changer.
A remarkable debut
Caillebotte was still in law school when Claude Monet first floated the idea of defying the French Academy. The young law student 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 followed, left Paris in ruins and a nation demoralized. Caillebotte abandoned law and took up 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 consistently 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
Most 19th-century critics considered the subject matter vulgar, still they praised The Floor Scrapers for its palpable immediacy and the convincing way diffused window light spills across wet wood and human flesh.
But I wonder, are we looking at three men? Or one man depicted in three successive moments? In 1875, this would have been a radical idea. Was Caillebotte inspired by early experiments in motion photography taking place around the same time?
I spy only one wine glass on the floor. Perhaps it’s a clue?
A beacon in the rain
Caillebotte was eager to host a third exhibition, but his friends were losing interest in organizing 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 significant dinner gathering of 19th-century European painters? The details remain a mystery—save for a single letter Pissarro held onto for the rest of his life.
Caillebotte’s indelible mark
The decision to keep the dinner party small certainly paid off. The show they cooked up that evening was the most balanced and refined of the eight Impressionist exhibitions. Notably, it was the first time they used the term “Impressionists” to describe themselves as a group.
To produce the show, Caillebotte secured the gallery space, curated the installation, and financed the publicity. Beyond the logistics, he took on the role of diplomat, calmly negotiating all the petty jealousies and resentments—a singular achievement in my view.
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
Catching lightning in a bottle
The third exhibition opened on April 5, 1877, and it was dazzling.
The showstopper 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: relaxed, angry, smitten. He even tucked a few bored kids into his portrayal of a Montmartre dance hall on a Sunday afternoon.
(R) Claude Monet, Arrival of the Normandy Train, Gare Saint-Lazare (1877)
Renoir’s lifelong friend Claude Monet captured 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 as enthusiastic. One critic questioned whether the Impressionists could see correctly. “Blue again!” said Louis Leroy upon entering the Monet gallery.
(R) Edgar Degas, The Dance Class (1873)
The newspaper La Petite RĂ©publique called Camille Pissarro’s painting The Garden of Les Mathurins a remarkable canvas. The picture shows writer Maria Deraismes, a trailblazer for women’s rights, walking in the garden of her residence near Paris.Â
Pissarro masterfully applied the scientific theories found in Michel Eugène Chevreul’s 1857 book On the Law of Simultaneous Contrast of Colors. He placed thousands of unblended red and green brushstrokes side by side to enhance the vibrancy of each hue. (More about Pissarro)
A bold, playful vision
In a separate gallery down the hall, 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 LĂ©on de Lora, “Le Gaulois,” April, 1877
(R) Berthe Morisot, Head of a Girl (1876)
Overall, portraits received higher praise than landscapes—although critics mocked Paul CĂ©zanne’s likeness of a wealthy art collector. “His portrait of Victor Chocquet looks like the murderer Billoir in chocolate,” said the columnist for L’EvĂ©nement. (More about CĂ©zanne)
Cézanne displayed his works alongside those of Berthe Morisot, the only woman in the show. Unsurprisingly for the time, critics underscored her professional ties to the celebrated painter Édouard Manet, even though her style is far more diaphanous than his. (More about Morisot)
A patron saint and cornerstone
Nearly 500 people a day visited the Third Impressionist Exhibition, yet sales remained 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. Occasionally, he provided 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. In it, he bequeathed his growing art collection to France, on the condition the nation display it in a major museum. “He was at least twenty years ahead of his time,” said Varnedoe. “And he knew it.”
When Caillebotte died unexpectedly six months before his 46th birthday, the Impressionist circle was devastated. 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 MusĂ©e d’Orsay in Paris features a world-class collection of Impressionist art, including 40 paintings and drawings from Caillebotte’s personal collection of pictures made by his friends. The museum is aptly located inside the historic Gare d’Orsay railway station on the Left Bank of the Seine.
Postscript: If you happen to be in Nashville…
Don’t miss The Impressionist Revolution: Monet to Matisse at the Frist Art Museum in Nashville, Tennessee, from February 27 thru May 31, 2026. Click the link for details.