Paris Museum Review: Nissim de Camondo The Nissim de Camondo Museum’s story reads like too

Paris Museum Review: Nissim de Camondo The Nissim de Camondo Museum’s story reads like too many French Jewish family stories from the first half of the 20th century. Eager to serve his country, the young Nissim enlisted as soon as World War I broke out. At first, he served in the infantry, in the trenches, before joining the brand new French Air Force. He went missing during an air battle in Eastern France, aged just 25.   In his memory his father, the banker, aesthete and collector Moïse de Camondo, gifted his hôtel particulier, in Paris’ posh and quiet VIIIe arrondissement, to the nation. His other child, daughter Beatrice Reinach, had shown no interest in his collection of 18th century art. Moïse stipulated that the museum would bear his son’s name and would be kept exactly as it was at the time of his death, in 1935. Nothing added, nothing removed. Beatrice died a few years later, rounded up with her husband and two children by the police. Like so many French Jews, Beatrice had thought that her nationality, combined with her family’s services to the nation, would protect her. First kept in the Drancy transit camp, the Reinach family were deported to Auschwitz-Birkenau where they died - either gassed or from typhus - between 1943 and 1945. With them, died the last of the Camondos. Although not at the heart of the museum, the family’s painful history is present throughout the visit. It brings very human emotions to a time that would otherwise solely focus on the beauty and artefacts on display. Nissim is there, through photos as well as through the home office he only used a few times whilst on leave. Beatrice is there through her love of horses, seen for instance in a bronze equestrian statue of her. But most present of them all is their father Moïse. Moïse had the mansion built made-to-measure, modelled on the Versailles’ Petit Trianon’s architecture, to welcome his collection of 18th century treasures, including paintings, furniture, china, carpets. All were sourced from le style transition (1750 to 1774) and le style Louis XVI (1774 to 1785), two key Arts Décoratifs styles inspired by the discovery of Pompeii and geometric motives. Walking through the museum, it’s hard to imagine that was only built and furnished 100 years ago; Moïse’s modern taste (in terms of home comfort) are an easy reminder of how far ostentation had been indulged between the Revolution and the early 19th century. Moïse and Nissim both had large bathrooms with stoneware baths and bidets. The chef had a phone in his office. The kitchen displays the best late 1910’s culinary technology. Guests could take a lift rather than climb the spectacular flight of stairs. In keeping with Moïse’s modernity and functionality, the museum recently launched the augmented reality app Camondo AR. Available on iTunes and Android, it guides the visitor through one of my favourite rooms: le cabinet des porcelaines, which displays an extensive collection of chinas. They span 18th century styles and techniques: soft paste porcelain from Chantilly, Meissen porcelain from Germany and the highlight, three sets of green services Buffon from Sèvres, decorated with illustrations from Buffon’s 1770 Histoire Naturelle des Oiseaux (a natural history of birds). Thanks to the app, you can point your smartphone on any plate and hear each bird sing. The cabinet is a reminder of how much our current eating habits own the 18th century. Until then, there were no dining rooms; people ate in their bedrooms. Moïse’s modernity wasn’t just functional, it was also personal. He had divorced his wife Irène Cahen-d’Anvers, who you might have heard of thanks to her portrait by Pierre-Auguste Renoir. Their marriage had everything to do with bringing two powerful finance families together, and nothing to do with love. Following her daughter’s death in 1945, Irène inherited the Camondo fortune, which she is said to have squandered. Luckily, the conditions of Moïse’s donation stopped her from splitting his painfully gathered collection. The museum was closed during the war and emptied of its treasures, stored for safekeeping in the Valençay castle. Thanks to this foresight, we can admire Moïse’s precise taste. For instance, two console tables on display in the Salon des Huets were purchased almost 30 years apart. The library dictated the height of the first floor because it needed to be perfectly dimensioned to welcome the panelling Moïse had bought from an original 18th century mansion. The Savonnerie carpet in Moïse’s room comes from Versailles, where it had been delivered in 1760 so Mesdames the King’s sisters could use it in the chapel on holidays and Sundays. Through his purchases, Moïse safeguarded multiple 18th century oeuvres d’art. He isn’t the only member of the Camondo family French museums owe a debt to: you can spot the name next to numerous early 20th century paintings in museums like Le Louvre and Orsay. This is thanks to Moïse’s cousin Isaac - his 1911 donation contained some of the Impressionists’ most famous paintings. Manet’s Joueur de Fifre, Degas’ La Classe de Danse and Sisley’s L’Inondation à Port-Marly are all on display thanks to Isaac’s taste. The Nissim de Camondo museum is open Tuesday to Sunday. Leave two hours to visit, up to three if you go through every option on the audio guide. Photos courtesy of Camille Goulet. -- source link

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