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Part of Le Chef-d'oeuvre inconnu. Balzac and Rivette/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue
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The times may be bad, but we can still have some talk
about art!
H. Balzac, Le Chef-d’oeuvre inconnu
1.
Almost 200 years after being written Balzac’s Le
Chef-d’oeuvre inconnu still radiates a mysterious glow.1
The text is enveloped in a curious aura and the ex
traordinary rays produced by the backdrop are discern
ible in numerous fields. This is not merely a literary
phenomenon, which I envisage as consisting of its fic
tional character, but also enclosure within a world of
literature circulation and purely textual analyses. The
short story distinctly leans towards life and in assorted
ways transcends the limits of the world of fiction. For
years Le Chef-d’oeuvre inconnu has been an important
point of reference for numerous significant painters.
The reflections contained therein, focused on crea
tivity, the artist and art,2 became an ideological pro
gramme and road-sign, and the attitude represented
by Maître Frenhofer is an ideal of an artist selflessly
devoted to art and seeking perfection. Balzac’s story
left the domain of literary fiction, becoming a strong
and permanent myth for artistic consciousness.
Certain painters regarded the text as surety and an
outright talisman. Paul Cézanne discovered himself in
the Frenhofer character. This gesture of a serious at
titude towards an, after all, fictional character denotes
something more than mere confirmation of superficial
similarity; it comprises total identification. In his remi
niscences Emil Bernard recalled how one evening he
mentioned the text by Balzac, and the painter got up
from the table, planted himself before me, and, striking his
chest with his index finger, designated himself —without a
word, but through this repeated gesture —as the very per
son in the story. He was so moved that tears filled his eyes.3
Picasso too admired the novel and identified himself
with Frenhofer, although apparently for different rea
sons. He was commissioned by the art dealer Vollard
to illustrate the story and the drawings were shown at
a separate exhibition. By an incomprehensible coinci
dence while renting an atelier in Paris he lived in the
same street and house as Balzac’s protagonist! Balthus
in a conversation with Constantini recalled: Par une
mystérieuse coincidence, le protagoniste de la nouvelle, le
peintre Frenhofer, avait son atelier dans la maison même
ou Picasso avaint le sien, au 7, rue des Grands-Augustins.
C ’est Dora Maar qui lui avait trouvé...4 It was here that
in 1937 Picasso painted Guernica.5 The story also be
came the object of many critical dissertations analys
ing its assorted aspects: historical, literary, aesthetic,
and ideological.6 Their number is so great that as one
of the methodical commentators maintained Le Chefd’oeuvre inconnu is next to Sarrasine so buried in critical
discourse that it is hard to write about them at all.7 A t
the beginning of the 1990s it served as the basis for
341
DARIUSZ CZAJA
Le Chef-dfoeuvre
inconnu.
Balzac and Rivette
Jacques Rivette’s film: La Belle Noiseuse, an impro
vised variation on a theme described with enormous
expertise and inner fire by Balzac .8
Already this brief summary shows clearly that Le
Chef-d’oeuvre inconnu is not only a “capacious form”
but extremely so. Balzac’s text was treated as a con
venient and almost practical collection of instructions
for a good film, and its lead character played the part
of an exemplary artist. The story functioned as an
experimental testing field for assorted schools of in
terpretations. Ultimately, it became a source of inspi
ration and a prolific point of departure for a film sce
nario. Indubitably, Le Chef-d’oeuvre inconnu contains
some sort of semantic excess offering much food for
thought. Depending on the questions addressed to it
the text demonstrates an ever-new side in the manner
of a kaleidoscope whose slightest movement reveals a
different pattern. In the commentary presented below
and constructed so as to resemble a diptych I resigned
from totalising ambitions and concentrated only on a
single issue - that of the image.
First, I shall take a closer look at the way in which
the text tells the story of the phenomenon of the
painting, the significance attached to it, and the aes
thetic controversies it involves. Next, I shall confront
this knowledge with the film narration proposed by
Rivette. In other words, at the onset we shall see how
the image appears in the text and later how this (pain
terly) image functions in an (film) image. Right away,
however, it is worth stressing that although I place
the two types of discourse alongside each other this
is not a study inclined towards problems associated
with film adaptation. I am interested, predominantly,
in the rhetoric of a conversation about the ontology
of the image: not only what it is but also the man
ner in which it exists and, more extensively, the dif
ferences between the image in the text and the film
as well as the consequences of its comprehension for
understanding the tasks and essence of art in general.
Since the image, mentioned to such a great extent in
the text and the film, remains a mystery in itself then
D ariusz C z aja • L E C H E F -D ’O E U V R E I N C o N N D . BALZAC AND RIVETTE
talking about it cannot follow merely simple intellec
tual trajectories.
2.
Balzac situated his story in the distant past (con
ceived as such by him and even more so by us), i.e.
the year 1612. This renders its subsequent impact
even more interesting. We see clearly that although
the story is precisely placed in time, as is usually the
case with Balzac’s texts, the conclusions drawn from it
certainly transcend the historical milieu. The general
framework is a passionate - in every meaning of that
word - dispute on the nature of art. This literary dis
cussion about painting conducted by various partici
pants, about the meaning of painting, the elementary
principles and rigours of the craft also concerns dan
gerous connections between life and art. The prime
protagonists are three artists: old Frenhofer, Probus
in his prime, and the youngest: Nicholas Poussin, re
sembling three personifications of the spirit of time:
past, present and future .9 These characters belong to
different worlds of painting and represent three dis
similar approaches to painting. But this is not all: in
the background of the “masculine” dispute about the
tasks of art there are two women with a different, so
to speak, ontological status: the “lifeless” Catherine,
Frenhofer’s former model, existing as a painted char
acter immobilised on canvas, and the “living” young
and attractive Gilette composed of a beautiful body
and unconcealed emotions. Although they occupy the
backdrop of the story their role is not limited merely to
being extras. On the contrary: it is exactly around the
two women that meanings essential for the story are
construed. The yardstick of the force of Balzac’s liter
ary work is the fact that we react to the fictional figure
of Frenhofer as much more real than those of Probus
and Poussin, who, after all, possess concrete, historical
models! It is also quite possible that such a reaction is,
as Arthur Danto wrote, homage paid to the fact that
the highly Romanticised vision of art, and in particu
lar painting, from whose viewpoint Balzac conceived
Frenhofer and his chef-d’oeuvre, continues to remain
even in an age of cynicism and deconstruction the
strongest component of our comprehension of art and
certainly of painting .10
The three painters meet in Probus’ studio. Frenhofer, an outstanding artist, is a legend among paint
ers, while the young Poussin takes part in the gather
ing somewhat by chance. Probus presents his work to
the master who without sparing his friend’s feelings
openly and methodically criticises it. During the visit
at the studio Poussin finds out than the old man has
not been painting for years. More, he had abandoned
work on a canvas that he had been executing for ten
years: La Belle Noiseuse, which he intended to be his
masterpiece. Now, he frenziedly conceals the canvas
342
and no one has even seen it. Poussin experiences a
powerful wish to view the masterpiece-to-be but Fr
enhofer guards it jealously and refuses all requests.
Poussin thus devises a plan for ignoring the prohibition
and conducts a curious transaction. His beautiful fian
cée, Gilette, is to become the master’s model so that
he could complete the painting and in return allow
Poussin and Probus to see the finished work. Gillette
agrees, mainly due to her feelings for Poussin although
with certain reservations. Several months later, Pro
bus appears in the master’s atelier with the proposal.
The enraged Frenhofer refuses to hear anything about
his work and his woman being tainted by the eyes of
another man. A t that very moment enter Poussin
and Gillette. Frenhofer ultimately capitulates, aware
that this is probably the last possible opportunity for
completing the canvas. He has been seeking a suitable
model for years, but to no avail. A few minutes later
Probus and Poussin appear in the studio and stand in
front of La Belle Noiseuse. To their great astonishment
they see nothing but a chaotic tangle of lines and uni
dentified shapes. The irritated painter throws them
out and on the next day they learn that Frenhofer died
that night. Before passing away he managed to burn
all his works.
The entire story depicts a battle for understand
ing the nature of painting, the essence of the art of
depiction. The prime protagonist is Frenhofer and
the other two painters mainly listen, with only Pro
bus at times joining the dispute. Frenhofer not only
creates art but is also its self-proclaimed theoretician.
His exalted reflections show that he is totally con
vinced that he is right. This is not purely discoursive
“intellectual” knowledge; its legitimation is the whole
oeuvre of the great Frenho and in particular his last,
unfinished work. But what did Frenhofer really have
in mind while speaking about painting? What did he
regard as the “perfect painting”? What properties of
painting are decisive for being worthy of inclusion into
the domain of art? What is a masterpiece? Time for a
closer look.
Frenhofer, as has been mentioned, was, above all,
a practician testing a painting with his hand and eye.11
A t the Probus studio he examines a canvases entitled:
Saint Mary of Egypt by his younger colleague. An out
standing work, more: considered by his contemporar
ies to be a masterpiece. For a few moments Frenhofer
penetrates it with his keen glance but the verdict he
pronounces is far from commonplace admiration. His
ruthless assessment of the work by another artist is,
however, an excellent directive for finding out which
traits the master considered to be contemptible and
which deserving his praise.
Your good woman is not badly done, but she is not
alive. You artists fancy that when a figure is correctly
drawn, and everything in its place according to the rules
D ariusz C z aja • L E C H E F -D ’O E U V R E IN C O N N U . BALZAC AND RIVETTE
of anatomy, there is nothing more to be done. You make
up the flesh tints beforehand on your palettes according to
your formulae, and fill in the outlines with due care that
one side of the face shall be darker than the other; and
because you look from time to time at a naked woman who
stands on the platform before you, you fondly imagine that
you have copied nature, think yourselves to be painters,
believe that you have wrested His secret from God.12
Elementary skills of anatomical drawing, sensitiv
ity to colour, technical adroitness, ability to apply the
rules of composition - all are conditions necessary for
creating an outstanding work but, apparently, insuf
ficient. Frenhofer’s opinion is cruel towards those
painters who are convinced that workshop skills are
adequate to enter the land of art. You may know your
syntax thoroughly and make no blunders in your grammar,
but it takes that and something more to make a great poet;
it is not enough to be acquainted with the basics of
painting and the fundamental rules of the grammar
of creation to paint a great masterpiece. Furthermore,
taking a closer look at the canvas Frenhofer notices a
serious, disqualifying fault:
Look at your saint, Probus! At a first glance she is
admirable; look at her again, and you see at once that she
is glued to the background, and that you could not walk
round her. She is a silhouette that turns but one side of her
face to all beholders, a figure cut out of canvas, an image
with no power to move or change her position. I feel as if
there were no air between that arm and the background,
no space, no sense of distance in your canvas. The perspec
tive is perfectly correct, the strength of the coloring is ac
curately diminished with the distance; but, in spite of these
praiseworthy efforts, I could never bring myself to believe
that the warm breath of life comes and goes in that beauti
ful body. It seems to me that if I laid my hand on the firm,
rounded throat, it would be cold as marble to the touch.
No, my friend, the blood does not flow beneath that ivory
skin, the tide of life does not flush those delicate fibers, the
purple veins that trace a network beneath the transparent
amber of her brow and breast. Here the pulse seems to
beat, there it is motionless, life and death are at strife in
every detail; here you see a woman, there a statue, there
again a corpse.
Ignore at this point comments about the instru
ments of poetic ecphrasis used brilliantly by Balzac
in this fragment (and not only here). We are dealing
with a lucidly outlined ideal of Frenhofer’s aesthetics.
If a painted body is to become something more than
a faithfully copied shape it must come alive. From the
flat depiction that it invariably is it has to change into a
quasi-three-dimensional object. The two-dimensional
surface must become a spatial solid, a shape that is
to produce the effect of warm, living reality pulsating
with blood. To put it differently: the ideal of the fe
male body shown on canvas is to be a spatial sculpture.
This, as it follows unambiguously from the cited argu
343
ment, belongs to the alchemy of art: thanks to skill
and talent (genius?) two dimensions are to become
three. The illusion is to be complete and should not
require any sort of appeal. It is to hypnotise the viewer,
to wield absolute power over him, to become the rea
son why the depicted figure is not solely a source of
aesthetic pleasure but also “leaves the frame”, mate
rialises itself right in front of the viewer and becomes
part of life. And vice versa: if such directives are ig
nored then a painting will “be not quite right”; true,
it could possess well executed particular parts but as
a whole it will be dead, lifeless, just as Saint Mary of
Egypt, a colorless creature.
Just to make things clear: according to Frenhofer
the canvas under discussion was not bad or totally
devoid of values; on the contrary: (...) this picture of
yours is worth more than all the paintings of that rascal
Rubens, but it lacked something extremely essential.
What? Yes, truly, a woman carries her head in just such
a way, so she holds her garments gathered into her hand;
her eyes grow dreamy and soft with that expression of meek
sweetness, and even so the quivering shadow of the lashes
hovers upon her cheeks. It is all there, and yet it is not
there. What is lacking? A nothing, but that nothing is ev
erything. There you have the semblance of life, but you
do not express its fullness and effluence, that indescrib
able something, perhaps the soul itself, that envelopes the
outlines of the body like a haze (...). Yes, that “nothing”
makes the difference, and in the domain of art - a co
lossal difference. In the brutal painting lesson given
to Probus and Poussin three things appear to be clear.
First, the difference between ordinary painting and
true art is not measured only by the degree of mastery
of the workshop. It belongs to another domain and
corresponds exactly to the difference between life and
death. Secondly: a person who can boast that he has
captured the resemblance of the portrayed sitter does
not deserve to be called an artist. The true artist pos
sesses the gift of bringing the dead to life. Thirdly: it
is evident that the thus comprehended art of painting
transcends far beyond the skill of an artisan and be
comes an occupation on the borderline of magic, in a
word: theurgy.
Probus, however, does not admit to defeat and
claims that all that he had accomplished on the can
vas was executed in accordance with the inalienable
rigours of art. A t the same time, he complains that
Nature is prone to changes and that there exist such
natural phenomena that cannot be rendered on can
vas. Frenhofer responds instantly and in a manner that
leaves no illusion as regards such a barren approach to
the tasks of painting:
The aim of art is not to copy nature, but to express it.
You are not a servile copyist, but a poet! (...) We must
detect the spirit, the informing soul in the appearances of
things and beings. Effects! What are effects but the ac
D ariusz C z aja • L E C H E F -D ’O E U V R E IN C O N N U . BALZAC AND RIVETTE
cidents of life, not life itself? (...) Many a painter achieves
success instinctively, unconscious of the task that is set
before art. You draw a woman, yet you do not see her!
Not so do you succeed in wresting Nature’s secrets from
her! You are reproducing mechanically the model that you
copied in your master’s studio. You do not penetrate far
enough into the inmost secrets of the mystery of form; you
do not seek with love enough and perseverance enough af
ter the form that baffles and eludes you. Beauty is a thing
severe and unapproachable, never to be won by a languid
lover. You must lie in wait for her coming and take her
unawares, press her hard and clasp her in a tight embrace,
and force her to yield. Form is a Proteus more intangible
and more manifold than the Proteus of the legend; com
pelled, only after long wrestling, to stand forth manifest in
his true aspect.
These comments appear to be the clou of Frenhofer’s arguments. Painting that attains the dimension of
art does not copy anything, does not transfer onto the
canvas “the way it is” in a manner in which a compari
son of the real and the painted resembles two concur
rent sides of an algebra equation, but fulfils itself in the
function of expressing. What does this mean precisely?
Here, the noun “poetry” is undoubtedly a metaphor
and signifies, presumably, a special ability to transpose
life, reality - regardless of its nature - into the matter
of the artwork but in such a mode so that that, which
is painted would not turn into a simple replica of the
obvious but would become equipped with the earlier
mentioned “effluence”. Admittedly, this is not an ex
cessively precise formulation but it is probably a cryptonym for the extraordinary aura and force of sui generis
surrealism emanated only by masterpieces, which all
other paintings lack. Remarks about the form, in par
ticular its intangibility, are also noteworthy. Capturing
it, Frenhofer declared avidly, is extremely difficult and
calls not so much for ordinary talent and enormous
work but also something more: the creation of special
conditions in order to offer hope for seizing it better.
Thanks to the patient effort of looking the artist cre
ates only space in which form could then reveal itself.
Form seems to appear at special moments preceded by
mighty endeavours, at moments of some sort of a flash,
intuition, possibly clairvoyance. In the language of re
ligion: at moments of grace. This is perhaps the reason
why Frenhofer executing on Probus’s canvas humili
ating corrections that will enable it to slowly “come
alive”, and, explaining patiently where the author had
committed errors, says at the end: Do not look too long
at that canvas, young man (...). You would fall a victim
to despair. This probably means that in his opinion the
author had not been granted the grace of seeing and
that the extraordinary talent that he without doubt
has at his disposal makes it possible to copy reality but
certainly not to create a masterpiece. Beauty is a thing
severe and unapproachable...
344
There is no better opportunity for testing the value
of the master’s arguments than to refer them to his
works. The difficulty, however, lies in the fact that
Frenhofer hid the painting that could have disclosed
his mastery and the secret of the qualities of a master
piece. More, the reason why he does not want to show
it is rather strange, but apparently stems, at least to a
certain degree, from earlier remarks. Recall: his paint
ing depicts the nude courtesan Catherine Lescaut. Its
tabooisation comes directly from a conviction, ex
pressed by the artist, about the essential identity of
the image and the person! In other words, the point
is not to conceal the secrets of art or the canvas from
ineligible eyes but to withhold from the eyes of paint
ers (men, after all!) the naked body of a woman dear
to the artist:
But this picture, locked away above in my studio, is an
exception in our art. It is not a canvas, it is a woman —a
woman with whom I talk. I share her thoughts, her tears,
her laughter. Would you have me fling aside these ten
years of happiness like a cloak? Would you have me cease
at once to be father, lover, and creator? She is not a crea
ture, but a creation. Bring your young painter here. I will
give him my treasures; I will give him pictures by Correggio
and Michelangelo and Titian; I will kiss his footprints in
the dust; but make him my rival! Shame on me. Ah! ah!
I am a lover first, and then a painter. Yes, with my latest
sigh I could find strength to burn my Belle Noiseuse; but
—compel her to endure the gaze of a stranger, a young man
and a painter! —Ah! no, no!
The unquestionably insane vision of the brilliant
painter produced an overlapping and total merge of a
real person and her depiction, the physical body and
the painterly sign. In this situation, the painter abdi
cated from his profession and became a jealous lover.
If this is the case then evidently the game of hide and
seek no longer involves aesthetics but life itself. The
issue at stake is not the canvas but the woman. No
one has the right to look at her nude body because this
would mean presenting it to obscene and pre-emptive
gazes. Actually, it would be tantamount to putting it
up for sale. Ultimately, however, Frenhofer, similarly
to the young Poussin, traded body for body although
in both cases the direction of this transaction, so to
speak, was different. Poussin sold part of his life in the
name of art, while Frenhofer acted precisely on the
contrary. Relegate to the margin the assessment of this
artistic prostitution and see how La Belle Noiseuse was
viewed. Unusually excited - his face aglow with a more
than human exaltation, his eyes glittered, he breathed hard
like a young lover frenzied by love - Frenhofer led both
painters to his canvas:
Aha! he cried, you did not expect to see such perfec
tion! You are looking for a picture, and you see a woman
before you. There is such depth in that canvas, the atmo
sphere is so true that you cannot distinguish it from the air
D ariusz C z aja • L E C H E F -D ’O E U V R E IN C O N N U . BALZAC AND RIVETTE
that surrounds us. Where is art? Art has vanished, it is
invisible! It is the form of a living girl that you see before
you. Have I not caught the very hues of life, the spirit of
the living line that defines the figure? Is there not the effect
produced there like that which all natural objects present
in the atmosphere about them, or fishes in the water? Do
you see how the figure stands out against the background?
Does it not seem to you that you pass your hand along the
back? But then for seven years I studied and watched how
the daylight blends with the objects on which it falls. And
the hair, the light pours over it like a flood, does it not? ...
Ah! she breathed, I am sure that she breathed! Her breast
—ah, see! Who would not fall on his knees before her? Her
pulses throb. She will rise to her feet. Wait!
To no avail. The admiration of the old master for
his work proved to be premature. Both expert painters
standing in front of the canvas did not demonstrate
enthusiasm of any sort. Worse: they declared that the
painting showed nothing! They saw only a chaotic
composition and confused masses of color and a multitude of fantastical lines expressed in the original in even
stronger terms: a wall of paint, une muraille de peinture. 13 With a single exception: in the corner of the
canvas they noticed a fragment worthy of attention:
un pied delicieux, un pied vivant14 (the Polish translation
unfortunately has: “leg”, thus destroying the whole fetishistic context of the fragment). This fraction of the
masterpiece was, however, embedded in total chaos,
shapelessness and indetermination. Both men, forced
by Frenhofer to express their opinions, confirmed the
initial examination. The old man did not give up: he
either sobbed over his hapless impotence or obsti
nately claimed that under this external, visible chaos
there is a discernible, despite all, shape of a woman,
the emanation of true beauty.
What is this poignant scene about? Who is really
wrong? What can be seen in the painting? What is the
une muraille de peinture that shocks and violates the
aesthetic habits of the viewers? Nothing here is quite
certain. Danto was right when he wrote that reading
this fragment we are left guessing: was it the old paint
er who had lost his senses or the young artists who had
lost their sight?15 One more thing: why did Frenhofer
burn his canvases? Before we try to cast some light on
those questions and, at the same time, reveal at least
part of the puzzle of the painting let us take a look at
the way in which the initial plot scheme from Balzac’s
story has been transposed into the film. Let us see to
what sort of transformations a literary discourse about
painting literary has been subjected.
3.
Rivette shifted Balzac’s story into contemporary
times (the early 1990s) but the basic outline of the
plot remains unchanged. A renowned painter, Ed
ouard Frenhofer, leads a prosperous life together
345
with his family in a country residence in the south of
France. This is retirement of sorts, life after life, since
he has not created anything of importance for quite
some time with the exception of several insignificant
self-portraits. He had abandoned painting ten years
earlier, not completing (being unable to complete? not
wishing to complete?) a painting to which his wife, Liz,
posed. On a certain hot summer day there arrives at
his home a young painter, Nicholas, brought over by a
popular art dealer Balthazar Probus, together with the
artist’s girlfriend, Marianne. Nicholas is delighted with
the opportunity to make the acquaintance of the mas
ter whom he had admired for long. Nonetheless, he
will not become the prime participant of a discussion
about art. Frenhofer is enchanted with the beauty of
the girl, not merely her external features but also some
sort of an undefined force that she radiates. Faced
with a proposal formulated by the dealer, who men
tions that this is an exceptional chance to complete
the painting, Nicholas agrees in her name, without
asking Marianne about her opinion. He is obviously
extremely proud that his girl will become Frenhofer’s
new muse. In other words, that he too will play a part,
however slight, in the future masterpiece. Frenhofer
agrees to the terms of this curious transaction. Hav
ing found out about the agreement the girl becomes
upset and realises that art means more for her part
ner than she does. Ultimately, however, she agrees to
pose. The old project is revived and there is a chance
that La Belle Noiseuse will be completed. The out
standing painter initiates his work and the old artist
and the young model spend the next few days alone
in the solitude of the atelier. Day after day and hour
after hour they share physical torment, with Frenhofer
attempting to realise the impossible. After two days
of posing Nicholas demonstrates signs of impatience
and (after all!) jealousy; Liz too becomes anxious. But
matters had already gone too far and the players are
no longer performing their parts but obviously have
started acting according to supra-individual rules. All
the main protagonists are outfitted with a certain curi
ous ambiguity, gradually revealing the originally con
cealed aspects of their personalities. Only Probus, the
art expert and influential dealer, appears in the role of
an unambiguous villain; at the same time, everything
seems to suggest that he is Liz’s former lover. It is he
who commissioned Frenho to complete the painting
and who will enjoy priority in purchasing it. For him
the value of the canvas is measured with figures. It
has a price also for the remaining dramatis personae but
paid in perhaps a less measurable but certainly more
painful currency: that of real life.
Let it be said straight away: Rivette’s film is differ
ent from Balzac’s story but it is also partly about some
thing else. While stressing this dissimilarity I do not
have in mind that the film treats literary matter in an
D ariusz C z aja • L E C H E F -D ’O E U V R E IN C O N N U . BALZAC AND RIVETTE
other way or that it introduces solutions missing in the
text. I rather emphasize the radical divergence of both
media because it is exactly that feature, which proves
to be essential for the basic configuration of mean
ings. That, which in the case of Balzac is only talked
about (although his vocabulary possesses a creative
force and affects the imagination extremely strongly)
in Rivette’s film is shown. In Balzac’s novel we read
about the paintings and in Rivette’s film we actually
see them (although not the most important canvas).
More: the film offers us an opportunity to watch the
painter working. As has been stressed upon numer
ous occasions, no other film about a painter’s life, with
painting as a theme, had ever placed such strong em
phasis on the process of painting as such and its purely
physical aspect. La Belle Noiseuse is possibly, first and
foremost, not so much a film treatise about the essence
of painting as about laborious, unattractive work brim
ming with errors and numerous stumbles and aimed at
the ultimate achievement of an artistic effect, i.e. it
deals with that, which in the technical vocabulary of
aesthetics is known as the “creative process”. There is
less of the “metaphysics” of painting and much more
of its “physics”. Sketches, preliminary work, changes,
repetitions, retouching and then everything once
again, from the beginning. This is what successive
stages of the origin of a painting look like. The direc
tor’s extraordinary accomplishment consists of bring
ing the spectator close to all those operations by con
centrating attention on the very process of painting:
multiple close-ups of a hand drawing lines on paper,
placing colour on canvas, extracting the first shape
out of nothing. We closely observe the painter’s hand
(in this “part” the hand of the artist Bernard Dolour,
who lent it to Michel Piccoli in the scenes of sketch
ing and painting) using a pencil, a piece of charcoal, a
feather, and a paintbrush. The plot takes place in com
plete silence, additionally enhanced (yes!) by sounds
coming from the background, the sort of acoustic ef
fects usually not heard in a film: the scratching of a
feather on paper, the rustle of a pencil, the sound of a
piece of paper being folded or cardboard being pinned
on a board, etc. The sketching scenes and the initial
studies of the figure are shown in almost real time and
take up practically half of the film. Long takes, few
cuts, slow motion, lengthy silence. No music wad
ding the scenes. An image of the intimate activity of
creation. A true non-action movie. All this produces
the impression of participating in the emergence of a
painting. Gradually, step-by-step, the viewer becomes
drawn into the game. In the course of the four-hours
long - and in places outright hypnotic - spectacle
(and here the word is not misused since the film is
clearly and, I believe, intentionally theatralised) we
take part in the birth of an artwork. The exhaustion of
the spectator watching La Belle Noiseuse appears to be
346
only slightly lesser than that of the actors participating
in the undertaking. Observing for countless minutes a
hand drawing a line on paper we are just as irritated
as fascinated! But such is the intentional strategy de
ployed by Rivette and maintained to the very end.
The act of painting, on par with preceding labori
ous portrait studies, is shown as a genuine cognitive
process. Here, painting is not by any means a domain
of aesthetic pleasure but a distinctly cognitive activ
ity. Marianne takes off her bathrobe and stands naked
in front of the painter. Much time will pass before he
finds that one pose that reveals her concealed interior
(afterwards, the girl tries to assist him in this task). He
treats his model in the same manner as a sculptor ap
proaching clay: no sentiments, only the wish to grant a
suitable shape. Bending and almost breaking the girl’s
limbs Frenhofer helps her to find a pose that will be
more than mere sophisticated corporeal decoration.
The goal is to discover a pose that will freeze in the
function of expression. These activities at time resem
ble acts of refined sadism. The arrangement of a body
in unusual shapes unambiguously brings to mind tor
ture. The painter clearly hurts the girl but she, initially
resisting, assumes the complicated poses, including
those that result in physical and psychic exhaustion.
All those inconveniences and physical struggles pos
sess, however, a clearly delineated objective. Frenho
expresses this unmistakably, turning to his model:
I’U break you to pieces... get you out of your carcass.16
It would be difficult to express more lucidly the con
viction that the truth about man does not lie on the
surface nor is it contained within that, which is seen
directly or better still: visible. On the contrary: it is
ex definitione hidden and constitutes the reality, which
it is necessary to disclose. The target is not accom
plished by just undressing a person; no “naked truth”
will emerge in this fashion. Evidently, this is not the
point: here, nudity is not a synonym of truth, because
clothes are not a simple form of concealment. After
all, long-term contact with the model’s nudity (both
in the case of the painter and the spectator) demon
strates just how easily nakedness becomes a form of
clothes. It is necessary to struggle for the sake of the
truth by resorting to all available artistic methods.
More: at this stage there is no mention of art or paint
ing of any sort. The reason for this state of things lies
in the fact that for the time being it is necessary to
make certain cognitively fundamental discoveries so
that the very process of painting a nude would have
any meaning at all!
The truth about the portrayed person is not re
vealed by a certain extraordinary fragment, because it
discloses itself within the phenomenon of the w h o l
e: The whole body, not just some pieces... I want more. I
want everything. The blood, the fire, the ice... AII that’s
inside your body. I’II take it all. I’II get it out of you and
D ariusz C z aja • L E C H E F -D ’O E U V R E IN C O N N U . BALZAC AND RIVETTE
put it into this frame. Here! In this blank. Like that. I’U
get to know what’s inside under your thin surface... I want
the invisible. No, it’s not that! I want... It’s not me who
wants... It’s the line... the stroke.... Nobody knows what a
stroke is. And I’m after it. Where am I going? To the sky?
Why not? Why wouldn’t a stroke burst the sky?
The painterly glance is not concerned with merely
sliding on the surface. Nor does it focus on nudity or
the bodily sheath as such. The target is total decom
position (naturally: formal) of the perceived body and
its re-arrangement, but already in a different order: No
more breasts, no more stomach, no more thighs, no more
buttocks! Whirlwinds! Galaxies, the ebb and the flow...
Black holes! The original hubbub, have you never heard
of it? That’s what I always wanted from you. I’m going to
crumble you, you’re going to break up. We’II see what’s
left of you when you forget everything. Don’t worry, you’II
get it back if you still want it. It is necessary, therefore,
to cast aside the haphazard and the unnecessary and
to leave only the essential form. It is requisite to break
through the shell of appearance, that static illusion,
which is the outcome of the habitual glance so as to
discover the “centre” pulsating with life. Next - and
this is the most difficult stage - to find suitable instru
ments in order to insert this stereoscope depth into
the two dimensions of the flat canvas.
The whole time the painter’s thought is organized
by the opposition: surface and interior, outside and in
side. In his eyes, truth is on the side of that, which is
not given directly, i.e. the “interior” and “depth”. The
surface lies. Consequently, if the painting is to possess
a cognitive asset then the painter’s glance is to, first of
all, resemble a detector and should be akin to an X-ray
(I want the invisible). It is precisely this sort of sensitive
perception that has a chance to extract from a static
configuration its inherent potential, pulse, dynamic,
emotions, in a word: life. Only then that, which is
seen can be transposed into a differed dimension and
render painted reality. Another noteworthy com
ment made by Frenhofer maintains that the painter
controls the created work only to a certain degree. He
intentionally produces a certain composition but at a
given moment it starts to heed its own logic. Frenhofer
probably had in mind the form created by the painter,
which at a certain moment assumes strange autonomy
and emanates some sort of an unclear but nonethe
less absolutely real creative imperative. Not only is it
impossible to oppose it, but, on the contrary, it is man
datory to succumb to this inner necessity. This is pre
cisely the above-mentioned “entity”, which definitely
is not a simple sum of parts but a subtle quality built
as if above them.
A t an extremely interesting moment Frenhofer in
an act of self-reflection reveals to Marianne the reason
why years earlier he embarked upon a nude portrait of
Liz: Anyway, at first I wanted her, before wanting to paint
347
her. This primeval impulse, which forces to paint, is
known as desire. It was desire with its erotic sources
that compelled him to render immobile a loved person
in a painting, to keep her depiction for himself. We
shall return to this essential motif, closely connected
with Balzac’s story. The same fragment of the artist’s
statement contains also a record of creative fever, a
strongly metamorphosed but nonetheless credible
description of work on a painting: For the first time,
I was scared. The fear became the driving force behind
what I did. A change of speed, like a whirlwind. I became
blind. A tactile painting. As if it were my fingers that saw
and commanded themselves. That’s what I’m looking for.
That’s what I want. Yes, that’s it! It was then, maybe that
I became a real painter. The usually restrained Frenho
speaks with open and unconcealed fascination and
the described moments appear to bring not only crea
tive fulfilment. More: he recalls those moments of the
grace of seeing (how else should we call them?) and
the gift of an intuitive certitude of painting with direct
jealousy and hope that perhaps now he will be able
to repeat them. He is right - something of the former
outburst appears to reappear in his work with Mari
anne. The totally exhausted artist and model conduct
a dialogue:
M: You’re rotten..
F: I want nothing, I told you. It’s the painting... You
and I, we’re just involved. It’s going to be a whirlwind,
a cataract, a maelstrom... Faster, faster. Until you see
nothing, feel nothing. Your ears aren’t buzzing?
M: I’ve no more ears, I can’t feel my body.
F: Very well, neither can I. That’s almost it... almost.
The afore-mentioned artificiality or theatrical
character of those phrases does not eject the impres
sion that the heart of the matter concerns something
truly essential. First, let us mention the importance in
the creative process of a thread linking the painter and
the model. This observation would have been simply
trivial if it were not supplemented by a remark about
a mysterious, undefined “third element”: that of the
overwhelming reality in which they both participate,
because apparently it is that reality, which bestows im
portance and meaning to painting. The cited dialogue
is aware of the fact that the artist is not the only per
son responsible for the ultimate shape of the painting.
It says all too vividly that in the course of purifying the
vision transpiring on the canvas something happens
to the depiction that evades all control. It seems that
the painting takes over all initiative and that the artist
can at best adapt himself to the trend of the solutions
proposed by the canvas.
The painter-model configuration is a natural and
outright exemplary variant of the relation of power
and subjugation. Seemingly, in this configuration the
D ariusz C z aja • L E C H E F -D ’O E U V R E IN C O N N U . BALZAC AND RIVETTE
model is from the onset in a lost position. The gaze
of the painter (and the man!) is a look “from above”
and subjectivizes. Marianne says angrily to Frenhofer:
Stop pretending. As a cat in front of a bird. But she does
not give up so easily. During the exhausting scenes of
posing the two are engaged in curious psychomachy, a
struggle for domination whose objective is the taming
of the shrew. The very act of painting has something
of an appropriation of the painted object. From the
very beginning this is perfectly understood by Liz, the
most important of the Frenhofer models. She warns
Marianne, but the latter ignores her words. After a
while, Nicholas becomes aware of the ambiguous pro
cedure. His jealousy is devoid of fear about eventual
sexual exploitation but is based on rather apt intui
tion that by painting Marianne, Frenhofer is taking
her from him in a much profounder sense of the word.
He is seizing all of her, and this means not only her
cosmically magnificent body but also that, which it
conceals: her spiritual interior. In other words: eve
rything, her whole heretofore life together with all its
moments. How is this feasible? In one of the conver
sations Liz cites a certain commonly held conviction,
namely, that at the moment of drowning a person sees
a film of his whole life:
Is it really possible to capture a whole life... on the
canvas of a painting? Just like t h a t . with a few traces
of paint?
It seems unbelievable. but actually this is what Frenhofer was searching for.
You mean this is something shameless?
Yes, that’s i t . shameless.
It’s not the flesh that’s shameless, it’s not the nu
d i t y . It’s something else.
Frenhofer’s comprehension of painting envisages
depriving the model of all her outer layers in a quest
for those deepest concealed particles, reaching the
lowest strata of intimacy, i.e. shamelessness. It would
be difficult to find a better formulation of the thought
that painting, in its innermost core, fulfils such a de
nuding, revelatory function. This is why Liz says that
it would be best if Marianne did not see the completed
work: Frenhofer won’t protect her.
It is symptomatic that both when we read Balzac’s
story and while watching Rivette’s film we focus con
stantly on the convoluted relations between art and
life. One of the most important questions asks why did
Frenhofer resign from further work on La Belle Noiseuse with Liz as the model. We have at our disposal
two replies:
Painter: Why didn’t I continue? I’d have died of it. Or
else, she would have.
Model: First he wanted to paint me because he loved
me, and then because he loved me. He didn’t want to paint
me. It was me or painting, that’s what he said.
If the first statement is understood only in catego
ries of physical destruction then I find the second more
interesting. It clearly says that there exists a disjunc
tion between art and life, a permanent tension. To
devote oneself wholly to art, to execute a portrait of
one’s beloved means burying the object of one’s admi
ration and passion. There is always a price to be paid.
In the case of such a solution that, which we gain in
art we lose in life. In the case of the opposite solution
we shall lose as artists but turn out to be winners in
life. Both those objectives - if I understood the parable
correctly - cannot be implemented simultaneously.
Aware of this, Frenhofer ceased painting because he
feared that he would lose Liz once and for all.
But had he not actually lost her? The facts are
harsh. From the moment when he agreed that Mari
anne should pose for the once abandoned painting Frenhofer lives in the orbit of two women. Once again
let us stress: this is not erotic rivalry. That would be
too simple. The issue at stake is art and thus life. Is
this so difficult to understand? Here is a fragment of a
dialogue conducted by Marianne and Frenhofer:
M: Why did you abandon it?
F: Abandon what?
M: The old painting with Liz.
F: Why are you so interested? Liz is not you.
M: But it’s that one... It’s that painting you wanted to
start again.
F: You can never start again....
M: Why me? It was Liz then...? What are you using me
for? It’s not me you wanted to paint, you said.
F: It’s you and it isn’t you. It’s more than you. More
of you than you can imagine. If the painting’s true it will
be you.
M: I don’t get it.
F: Neither do I. AII the better!
348
This truly enigmatic exchange of opinions offers
no clear-cut conclusions. Frenhofer seems to be some
what evading an answer, although admittedly the very
topic of the reflections makes it extremely difficult to
propose concrete conceits. The problem remains: who
will appear in the newly painted composition? Liz or
Marianne? Or perhaps a third model, a hybrid of the
two? What role does the young model play: is she the
real subject of the composition or only an objective
source of inspiration? Is it possible to replace the al
ready depicted woman together with her characteris
tic traits and unique face by another body and face?
And can that substitution of one woman by another
be cognitively and ethically innocent? An angry con
versation held by Liz and Frenhofer sheds some light
on the question:
L: But tell me something... Since when for one work
in progress you have to destroy another one? An old one,
D ariusz C z aja • L E C H E F -D ’O E U V R E IN C O N N U . BALZAC AND RIVETTE
O.K., abandoned, O.K., but there was my face there and
I liked it. You had to wipe me out.
F: It’s not you I wiped out.
L: What’s the word for it? You replaced me, yes. You
put some buttocks in place of my face...
F: I couldn’t do it differently. I can’t go on with the
work if I keep recollections, regrets... I just had to do it.
And believe it or not, it wasn’t easy for me.
Earlier, Liz warned Marianne not to allow her face
to be portrayed. Now we know why. She fears not only
that the painting will deprive her of a part of her life
but also expresses anxiety about a potential substitute.
In the incomplete version of the painting Liz’s face has
been painted over and next to it the artist situated the
body of Marianne seen from the back. A t this particu
lar moment relations between art and life, painting
and existence are on knife’s edge. Frenhofer does not
perceive his gesture as something extraordinary and
believes that by eradicating Liz from the painting he
has merely opened space for a new world. By separat
ing life from art he is certain that he has performed
solely a gesture belonging to the domain of painting,
while she, a believer in the permeability of the depic
tion and the person, is firmly convinced that by re
moving her from the painting he has also banished her
from life. That he had betrayed their shared life for the
sake of art. This muddle is symptomatic. Liz is clearly
heartbroken by what she has seen. In a brief conver
sation with her husband she declares that she is no
longer expecting anything and that her life has come
to an end. She adds that when she saw him sleeping in
the studio she thought that he had died, and she to
gether with him. A t night, she enters the studio and in
silence looks at the finished painting. A moment later
she picks up a paintbrush from the table and on the
reverse of the canvas, on the wooden frame stretching
it, she adds next to the inscription: “F. 90” her own si
lent commentary: a black cross. A s if she were making
it known that at the very movement when Frenhofer
was capable of reanimating the painting he died in her
eyes. The artist might have risen from the dead but he
passed away as a person closest to her.
But what did Frenhofer actually paint? What was
the appearance of the canvas for which the protago
nists of the story and we, the viewers, waited so long?
We shall never find out and we learn about the canvas
only from the reactions of those looking at it. Mari
anne gazes for long, attentively, and then suddenly
runs out of the atelier. We already know Liz’s reac
tion. The young daughter of a house servant, whom
Frenhofer treats as his confidante, also examines the
canvas but her reaction (What you’ve done is beauti
ful!) does not explain everything. Much seems to in
dicate that the artist succeeded and finally executed a
masterpiece. But apart from the mentioned persons no
349
one will ever see it. Having covered the painting with
green fabric (a discreet allusion to Balzac17) he will
wall it up in a niche in the studio. In its place Frenho
executes a different work, subsequently sold to the
dealer totally unaware of the exchange. Why was the
canvas concealed from the eyes of strangers? Just as
in the commentary on Balzac let us interrupt our tale
of Rivette’s film at this exciting point and once again
return to the text in order to examine the mystery of
the masterpiece, but now from the double literary-film
perspective.
4.
Recall: in Balzac’s story the outcome was a shock
ing qui pro quo brimming with consequences. First,
Frenhofer for a long time did not permit anyone to
come close to his La Belle Noiseuse. Later, having com
pleted the transaction (body for body) he placed the
painters in front of the, in his opinion, finished mas
terpiece but they reacted with surprise and negligence,
maintaining that they did not see anything apart from
chaos. Let us deliberate once again. What is painting
for Frenhofer? Clearly, he is a supporter of a sui generis
magical vision. His whole slightly insane project is
clearly a continuation of the myth of Pygmalion.18 Just
as the Greek sculptor wished to animate a girl carved
in stone (and partly succeeded) so he too, with the aid
of illusionistic tricks and technical secrets of rendering
three-dimensional effects on canvas (I have succeeded
in reproducing Nature’s roundness and relief on the flat
surface of the canvas), attempted to force the painted
body to live. Showing his Catherine to fellow paint
ers Frenhofer obviously mixed up assorted orders. He
clearly reminded them that they were standing in the
presence of a woman and not a painting. Meanwhile,
his colleagues appear to have turned this directive
around and perceive only the surface of a canvas cov
ered with tangled lines.
Today, this confusion of levels appears to be unac
ceptable. Nonetheless, the question it conveys is rea
sonable. If a painting is unable to realise its promise
of expressing what is real, if it is incapable of bring
ing the lifeless to life, then this means that painters
do not possess the sort of power that they ascribe to
themselves. What is the sense, therefore, of the proc
ess of painting if the only thing that we may hope for
is looking at a flat lifeless canvas. It is precisely be
coming aware of this painful impotence that, as Danto
suggested, was the reason why Frenhofer burned his
works and then died .19 He was unable to achieve a
transformation of a painted woman into a living per
son. His observant colleagues made him aware of this
frustrating circumstance. A truly thought-provoking
act, never explained in the story. His failure also ex
plains the reason why at a certain moment Catherine
Lascaux ceased being his model. Danto wrote that
D ariusz C z aja • L E C H E F -D 'O E U V R E I N C o N N u . BALZAC AND RIVETTE
she died and the sole way of resurrecting her was via
painting. Frenhofer was incapable of finishing his work
because he was unable to bring her back to life. He
perceived his achievements as a different sort of fail
ure than the one noticed by Poussin and Probus. After
some reflection, it could be suggested that Frenhofer’s
defeat was unavoidable due to the inner limitations of
realism ;20 this was the period when modernism was on
the verge of debuting. One simply has to note that the
wall of paint intermixed with lines and a realistic frag
ment of a woman’s foot was the first truly modernistic
work of art !21
Danto supported the thesis that despite the failure
of the painter deduced from reading Balzac La Belle
Noiseuse can be regarded as a masterpiece. But how
are we to understand the expression that it was “un
known”? Naturally, in 1612 it could have not been
recognised as a modernistic masterpiece for obvious
reasons. The very term did not exist and modernism
was a question of the future. In what sense was it “un
known”? The reason lies in the fact that only a few
could understand anything of what they managed to
see. Within the context of the Balzac novel an un
known masterpiece is “unrecognised” and thus did not
match the aesthetic paradigm of the epoch. Its bold
ness preceded the historical moment of its origin. Its
time was yet to come. Even such excellent painters as
Probus and Poussin were incapable of comprehending
this since the Frenhofer masterpiece exceeded their
cognitive habits and that to which they were accus
tomed. They were simply unprepared to accept the
work.22 It seems that the great Frenho himself experi
enced difficulties in understanding that, which he had
executed. Within the context of his concept of paint
ing as theurgical art his canvas must have appeared as
a serious mistake.
In the case of Rivette such drastic misunderstand
ings or artistic disappointments do not take place. The
deluge is already behind us. No one, apparently, an
ticipates any longer, while fearing being charged with
insanity, that a painting can suddenly come alive and
no one mistakes the depicted image for the portrayed
person. Nonetheless, the reality of the painting, and
quite possibly the portrait in particular, still remains
mysterious. We saw how Frenhofer also tried to steal
the model’s secret of her concealed intensity and to
transfer this knowledge onto the canvas. This time,
however, the issue does not pertain to the actual ef
fects of such a gesture and remains totally in the do
main of painterly form .23 Does such a comprehension
of the painting make it impossible, at least to a limited
extent, to speak about “truth in painting ”?24 Is this the
sort of truth that would not be conceived as simple
(and indestructible) adequacy between the object and
its depiction but would be located upon a level more
subtle than mimesis? Why did Marianne flee in despair
350
from Frenhofer’s canvas? Because she saw herself! Not
the mirror reflection that she was so familiar with. She
perceived in the canvas some sort of an extremely
real, previously unknown, hidden (from others and
herself) particle. Reviewing the painting, she said: A
thing which was cold and dry. It was me, and became
afraid of the truth of such re-identification. Why did
Frenhofer wall up his painting, thus echoing the ges
ture of his namesake from Balzac’s story? In this case,
the reasons were certainly quite different from those of
the protagonist of Le Chef-d’oeuvre inconnu. It is quite
possible that he had finally understood that he had
committed a seriously inappropriate deed and noticed
that the truth of the painting is much too cruel for
the portrayed model. Or, well aware of the extent to
which the canvas exceeds the aesthetic conventions
of its epoch, he walled it up until the suitable moment
would come when it would become possible to fully
appreciate its artistry. More, he compared the painting
to a child who needs time to grow up. To the public he
leaves a conventional, smooth nude, keeping the re
viewers convinced that this is his utmost attainment.
Quite possibly these are not the only answers to the
earlier posed questions. Rivette’s greatness consists of
the fact that he does not explain this, after all, most
important puzzle to the very end.
Within this context it is just as important that on
a certain interpretation level La Belle Noiseuse appears
to be not only a film about a painting but also about
the nature of the film medium. It can be easily deci
phered as a self-thematic work, a study on the poten
tial of film searching for the “truth” of reality; does
film, inevitably “visible”, render indelible only physical
appearance and touch the phenomenal stratum or can
it penetrate the skin of the visible? Hence the intend
ed and controlled formal asceticism of Rivette’s work
as well as the fact that it is deprived of all aesthetic
beauty and narrating tricks emulating “real life”. The
formal severity and theatralisation of the message
make it possible not only to take a close look at the
Frenhofer painting but also at its nature within whose
framework it appears. Balzac and Rivette produced
two totally different masterpieces about the creation of
a masterpiece. Everything has still not been said. After
all, their nature means that they have much more to
tell us than we are capable to say about them.
Endnotes
1 The first version of the novel appeared in 1831 in the
periodical “l’Artiste” (two parts in two successive issues)
under the title: Maitre Frenhofer, and in the same year it
was issued once again with slight changes and under a
different title: Catherine Lescaut, conte phantastique.
After successive retouching it was published in 1837 in
vol. XVII of the collection: Études philosophiques as: Le
Chef-d’suvre inconnu, and in 1846 it was included into
La Comédie humaine.
D ariusz C z aja • L E C H E F -D ’O E U V R E IN C O N N U . BALZAC AND RIVETTE
2
Balzac's excellent familiarity with painting was noticed
by the critics who indicated a number of possible sources
of his knowledge, mentioning such names as Gautier
and in particular Delacroix, cf. M. Gilman, Balzac and
Diderot: Le Chef-d’suvre inconnu, “PMLA”, no. 4, vol. 65:
1950, p. 644.
3 D. Ashton, A Fable of Modern Art, University of
California Press, Berkley 1991, p. 10. For relations
between the depiction of nudity in Balzac's story and the
problems experienced by Cézanne in connection with
his Grandes Baigneuses see: J. Kear, “Frenhofer, cest moi”:
Cezanne’s Nudes and Balzac’s Le Chef-d'śuvre inconnu,
“Cambridge Quarterly”, no. 35(4):2006, pp. 345-60.
4 Balthus, à contre-courant - entretiens avec Constanzo
Constantini, transl. J.M. Kłoczowski, Warszawa 2004, p.
146. On the margin, he also recalled withn this context
the name of Nicholas Poussin, his master (who in
Balzac's fictional narration plays the role of a talented
student) and characterised his painting. Upon this occa
sion he also mentionsed that it was Poussin who inspired
the “magnificent story” by Balzac. Just like Poussin,
Frenhofer sought in art the absolute that should be the
goal of every genuine painter.
5 Lovers of round numbers drew attention to the fact that
this took place a hundred years after the publication of
Chef-d''suvre inconnu.
6 Apart from the writings used in this text cf., i.a. J.-L.
Bouget, Balzac et le pictural, “The Romantic Reviev”, no.
11: 1973, pp. 286-295, E. Gans, Balzac’s Unknowable
Masterpiece and the Limits of the Classical Esthetic,
“MLN”, no. 90 (4):1975, pp. 504-16, H. Shillony, En
marge du Chef-d'śuvre inconnu: Frenhofer, Appelle et
David , “LAnnée balzacienne”, no. 3: 1982, pp. 288-90,
A. Goetz, Frenhofer et les maîtres d’autrefois , “LAnnée
balzacienne”, no. 15: 1994, pp. 69-89.
7 D. Knight, From Painting to Sculpture: Balzac, Pygmalion
and the Secret of Relief in Sarrasine and The Unknown
Masterpiece, “Paragraph”, no. 1, vol. 27: 2004, p. 79.
Evidently, this remark did not stop the author from wri
ting yet another analytical sketch about Balzac.
8 La Belle Noiseuse, directed by J. Rivette, screenplay by P
Bonitzer, Ch. Laurent, music I.Stravinsky, cast: Michel
Piccoli, Emanuelle Beart, Jane Birkin, Marianne
Denicourt et al., 1991.
9 The Unknown Masterpiece by Honore Balzac, introduc
tion by: Arthur C. Danto, translated from the French by
Richard Howard, “New York Review of Books”, 31
August 2000.
10 Ibid., p. 8.
11 G. Didi-Huberman drew attention that already the
mysterious surname of Balzac's protagonist is connected
with visibility. In addition, it resembles that of the
German optician Joseph von Fraunhofer, the inventor of
the spectroscope, who died only a few years before Le
chef-d’oeuvre inconnu was written; cf. G. Didi-Huberman,
La peinture incarnée, Les Editions de Minuit, Paris 1985,
p. 35.
12 H. de Balzac, Nieznane arcydzieło, transl. J. Rogoziński,
Warszawa 1951, p. 13.
13 H. de Balzac, Le chef-d’oeuvre inconnu, p. 154; I cite the
text of Balzac's novel published as an appendix to G.
Didi-Huberman's La peinture incarnée.
14 Ibid.
15 Danto, op. cit., p. 18.
16 Cited film lines.
351
17 While Gillette’s words sounded in Poussin’s ears, Frenhofer
drew a green serge covering over his Catherine... (in the
original: une serge verte).
18 Cf. Knight, op. cit., p. 89. G. Didi-Huberman expands
also another mythical track indicated in the text:
Frenhofer-Orpheus sets off to the “infero of painting”
following his Eurydice, femme irreprochable; G. DidiHuberman, op.cit., pp. 66-67.
19 Danto, op. cit., p. 23.
20 In turn, G. Didi-Huberman maintained that Frenhofer's
failure was that of the model of painting based on imita
tion: Confronting Images: Questioning the Ends of a
Certain History of Art, transl. J.C. Goodman, Penn State
Press, State College, 2004, p. 234.
21 Ibid.
22 Danto, op. cit., p. 25.
23 I propose a general understanding of the conceot of the
form as in the interpretation of its contents by Wiesław
Juszczak; cf. W Juszczak, Zasłona w rajskie ptaki, albo o
granicach „okresu powieści”, Warszawa 1981, pp. 49-55.
24 I intentionally mention the title of the study by Jacques
Derrida, while resigning (due to insufficient space) from
even the slightest attempts at referring to its theses: cf.
J. Derrida, Prawda w malarstwie, transl. M. Kwietniewska,
Gdańsk 2003.