ÉMILE-ANTOINE BOURDELLE AND THE MIDI:

FRENCH AND REGIONAL IDENTITY AT THE TURN OF

THE TWENTIETH CENTURY

by

Colin Nelson-Dusek

A dissertation submitted to the Faculty of the University of Delaware in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Art History

Summer 2020

© 2020 Colin Nelson-Dusek All Rights Reserved

ÉMILE-ANTOINE BOURDELLE AND THE MIDI:

FRENCH SCULPTURE AND REGIONAL IDENTITY AT THE TURN OF

THE TWENTIETH CENTURY

by

Colin Nelson-Dusek

Approved: ______Sandy Isenstadt, Ph.D. Chair of the Department of Art History

Approved: ______John A. Pelesko, Ph.D. Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences

Approved: ______Douglas J. Doren, Ph.D. Interim Vice Provost for Graduate and Professional Education and Dean of the Graduate College I certify that I have read this dissertation and that in my opinion it meets the academic and professional standard required by the University as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Signed: ______Nina Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, Ph.D. Professor in charge of dissertation

I certify that I have read this dissertation and that in my opinion it meets the academic and professional standard required by the University as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Signed: ______Margaret Werth, Ph.D. Member of dissertation committee

I certify that I have read this dissertation and that in my opinion it meets the academic and professional standard required by the University as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Signed: ______Lauren Hackworth Petersen, Ph.D. Member of dissertation committee

I certify that I have read this dissertation and that in my opinion it meets the academic and professional standard required by the University as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Signed: ______June Hargrove, Ph.D. Member of dissertation committee

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to express my deepest gratitude to every person who has helped in writing this dissertation. Above all, my thanks to my advisor, Nina Athanassoglou-

Kallmyer, for her unwavering support, patience, insight, and knowledge. I am grateful for the contributions and time of my advisory committee: June Hargrove, Lauren Hackworth

Petersen, and Margaret Werth. A special thanks, in particular, to Margaret Werth, whose comments and review of my dissertation draft greatly improved the final product.

I give my thanks for the support of the Art History Department faculty at the

University of Delaware. Their instruction made me a better art historian and their decision to award me a dissertation development grant allowed me to undertake valuable research in France. I would also like to thank Linda Magner for her management of the department and her help whenever I had administrative inquiries.

While in France, I was allowed access to archives at several museums that greatly benefited my research. I give my appreciation to the staff at the Musée Bourdelle in

(special thanks to Annie Barbera, Claire Boisserolles, Jérôme Godeau, and Colin

Lemoine), the staff of the centre de documentation et la bibliothèque de la conservation at the Musée d’Orsay (special thanks to Denise Faïfe), and the staff of the Musée Ingres

Bourdelle in Montauban (special thanks to Brigitte Alasia and Florence Viguier).

iv I would like to thank the staff and faculty of the Art History Department of the

University of St. Thomas in Saint Paul, Minnesota, with particular gratitude to Victoria

Young for her support and advice. My heartfelt appreciation to the library staff at St.

Thomas, who made my research away from Newark possible.

Previous mentors that I would like to acknowledge are Mark Garrison, Dianne

Sachko Macleod, and Faya Causey. My thanks to Eike Schmidt, who showed me a bronze cast of Bourdelle’s Doorknocker in the Form of Medusa’s Head at the

Minneapolis Institute of Art in 2011, which led me to write this dissertation. Thanks also to Amanda Eggers, who provided much-needed editing of my dissertation draft.

I would like to recognize all the graduate students in the University of Delaware’s

Art History Department, and a truly special thanks to Hannah Segrave, Craig Lee, Emily

Casey, Isabelle Havet, and Clay Zuba, all of whom offered friendship and advice when I needed it.

Lastly, my deepest gratitude to all of my family and friends who have supported me through the long process of writing my dissertation. I give thanks to Bob and Liz for their encouragement and timely babysitting duties, and to my parents, Joe and Kay, for all of their love and support and for teaching me the importance of education and hard work. I give all of my heart to my two wonderful daughters, Thea and Lizzie, whose love and enthusiasm helped me to keep going and who taught me that anything worth doing takes time and patience.

I dedicate this dissertation to Stephanie, my wife and best friend. The pages needed to express my full thanks, love, and appreciation of her are more than this work.

v TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF FIGURES ...... viiii ABSTRACT ...... xix

INTRODUCTION ...... 1

Chapter

1 COMING FROM THE MIDI ...... 15

Early Southern Influences: The Félibrige, Ingres, and Toulouse ...... 23 Growing Up as an Artist between the Midi and Paris ...... 27 Bourdelle's Early Years in Paris ...... 35 Avenues to Symbolism ...... 47 From Symbolism to the École romane...... 61 The Synthesis of Southern Heritage and École romane: The Beginning of Bourdelle's Classical Modernity ...... 70 FIGURES ...... 74

2 AN ERA OF REGIONALISM AND RISING NATIONALISM ...... 103

Monument to the Soldiers and Memorials after the Franco-Prussian War ..... 103 The Rise of Conservative Thought and Nationalism in Early 20th Century France ...... 112 Classicism in the Social-Political Context of Early 20th Century Paris ...... 118 Charles Maurras and Maurice Barrès: The right-wing revival of Hellenism and Classicism ...... 122 The Classical Revival in Art and Theory ...... 127

vi Development of Classicism and Regionalism in Bourdelle's Art and Identity ...... 131 Herakles the Archer: Reception and Interpretations ...... 142 The Auguste Quercy Memorial and Its Impact on Bourdelle ...... 154 FIGURES ...... 167

3 OLD GODS MADE NEW...... 191

Théâtre des Champs-Elysées: History and Description ...... 194 The State of the Arts in 1910s Paris...... 208 Impact of Bourdelle's Colleagues and Fellow Artists ...... 212 The Grande Chaumière Lectures: Montauban, , and the Latin past in the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées ...... 220 Antonin Perbosc and the Yearning for the Languedoc ...... 231 The Death of the Last Centaur and the Dying Centaur ...... 237 FIGURES ...... 250

CONCLUSION ...... 280

FIGURES ...... 286

REFERENCES ...... 292

Appendix

A. ANTOINE BOURDELLE, "LE POÈME DU SCULPTEUR" ...... 306 B. LE STATUAIRE BOURDELLE ...... 311 C. THE CHANGING FACE OF GODS ...... 327 D. FOR THE FLOCK AT THE ROCK OF ANGLAR ...... 345 E. THE LAWS OF BAS-RELIEF/PENSIVE APOLLO AND THE MUSES.... 358 F. THE NATIVE EARTH: MONS-ALBANUS IN TARN-ET-GARONNE .... 369

vii LIST OF FIGURES

1. Antoine Bourdelle, Head of Apollo (Tête d’Apollon), 1900-9. Bronze, 67.3 x 21 x 28 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 74

2. Jean-Paul Laurens, The Wall (La muraille), 1895. Distemper on canvas, 8 x 6.5 m. Capitole, Toulouse ...... 75

3. Jean-Paul Laurens, Toulouse against Montfort (Toulouse contre Montfort), 1899. Distemper on canvas, 5.6 x 4 m. Capitole, Toulouse ...... 75

4. Alexandre Falguière, Le Cardinal Lavigerie, c. 1898. Plaster, 4.7 x 1.64 x 2.67 m. Musée des Augustins, Toulouse ...... 76

5. Alexandre Falguière, Huntress Nymph (Nymphe chasseresse), 1888. Marble, 171 x 60 x 175 cm. Musée des Augustins, Toulouse ...... 76

6. Alexandre Falguière, Diana (Diane), 1882. Plaster, 175 x 91 x 63 cm. Musée des Augustins, Toulouse...... 77

7. Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux, Dance (La Danse), 1865-9. Stone, 4.2 x 2.98 x 1.45 m. Opéra Garnier, Paris ...... 77

8. Antoine Bourdelle, First Victory of Hannibal (La première victoire d’Hannibal), 1885. Plaster, 204 x 76 x 90 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris...... 78

9. Antonin Idrac, Salammbô, after 1882. Plaster, 182 x 53 x 71 cm. Musée des Augustins, Toulouse ...... 78

10. Antoine Bourdelle and Louis Ruet (engraver), Auguste Quercy, 1884. Etching on paper, 30 x 22 cm. Musée Ingres Bourdelle, Montauban ... 79

11. Achille Bouis, Auguste Quercy, circa 1873 (Portrait d’Auguste Quercy vers 1873). Photograph. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 79

viii 12. Antoine Bourdelle, Auguste Quercy, 1911. Bronze, 87 x 60 cm. Jardin des Plantes, Montauban ...... 80

13. Antoine Bourdelle, Self-Portrait of Bourdelle in His Studio (Autoportrait dans l’atelier), 1886. Oil on canvas, 55 x 45 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 81

14. Paul Cézanne, Self-Portrait (Autoportrait), c. 1875. Oil on canvas, 65 x 54 cm. Musée d’Orsay, Paris ...... 82

15. Antoine Bourdelle, Young Bourdelle with Hat (Bourdelle jeune avec un chapeau), n.d. Oil on canvas, 55.5 x 46 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris .. 83

16. Antoine Bourdelle, Self-Portrait (Autoportrait), n.d. Oil on canvas, 46 x 38 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 84

17. Antoine Bourdelle, Auguste Quercy, 1885. Plaster, 61 x 38 x 23 cm. Musée des Augustins, Toulouse ...... 85

18. Antoine Bourdelle, Armand Saintis, 1883-84. Bronze, 101 x 73 cm. Musée Ingres Bourdelle, Montauban ...... 86

19. Antoine Bourdelle, Illustration pour Césette, c. 1885-95. Charcoal on paper, 24.3 x 31 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 87

20. Antoine Bourdelle, Illustration pour Césette, c. 1885-95. Ink on parchment, 20.2 x 17.8 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 88

21. Jean-François Millet, Gleaners (Des glaneuses), 1857. Oil on canvas, 83.5 x 110 cm. Musée d’Orsay, Paris ...... 89

22. Antoine Bourdelle, Illustration pour Césette, c. 1885-95. Ink and grey wash on paper, 17.8 x 23.4 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 90

23. Antoine Bourdelle, Césette dreams and again her ideas turn to black (Césette songe et de nouveau ses idées Tournent au noir), c. 1885-95. Ink on paper, 13.6 x 21.4 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 90

24. Antoine Bourdelle, Sheep and Shepherd Asleep (Moutons et bergère endormie), c. 1885-95. Ink on paper, 25.1 x 32 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris...... 91

ix 25. Louis Ruet, Bourdelle surrounded by friends and working on the “Love in Agony” plaster (Bourdelle entouré de ses amis travaillant au plâtre de “l’Amour agonise”), 1886. Silver gelatin print, 12.9 x 17.9 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 91

26. Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, The Dream (Le Rêve), 1883. Oil on canvas, 82 x 102 cm. Musée d’Orsay, Paris ...... 92

27. Antoine Bourdelle, Love in Agony (L’Amour agonise), 1886. Ink on cardboard, 45.9 x 64.2 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 93

28. Antoine Bourdelle, Love in Agony (L’Amour agonise), c. 1886. Ink on paper, 23.6 x 38.9 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 93

29. Antoine Bourdelle, Youth Work (Œuvre de jeunesse), n.d. Ink on parchment, 24.6 x 17.9 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 94

30. Odilon Redon, Smiling Spider (L’Araignée souriante), 1881. Charcoal on parchment, 49.5 x 39 cm. Louvre, Paris ...... 94

31. Antoine Bourdelle, Dance of the Hanged Ones (La Danse des Pendus), c. 1883. Ink on parchment, 10.7 x 13.2 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ... 95

32. Félicien Rops, The Hanged Man (Le Pendu), 1867. Print, 20.2 x 13.6 cm. Musée provincial Félicien Rops, Namur, Belgium ...... 95

33. Antoine Bourdelle, Fall of the Damned (Chute d’un damné), c. 1885- 90. Ink of paper, 28.2 x 22.3 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 96

34. Félicien Rops, Abduction (L’Enlèvement), 1882. Print, 23.2 x 15.7 cm. Michael C. Carlos Museum, Emory University, Atlanta, GA ...... 96

35. Antoine Bourdelle, , 1889. Bronze, 236.2 x 111.8 x 106.7 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 97

36. Antoine Bourdelle, Monument to the Soldiers and Defenders of the Tarn-et-Garonne of 1870-1871 (Monument aux combattants et défenseurs du Tarn-et-Garonne de 1870-1871), 1894-1902. Bronze with granite base. Montauban, France ...... 98

37. Bourdelle, Monument to the Soldiers, view from left ...... 99

38. Bourdelle, Monument to the Soldiers, view from right ...... 100

x 39. Antoine Bourdelle, The Cry (Le Cri), 1893-1902. Bronze. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 101

40. Antoine Bourdelle, Suffering (Souffrance), 1893-1902. Bronze, 45 x 33 x 36 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 101

41. Antoine Bourdelle, Screaming Figures (Figures Hurlants), 1898-99. Bronze, 93 x 75 x 65 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 101

42. Antoine Bourdelle, Draped Pallas (Pallas drapée), 1889. Bronze, 58.2 x 48 x 45 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 102

43. Antoine Bourdelle, Pallas Torso (Torse de Pallas), 1903-5. Marble, 99 x 37 x 28.5 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 102

44. Bourdelle, Monument to the Soldiers (duplicate of Fig. 36)...... 167

45. Bourdelle, Monument to the Soldiers, view from left (duplicate of Fig. 37) ...... 168

46. Bourdelle, Monument to the Soldiers, view from right (duplicate of Fig. 38) ...... 169

47. Antonin Mercié, Gloria Victis, modeled 1874, cast after 1879. Bronze, 140 x 84.1 x 67.3 cm. National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC ...... 170

48. Louis-Ernest Barrias, The Defense of Paris 1870-1871 ( de Paris 1870-1871), 1883. Bronze. Courbevoie, France ...... 171

49. Etienne Pagny, Monument to the Sons of the Rhône (Monument des enfants du Rhône), 1887. Bronze. Lyon, France...... 171

50. Antonin Mercié, Even So! (Quand Même!), Modeled 1874, cast 1884. Bronze, 106 x 51.5 x 44.5 cm. Musée des Augustins, Toulouse ...... 172

51. Edmond Desca, La Resistance, from Monument to the Sons of the Dordogne (Monument des enfants du Dordogne), 1909. Stone. Périgueux, France ...... 172

52. , La Défense, modelled in 1879, cast 1912-18. Bronze, 230 x 116 x 84.5 cm. Musée Rodin, Paris ...... 173

xi 53. Antoine Bourdelle, To the Defenders (Aux défenseurs), 1900-1902. Ink on paper. Musée Bourdelle, Paris [MB_ARCH_BO_AB/C.Boîte1.04] ...... 174

54. Antoine Bourdelle, Lovers (Les Amants), 1899-1901. Terra cotta, 28.5 x 28 x 16 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 175

55. Auguste Rodin, The Kiss (Le Baiser), c. 1882. Marble, 181.5 x 112.5 x 117 cm. Musée Rodin, Paris ...... 175

56. Bourdelle, Adam (duplicate of Fig. 35) ...... 176

57. Auguste Rodin, Adam, modelled 1880-81, cast 1972. Bronze, 197 x 76 x 77 cm. Musée Rodin, Paris ...... 176

58. Antoine Bourdelle, Turning Kiss (Baiser aux volubilis), 1900. Bronze, 41.5 x 41.6 x 48 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 177

59. Auguste Rodin, Squatting Woman (Femme Accroupie), modelled c. 1881-82, large version 1906-1908, cast 1909. Bronze, 85.8 x 60 x 52 cm. Musée Rodin, Paris ...... 177

60. Bourdelle, Pallas Torso (duplicate of Fig. 43) ...... 178

61. Antoine Bourdelle, Pallas Torso (Torse de Pallas), cast 1905. Bronze, 91.6 x 41.2 25.5 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 178

62. Antoine Bourdelle, Shepherdess Joan of Arc (Jeanne d’Arc pastoure), 1898. Bronze, 58 x 45 x 30 cm. Musée Ingres Bourdelle, Montauban ...... 178

63. Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, Pleasant Land (Doux pays), 1882. Oil on canvas, 25.7 x 47.6 cm. Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, CT ...... 179

64. Puvis de Chavannes, Massilia, Greek Colony (Massilia, colonie Grecque), 1869. Oil on canvas, 423 x 565 cm. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Marseille ...... 180

65. Puvis de Chavannes, Marseille, Gateway to the Orient (Marseille, porte de l’Orient), 1869. Oil on canvas, 423 x 565 cm. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Marseille ...... 180

xii 66. Bourdelle, Herakles the Archer (Héraklès Archer), 1909. Bronze, 250 x 240 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 181

67. Bourdelle, Herakles the Archer, detail of head...... 181

68. Temple of Aphaia (from Aegina), east pediment, c. 510-500 BCE. Marble. Glyptothek, Munich...... 182

69. Temple of Aphaia (from Aegina), west pediment, c. 510-500 BCE. Marble. Glyptothek, Munich...... 182

70. Cartoon from Paris-Journal, April 11, 1910 ...... 183

71. Photograph of Captain Paul Doyen-Parigot, n.d. From “Paul Doyen- Parigot héros du canton,” Le Bien Public, accessed March 6, 2020, https://www.bienpublic.com/edition-de-beaune/2013/11/11/paul- doyen-parigot-heros-du-canton ...... 184

72. Captain Doyen-Parigot modelling for Héraklès Archer, c. 1909. Silver gelatin print. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 184

73. Bourdelle, Monument to the Soldiers, detail of cuirassier ...... 185

74. Bourdelle, Monument to the Soldiers, detail of Marianne ...... 185

75. Bourdelle, Great Warrior (Grand guerrier), 1898-1900. Bronze, 186 x 157.2 x 61.3 cm. Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington, DC ...... 186

76. Michelangelo Buonarotti, Ignudo, 1508-12. Fresco. Sistine Chapel, Vatican City ...... 186

77. Antoine Bourdelle, Rodin, 1909. Bronze, 90 x 63 x 57 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 187

78. Michelangelo Buonarroti, Moses, from the Tomb of Pope Julius II, c. 1513-15. Marble, 235 cm. Basilica di San Pietro in Vincoli, Rome... 187

79. Antoine Bourdelle, Monument to Athletes (Monument aux Sportifs), 1925. Bronze and concrete. Toulouse ...... 188

80. Bourdelle, 1924 Olympic Games (Jeux olympiques de 1924), n.d. Pencil and wash on paper, 31 x 19.9 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ..... 188

xiii 81. Bourdelle, Herakles, study for 1924 Olympic Games poster (Héraklès, recherches pour l’affiche des Jeux olympiques de 1924), n.d. Wash and gouache on paper, 57.7 x 47.5 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 189

82. Bourdelle, Auguste Quercy, 1911 ...... 190

83. Bourdelle and Ruet, Auguste Quercy (duplicate of Fig. 10) ...... 190

84. , Gustave Perret, , and Antoine Bourdelle, Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, completed 1913. Paris ...... 250

85. Antoine Bourdelle, Dying Centaur (Centaure Mourant), 1911-14. Bronze, 292 x 185 x 80 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 251

86. Roger Bouvard, Principal Elevation, Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, 1907. Pencil on paper. Musée d’Orsay, Paris ...... 252

87. Roger Bouvard, Perspective Elevation, 5th Study, Théâtre des Champs- Elysées, 1909. Pencil on paper. Musée d’Orsay, Paris ...... 252

88. Roger Bouvard, Map, Palais Philharmonique (original name for Théâtre des Champs-Elysées), 1908. Pencil and wash on paper. Musée d’Orsay, Paris ...... 253

89. Henry Van de Velde, Perspective Elevation, Théâtre des Champs- Elysées, 1910. Wash and gouache on paper. Musée d’Orsay, Paris ... 253

90. Henry Van de Velde, Elevation, Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, 1911. Pencil on paper. Musée d’Orsay, Paris ...... 254

91. Henry Van de Velde, Bloemenwerf (Van de Velde House), 1895. Uccles, Belgium ...... 254

92. Henry Van de Velde, Deutscher Werkbund Theatre, 1914. Cologne, Germany ...... 255

93. Henry Van de Velde, Elevation, Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, 1911. Pencil on paper. Musée d’Orsay, Paris ...... 255

94. Auguste and Gustave Perret, Principal Elevation, definitive version, Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, n.d. Pencil and wash on paper. Musée d’Orsay, Paris ...... 256

xiv 95. Antoine Bourdelle - 12th Study, Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, c. 1913. Ink and wash on vellum, 74.5 x 104.6 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ... 256

96. Antoine Bourdelle, Apollo and the Muses (Apollon et les muses), right panel, 1910-13. Marble, 521 x 271 x 52 cm. Théâtre des Champs- Elysées, Paris ...... 257

97. Antoine Bourdelle, Apollo and the Muses (Apollon et les muses), center panel, 1910-13. Marble, 443 x 271 x 52 cm. Théâtre des Champs- Elysées, Paris ...... 257

98. Antoine Bourdelle, Apollo and the Muses (Apollon et les muses), left panel, 1910-13. Marble, 442 x 271 x 52. Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, Paris...... 258

99. Antoine Bourdelle, Music (La Musique), 1912. Marble, 177 x 155 x 27 cm. Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, Paris ...... 258

100. Antoine Bourdelle, Tragedy (La Tragédie), 1912. Marble, 177 x 155 x 27 cm. Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, Paris ...... 259

101. Antoine Bourdelle, Comedy (La Comédie), 1912. Marble, 177 x 155 x 27 cm. Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, Paris ...... 259

102. Antoine Bourdelle, Dance (La Danse), 1912. Marble, 177 x 155 x 27 cm. Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, Paris ...... 260

103. Antoine Bourdelle, Architecture and Sculpture (L’Architecture et la sculpture), 1912. Marble, 177 x 155 x 27 cm. Théâtre des Champs- Elysées, Paris ...... 260

104. Tympanum from the South Portal, Church of Ste-Pierre, c. 1115-30. Stone. Moissac, France ...... 261

105. Pentecost and Mission to the Apostles Tympanum from the Central Portal, Basilica of Ste-Madeleine, 1120-32. Stone. Vézelay, France ...... 261

106. Antoine Bourdelle, Isadora, n.d. Ink on paper, 22.1 x 14 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 262

107. Antoine Bourdelle, Isadora, 1909. Ink on paper, 22 x 13.7 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 262

xv 108. Antoine Bourdelle, under the Cupola (Maurice Denis sous la coupole), n.d. Ink on paper, 22.5 x 17.3 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris...... 263

109. Roc d’Anglar. Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val, France ...... 264

110. Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val from the Roc d’Anglar. Saint-Antonin- Noble-Val, France ...... 264

111. Village hall (maison commune) and room of arrow slits (salle des meurtrières), mid-12th c. Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val, France ...... 265

112. Example of a “cabane.” , Gordes, France ...... 265

113. Antoine Bourdelle, Frescoes from the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, 1913-14 ...... 266

114. Antoine Bourdelle and Cleopatra Sevastos-Bourdelle, Death of the Last Centaur (Mort du dernier centaure), 1913. Fresco. Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, Paris ...... 266

115. Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, The Sacred Wood Cherished by the Arts and Muses (Le Bois sacré cher aux Arts et aux Muses), 1884. Oil on canvas, 460 x 1040 cm. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Lyon ...... 267

116. Antoine Bourdelle, Study for Death of the Last Centaur (Mort du dernier centaure), 1913. Ink and wash on paper. Musée Bourdelle, Paris...... 268

117. Bourdelle - Second Study, Death of the Last Centaur (Mort du dernier centaure), 1912-13. Ink and wash on paper, 66.3 x 49.7 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 268

118. Odilon Redon, Centaur Aiming at the Clouds (Centaure visant les nuages), c. 1875. Pencil on paper, 26.5 x 22.6 cm. Museum of Modern Art, New York ...... 269

119. Gustave Moreau, Dead Poet Carried by a Centaur (Poète mort porté par un centaure), c. 1890. Watercolor on paper, 33.5 x 24.5 cm. Musée Gustave Moreau, Paris ...... 269

xvi 120. Antoine-Louis Barye, Theseus Fighting the Centaur Bianor (Thesée combattant le centaur Biénor), c. 1850 (model in photograph cast c. 1891). Bronze, 127 x 111.76 x 50.8cm. Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis...... 270

121. Giambologna, Hercules and the Centaur Nessus (Ercole e il centauro Nesso), 1599. Marble. Loggia dei Lanzi, Florence ...... 271

122. Workshop of Phidias, Centauromachy Metope (South Metope II), 447- 38 BCE. Marble, 120 x 127 cm. British Museum, London ...... 272

123. from the West Pediment of the Temple of Zeus, Olympia, c. 460 BCE. Marble. Archaeological Museum of Olympia, Greece ...... 272

124. Antoine Bourdelle, Centaure et Centauresse, n.d. Ink and wash on paper, 15.7 x 20.2 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 273

125. Antoine Bourdelle, Centaure Bourdelle, n.d. Ink and wash on paper, 15.2 x 19.9 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 273

126. Albert Harlingue, Antoine Bourdelle next to his self-portrait (Antoine Bourdelle à côté de son autoportrait en statuette), c. 1911. Gelatin silver print. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 274

127. Antoine Bourdelle, Mind over Matter (L’Esprit maîtrisant la matière), 1910. Plaster, 72.5 x 30 x 24 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 275

128. Antoine Bourdelle, Mind over Matter, reverse view ...... 275

129. Antoine Bourdelle, My Ancestors (Mes anciens), 1924. Ink, wash, gouache, and graphite on paper, 13.5 x 15.5 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris...... 276

130. Antoine Bourdelle, Fallen Mask (Masque tombée), 1918-22. Ink and watercolor on paper, 23 x 17.8 cm. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 277

131. Antoine Bourdelle, The Two “Paplous” (Les Deux Papalous), n.d. Watercolor on paper. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 278

132. Antoine Bourdelle, Sculptor Faun (Faune sculpteur), fresco study for Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, n.d. Pencil and wash on paper. Musée d’Orsay, Paris ...... 278

xvii 133. Agence de presse Meurisse, Le sculpteur Bourdelle, 1925. Photographic negative on glass, 18 x 13 cm. Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris [Meurisse, 27241 A] ...... 279

134. Unknown artist, Head of Renaud (Tête de Renaud), n.d. Stone. Montauban, France ...... 286

135. Antoine Bourdelle, Bourdelle, 1954. Bronze and concrete. Montauban, France ...... 287

136. Bourdelle, detail. Antoine Bourdelle, Self-portrait (Autoportrait), originally 1925. Bronze. Montauban, France ...... 287

137. Antoine Bourdelle, Museum Facade Study (Projet de façade pour un musée), 1928. Ink and watercolor on paper. Musée Bourdelle, Paris [MB_ARCH_BO_AB/D.17B] ...... 288

138. Antoine Bourdelle, Musée, 1927. Ink and watercolor on paper. Musée Bourdelle, Paris [MB_ARCH_BO_AB/D.17B] ...... 289

139. Place Nationale, Montauban ...... 290

140. Collège des Jésuites, Montauban ...... 290

141. Antoine Bourdelle, La Providence, Montauban, Documents sur ma vie, 1928. Ink and watercolor on paper. Musée Bourdelle, Paris ...... 291

xviii ABSTRACT

This dissertation addresses how the sculptor Émile-Antoine Bourdelle (1861-

1929) displayed his status as a French southerner through his art while also considering the changing notions of regional identity in turn-of-the-century France. It covers the period 1884-1915 and examines Bourdelle’s sculpture, paintings, drawings, poetry, and letters. Interpretation of the artist’s work, as well as the way he reacted to new understandings of the French south, is developed through primary sources like art criticism and correspondence from fellow artists, patrons, and writers. Secondary material, like historical, cultural, and philosophical studies, and Bourdelle’s comparison to contemporary artists and intellectuals, are used to support arguments.

The first chapter examines Bourdelle’s early years and the beginning of his professional career, looking at his artistic training and the influences he felt both in the south and in Paris. The development of Bourdelle’s art shows that he reacted to Parisian perceptions of southerners and that he was heavily influenced by contemporary art movements that were inspired by regionalism, like Symbolism and the École romane.

Chapter two focuses on the first decade of the 20th century and Bourdelle’s shift to a

Classically inspired artistic style that defined the rest of his career. Part of the discussion addresses how conservative nationalism in France developed from regionalist beliefs, and how Bourdelle used his status as a southerner to present himself as a French artist of the

xix Classical tradition. The second chapter ends with an investigation of the militant themes in Bourdelle’s most famous sculpture, Herakles the Archer (1909). Chapter three centers on two works: the decoration for the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées (1913) and Dying

Centaur (1914). The sculptures represent a high point of Bourdelle’s classicism, but the artist’s lectures and personal statements also reveal the influence that southern vernacular architecture had on his design for the theater. Bourdelle’s lifelong struggle to negotiate a distinctly southern and national French identity became the theme for Dying Centaur.

The artist’s letters and personal drawings reveal the complication he felt in presenting himself to the public.

xx INTRODUCTION

This dissertation investigates the sculptor Émile-Antoine Bourdelle’s (1861-1929) identification as a French southerner. Throughout his career, Bourdelle’s upbringing in the town of Montauban, in southwest France, was a critical component of his artistic persona. His status as a man of the south supposedly provided him an understanding of

Mediterranean culture and Greco-Roman antiquity that was different from French northerners, especially during an early-20th century classical revival in art. Bourdelle’s friend and mentor, Auguste Rodin (1840-1917), called Bourdelle a “Greek of méridional

France” in 1909, emphasizing his status as a southerner and his connection to the ancient,

Classical culture around the Mediterranean sea.1 In 1928, the writer and activist, Léon

Daudet (1867-1942) wrote:

[A] child of Montalbanian and Albigensian artisans, this sculptor is one of the greats … Less haunted than Rodin by flesh, as haunted as him by spirit, he joins an Assyrian influence of high relief to Gallo-Roman heritage … His formidable labor is a world, like Franchard or Apremont, a “Fontainebleau.”2

1 “Bourdelle est un Grec de la France méridionale.” Auguste Rodin, “Émile-Antoine Bourdelle,” in Volné Sméry, XXVIII (Prague: Mánes, 1909), included in Carol Marc Lavrillier and Michel Dufet, Bourdelle et la critique de son temps (Paris: Paris-Musées, 1992), 40. The statements by Rodin come from the catalogue of an exhibition of Bourdelle’s work, in Prague, from February-March 1909.

2 “Fils d’artisans montalbanais et albigeois, ce sculpteur est un des plus grands … Moins hanté que Rodin par la chair, aussi hanté que lui par l’esprit, il joint à l'héritage gallo- romain une influence assyrienne de haut-relief … Son labeur formidable est un monde, comme Franchard ou Apremont, un <>.” Léon Daudet, “Une exposition

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Daudet, like Rodin nearly twenty years earlier, mentioned Bourdelle’s southern roots as a significant component of his art. He expanded on Bourdelle’s regional “Gallo-Roman heritage” by saying the artist’s work compared to such national historic achievements of the French tradition as Fontainebleau Palace. After Bourdelle’s death in 1929, the painter and art theorist Maurice Denis (1870-1943) hailed Bourdelle as:

creator-poet of forms or images, [he] uses the material violently and forces it to speak - with what wild energy! - constrained to say all that he wants it to say. It is necessary that [the material] cries, that it howls what he has planned to make heard.3

Qualities of aggressiveness, assertion, and heightened emotions were associated with southern French men in the late-19th and early-20th centuries.4 Such beliefs influenced the way people saw Bourdelle throughout his life.

Bourdelle’s connection to the Midi undoubtedly contributed to his fame and popularity. Yet despite the artist’s promotion of his Montauban origins, and critics’

d’Antoine Bourdelle,” L’Action française, November 18, 1928, in Lavrillier and Dufet, Bourdelle et la critique de son temps, 132. “Albigensian” refers to Albi, France, a historic town near Montauban and the of Bourdelle’s mother’s family. The Gorges de Franchard and Gorges d’Apremont are natural sites found within Fontainebleau Forest. Both gorges became a draw for hiking and climbing in the early twentieth century and were noted for their scenic beauty. For a committed nationalist like Daudet, mentioning the impressive natural “worlds” of Franchard and Apremont would be a means of connecting Bourdelle to the French landscape.

3 “Dans l’aquarelle ou la fresque, Bourdelle, poète créateur de formes ou d’images, se sert de la matière, lui fait violence, la force à parler, - avec quelle farouche énergie! - la contraint à dire tout ce qu’il veut dire. Il faut qu’elle crie, qu’elle hurle ce qu’il a dessein de faire entendre: douleur ou joie, angoisse ou certitude, paix ou guerre …” Maurice Denis, La Revue hebdomadaire, October 19, 1929, included in Lavrillier and Dufet, Bourdelle et la critique de son temps, 152.

4 Nina Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, Cézanne and : The Painter in His Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003), 20-26.

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mention of his méridional characteristics, so far there has been no specific study of how a southern quality was made manifest in Bourdelle’s art. Furthermore, there has been little investigation into how social and political issues during the Third Republic (1870-1940) - such as the push towards cultural unification and centralization, and the rise of regional identity movements and nationalism - shaped Bourdelle’s identification as a southerner.

This dissertation specifically explores how Bourdelle interpreted the changing ideas of the Midi and French regionalism throughout his career, both in his art and his personal statements.

Although focusing primarily on one artist, this investigation also considers how the French people were reacting to the significant cultural shifts that occurred between two milestone events: the Franco-Prussian War (1870-71) and World War I (1914-18).

During this time, people were collectively reassessing what it meant to be French and what the individual regions of France meant to the whole nation. Additionally, this dissertation raises new questions about Bourdelle, with consideration of his regional identity as a fundamental component of our understanding of his work. This study is a critical examination of the way in which Bourdelle saw himself representing the Midi as a professional artist in Paris, and how he developed his southern identity. The artist had a complex relationship with Montauban and the French south, and Bourdelle’s assertion of his méridional roots changed throughout his career as questions about national, regional, and artistic identity were being debated in France. Such analyses are meant to expand our

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understanding of the inspiration and purpose behind Bourdelle’s sculptures.5 There has also been little scholarship on Bourdelle in English, and this research will help new audiences understand the artist’s work.6

Antoine Bourdelle died as one of the most famous artists in France, but his status greatly diminished after his death and he is now regarded as one of the many sculptors that existed in the vacuum left by Rodin’s transformative work and before modern artists such as Pablo Picasso, Raymond Duchamp-Villon, Constantin Brâncuşi, and Henri

Matisse moved sculpture in new directions.7 As a result, research about Bourdelle is limited, but more work has been produced since the 1990s as the reception of Classicism and ancient Mediterranean art in the early 1900s has become an area of increased

5 Bourdelle’s sculptures have long been described as inspired primarily by Archaic Greek, Romanesque, and Gothic art. Sources that discuss Bourdelle’s influence from these sources include: Ionel Jianou and Michel Dufet, Bourdelle, trans. Kathleen Muston and Bryan Richardson (Paris: Arted, 1965); Peter Cannon-Brookes, Emile Antoine Bourdelle, An illustrated commentary (London: Trefoil Books, 1983); Marina Lambraki- Plaka, Bourdelle et la Grèce: les sources antiques de l’œuvre de Bourdelle (: Akadémia Athénón, 1985); Penelope Curtis, “E. A. Bourdelle and Monumental Sculpture,” (PhD diss., Courtauld Institute of Art, 1990); Gabrielle Lauren Rose, “Succeeding Rodin: Émile Antoine Bourdelle and the Making of a New Sculptor for France, c. 1900-1931,” (PhD diss., Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey, 2002); Stéphanie Cantarutti, Bourdelle (Paris: Éditions Alternatives, 2013); Sophie Schvalberg, Le Modèle grec dans l’art français 1815-1914 (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2014); and Bourdelle et l’antique: une passion moderne, under the direction of Claire Barbillon, Jérôme Godeau, and Amélie Simier (Paris: Paris-Musées, 2017).

6 All translations from French to English were done by the author, unless otherwise indicated.

7 Catherine Chevillot and Annie Dufour, Oublier Rodin? : la sculpture à Paris, 1905- 1914 (Paris: Hazan, 2009) provides an excellent overview of the artists and themes that existed during a transitional period in , before Cubism and modernism dominated the medium.

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scholarship. Books and articles about Bourdelle are overwhelmingly in French, but there are a few English texts that have helped advance our understanding of the artist.

Analyses of Bourdelle and his place in art history began shortly before his death.

The first major retrospective of the artist - and the only one that occurred during his lifetime - was in 1928 at the Palais des Beaux-Arts in Brussels. The only national retrospective for the artist was held in 1931 at the Musée de l’Orangerie in Paris. Some of the first texts on the artist were written by Bourdelle himself, and these all served to bolster the artist’s reputation. L’Œuvre d’Antoine Bourdelle, published from 1925-30, was Bourdelle’s attempt at creating his catalogue raisonné. It includes a long essay that outlines his theories on art and his connection to Montauban (the essay will be discussed in the conclusion).8 Two other works - La Matière et l’Esprit dans l’Art from 1952 and

Écrits sur l’Art et sur la Vie from 1955 - are edited selections of Bourdelle’s correspondence with patrons and fellow artists, as well as lectures that he presented at the

Académie de la Grande Chaumière in Paris.9 Like L’Œuvre d’Antoine Bourdelle, these books were meant to offer insight into Bourdelle’s practice while also preserving his reputation as a prominent sculptor. The critic Gaston Varenne published Bourdelle par lui-même in 1955, which focused on biographic accounts and interviews with the artist.10

For several decades after Bourdelle’s death, efforts to perpetuate his fame and

8 Antoine Bourdelle, L’Œuvre d’Antoine Bourdelle (Paris: Librairie de France, 1925-30).

9 Antoine Bourdelle, La Matière et l’Esprit dans l’Art (Paris: Les Presses littéraires de France, 1952) and Antoine Bourdelle, Écrits sur l’Art et sur la Vie (Paris: Plon, 1955).

10 Gaston Varenne, Bourdelle par lui-même (Paris: Fasquelle, 1955).

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understand his place in 20th century art were undertaken by his family. It was through the initiative of Bourdelle’s wife, Cléopâtre Bourdelle-Sevastos, his daughter, Rhodia, and his son-in-law, Michel Dufet, that the artist’s studio and collections were donated to the city of Paris and became the Musée Bourdelle in 1949.

Mid-20th century scholarship on Bourdelle analyzed his relationship to modernism and his influence on the next generation of sculptors. This approach meant that Bourdelle’s work after 1900 was viewed as the most important of his career, leaving his 19th century Romantic and Symbolist sculptures and drawings overlooked.

Investigations about his links to modernism highlighted his interest in formalism and geometric analysis of the human figure, and in synthesizing ideas in sculptural materials.

One of the most important examples of such scholarship is Ionel Jianou and Michel

Dufet’s Bourdelle.11 First published in 1965, the catalogue raisonné provided a biography of the artist and history of his oeuvre. Although it contains errors in the dating and description of some sculptures, takes anecdotal and partial tones in discussing the artist, and is now dated, Jianou and Dufet’s book is still the primary and most widely available reference book on Bourdelle.12 Many of the current interpretations of the artist’s works

11 Jianou and Dufet, Bourdelle.

12 Dufet also participated in the creation of Bourdelle et la critique de son temps, which was first published in 1979 and updated in 1992. Bourdelle et la critique de son temps contains articles and essays about the artist’s work, all written by journalists and art critics contemporary to Bourdelle. The book provides an enlightening examination of how Bourdelle’s sculptures were being received when they premiered. Dufet and Lavrillier, however, chose to publish only positive critiques of Bourdelle’s art.

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are found in it, thereby perpetuating long-established views of his artistic persona and oeuvre.

New perspectives on Bourdelle began to appear in the 1970s, and Marina

Lambraki-Plaka’s Bourdelle et la Grèce is an excellent example.13 First written as a dissertation in 1973, then published as a book in 1985, Bourdelle et la Grèce is a thorough analysis of the ancient Greek influences on Bourdelle’s art, along with a search for the specific ancient sources that inspired his sculpture. Interspersed with object investigations are his affiliations with individuals - such as Jean Moréas, Rodin, and

Isadora Duncan - who would have exposed him to ancient art. There is an extraordinary amount of examination and investigation, but Bourdelle et la Grèce sometimes offers little evidence of Bourdelle’s awareness of and direct access to the Greek sources mentioned. Still, Lambraki-Plaka pushed the study of Bourdelle’s oeuvre in new directions, especially regarding the artist’s interpretations of cultural and artistic developments, such as archaeology, during his lifetime.

The Musée d’Orsay presented an exhibition on the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées in 1987 and published a catalogue featuring an essay by Antoinette Le Normand-Romain on Bourdelle’s contributions to the theater.14 Le Normand-Romain’s analysis of

Bourdelle’s sculpture for the theater included historiography and comparison of the completed work to sketches and archival drawings. Such in-depth research on one of

13 Lambraki-Plaka, Bourdelle et la Grèce.

14 Antoinette Le Normand-Romain, “Bourdelle au Théâtre des Champs-Elysées,” in 1913: Le Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, ed. Jean-Michel Nectoux (Paris: Éditions de la Réunion des Musées Nationaux, 1987), 54-72.

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Bourdelle’s specific sculptures continued with the publication of Héraklès archer,

Naissance d’une œuvre, also by Le Normand-Romain, in 1992.15

Penelope Curtis’s 1990 dissertation “E. A. Bourdelle and Monumental Sculpture” tried to contextualize Bourdelle’s artistic output in a rapidly changing Parisian art world.16 This was done to both address the perception of Bourdelle as a precursor to the avant-garde and understand the importance of ancient Greece to Bourdelle’s sculpture.

Curtis studied the monumental sculptures created by Bourdelle to see how they compared to critical reception and to judge their “groundbreaking” aspects. She concluded that

Bourdelle should not be considered avant-garde. Rather, his work was rooted in the

French tradition of monumental sculpture. Curtis did acknowledge that ancient Greek art was important in Bourdelle’s œuvre, but not to the extent that Lambraki-Plaka stated.

“E. A. Bourdelle and Monumental Sculpture” is a milestone text on Bourdelle, and probably the most well-known English scholarship about the artist.17 Curtis’s exhaustive archival research and carefully considered contextual analysis moved Bourdelle studies

15 Antoinette Le Normand-Romain, Héraklès archer, Naissance d’une œuvre (Paris: Paris-Musées, 1992).

16 Curtis, “E. A. Bourdelle and monumental sculpture.”

17 Being a dissertation, Curtis’s text is still somewhat hard to find. Another book, Cannon-Brookes, Emile Antoine Bourdelle is available and provides an overview of the artist’s life and major works, but it follows the approach established by Jianou and Dufet’s Bourdelle.

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past previous classifications of the artist as a precursor for modernist sculpture who was devoted to Archaic Greek art.18

Bourdelle scholarship in the 1990s was relatively minimal. There were some exhibitions and publications that grouped Bourdelle with European artists who reexamined and used Classicism at the beginning of the 20th century.19 These studies, however, mainly focused on the work of a generation just after Bourdelle. Artists productive from 1890-1910, such as Bourdelle and , who were making sculpture influenced by ancient art, were viewed as precursors to the more influential neoclassical painting and sculpture of Picasso, Giorgio de Chirico, and Fernand Léger.20

Ideas and arguments from these texts shaped how research on Bourdelle developed in the

2000s and up to the present day.

The publication of Bourdelle studies increased considerably in the 21st century, primarily through the efforts of staff and scholars associated with the Musée Bourdelle.

18 Penelope Curtis continued to produce research on Bourdelle after her dissertation. Examples include, “E.-A. Bourdelle: The Statuaire’s Status,” Gazette des Beaux-Arts, VIe Période, CXXI (May-June 1993): 241-50; “Sculpting in patois: Emile-Antoine Bourdelle and the language of regionalism,” in From Rodin to Giacometti: Sculpture and Literature in France 1880-1950, eds. Keith Aspley, Elizabeth Cowling, and Peter Sharratt (Rodopi: Amsterdam, 2000), 49-59; and “Édifier le monument: construire ses archives,” trans. Michèle Veubret, in La Mémoire à l’œuvre. Les archives d’Antoine Bourdelle, eds. Claire Barbillon and Stéphanie Cantarutti (Paris: Paris-Musées, 2009), 13-25.

19 Examples of such work include Elizabeth Cowling and Jennifer Mundy, On Classic Ground: Picasso, Léger, de Chirico and the new classicism, 1910-1930 (London: Tate Gallery, 1991) and Christopher Green and Jens M. Daehner, Modern Antiquity: Picasso, de Chirico, Léger, Picabia (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2011).

20 For a catalogue that highlights Bourdelle and other artists of the 1890-1910 era that focuses on Classicism in contemporary French sculpture, see Chevillot, Oublier Rodin?.

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Much of the research and publications have used the museum’s extensive archival materials, which have provided a more complete understanding of the artist’s personality and approach to sculpture.21 Examples include exhibitions and catalogues on Bourdelle’s drawings, as well as the effect of personal and professional relationships on his art.22

Additionally, research by the museum’s curator of sculpture, Colin Lemoine, has analyzed the artist’s early career and how his association with Symbolism influenced his later oeuvre. The 21st century publications of the Musée Bourdelle have built upon the research of Dufet, Lambraki-Plaka, Curtis, and Le Normand-Romain and opened up our understanding of the many influences on the artist.

Bourdelle’s relationship to Classical antiquity remains a topic of interest to scholars in the present, as evidenced by the recent exhibition “Bourdelle et l’antique, une

21 Two texts that make wonderful use of the archives are La Mémoire à l’œuvre, eds. Barbillon and Cantarutti, and Antoine Bourdelle, L’Atelier perpétuel. Prose et poésies, 1882-1929, eds. Marc Kopylov and Colin Lemoine (Paris: Paris-Musées, 2009). La Mémoire à l’œuvre contains essays that discuss the development of the archives and how the archives have been used to better understand Bourdelle’s work. L’Atelier perpétuel contains unedited examples of the artist’s prose and poetry and is one of the most extensive collection of Bourdelle’s writings in published format.

22 For catalogues on Bourdelle’s drawings, see Annie Barbera, Stéphanie Cantarutti, Stéphane Ferrand, Jérôme Godeau, Colin Lemoine, Pierre Pinchon et Amélie Simier, Le Broyeur de sombre, dessins de jeunesse de Bourdelle (Paris: Paris-Musées, 2013) and Stéphanie Cantarutti, Antoine Bourdelle … que du dessin (Paris: Paris-Musées, 2011). For a more recent biography of the artist, see Cantarutti, Bourdelle. This catalogue accompanied the exhibition “Bourdelle intime,” held from November 13, 2013 - March 16, 2014 at the Musée Bourdelle. Another text worth noting is Cléopâtre Bourdelle- Sevastos, Ma Vie avec Bourdelle, eds. Annie Barbera, Marc Kopylov, and Colin Lemoine (Paris: Paris-Musées, 2005), a collection of memoirs about the artist as told by his second wife.

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passion moderne,” which featured an accompanying catalogue.23 The exhibit represented the most comprehensive look at the artist’s connection to Classical antiquity since the dissertations of Lambraki-Plaka and Curtis. Rather than thoroughly examining his complete work, “Bourdelle et l’antique” investigated the antique influences on

Bourdelle’s most well-known sculptures while also comparing his work with other late-

19th and early-20th century artists - like Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, Picasso, Matisse, and Denis - who were also inspired by Classicism.24 The exhibition combined the topics of Lambraki-Plaka’s dissertation with more recent investigations about the impact of antiquity in modern art.

Sophie Schvalberg’s 2014 book, Le Modèle Grec dans l’Art Français, 1815-1914, also studies the impact of the Classical past on Bourdelle’s sculpture.25 Schvalberg highlighted Bourdelle as the last iteration of a great French artistic debate on the use of ancient Greek art that spanned the long 19th century and her research continued previous investigative themes about the sculptor.

Bourdelle studied the romantic and emotional impact of ancient art for translation into his work and Schvalberg believed his interest in Archaic Greek sculpture upended an established artistic hierarchy of Greek art as historic progression. The book echoes Curtis

23 Bourdelle et l’antique, une passion moderne, under the direction of Barbillon, Godeau and Simier. The exhibition was held at the Musée Bourdelle from October 4, 2017 - February 4, 2018.

24 These include the Head of Apollo (1898-1909), Pallas Athena (1905), Herakles the Archer (1910), Théâtre des Champs-Elysées (1913), and Dying Centaur (1914).

25 Schvalberg, Le Modèle Grec dans l’Art Français.

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by concluding that Bourdelle’s interest in Classical antiquity was not overly concerned with accuracy, but he did see Archaic Greek art as evocative of an artistic ideal and a means to escape the rigidity of the academic tradition. Schvalberg listed Bourdelle as the last example of an 1800s artist exploring Classicism, suggesting that he is better placed in the 19th century than the 20th century, in terms of artistic ideas.

The relationship of Bourdelle to antiquity has been a constant focus of research about the artist for several decades. While this dissertation will examine the sculptor’s connection to the ancient Mediterranean past, it will be done to offer a greater understanding of the artist’s méridional identity. Curtis’s work questioned Bourdelle’s status as a southerner in relationship to his professional career, as did Antoinette Le

Normand-Romain in her 1994 article, “Devenir Bourdelle,” and Gabrielle Rose in her

2002 dissertation, “Succeeding Rodin: Émile Antoine Bourdelle and the making of a new sculptor for France, c. 1900-1931.”26 These examples considered Bourdelle’s identity through examinations of his biography, relationships, and writings, all of which I will follow in my research. Moving beyond the work of Curtis, Le Normand-Romain, and

Rose, I will investigate Bourdelle’s status as a French southerner through his art, while also considering the changing notions of regional identity in turn-of-the-century France.

Bourdelle’s sculpture, paintings, drawings, poetry, and letters will be discussed in relation to ideas about nationalism, Classicism, and the French south that were circulating in late-19th and early-20th century France. “Émile-Antoine Bourdelle and the Midi”

26 Antoinette Le Normand-Romain, “Devenir Bourdelle,” Revue de l’Art 104 (1994): 30- 39. Rose, “Succeeding Rodin.”

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builds upon previous scholarship, especially work done in the past two decades, but will attempt to understand just how Bourdelle’s status as a southerner, and more specifically, a Montalbanian, influenced his artistic output, public statements, and relationships.

The dissertation is divided into three chapters. The first chapter, “Coming from the Midi”, addresses Bourdelle’s early years and the beginning of his professional career in 1880s and 1890s Paris. Particular attention is paid to his family background and his early artistic training, as well as the cultural and artistic influences exerted on the artist in the Midi and the French capital. These facts are then analyzed while considering the changing perceptions of the south and regional identity during a period of social and political transformation. The chapter ends with a discussion of Bourdelle’s interest in

Symbolism and the parallels between that movement and the regionalist movements spreading across France.

Chapter two, “An Era of Regionalism and Rising Nationalism,” focuses on the first decade of the 20th century and Bourdelle’s shift from an artistic style inspired by his mentor, Rodin, to the classical manner in which he worked for the rest of his career. This shift, as I shall argue, closely followed the development of the regionalist movements in

France as their ideas were absorbed into conservative nationalist ideology. Both

Bourdelle’s sculptures and writing echoed such changes. The chapter examines

Bourdelle’s most famous work, Herakles the Archer (1909), which I relate to the French sense of an impending new conflict with Germany.

The third chapter, “Old Gods Made New,” addresses two of Bourdelle’s major works: the decoration for the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées (1913) and the monumental

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Dying Centaur (1914). The Théâtre des Champs-Elysées represented a high point of

Bourdelle’s classicism. An examination of the sculptor’s public statements indicates that, for him, the theater represented the ideal union of architecture and sculpture. Bourdelle’s statements also reveal the influence that southern architecture had on his design for the theater. Regarding the Dying Centaur, I stress how Bourdelle felt a personal connection to the mythical creature. He saw the centaur’s struggle between civilization and barbarism as reflective of his split between the cultured metropolis and Midi coarseness.

Analysis of correspondence between Bourdelle and a southern friend also confirms his persistent attachment to his native Montauban and southern culture more generally.

Finally, in the conclusion titled “The Montalbanian Legacy,” I briefly investigate two projects – a catalogue of Bourdelle’s oeuvre and plans for the construction of a museum – that the artist began near the end of his life. Both explored aspects of the

French south that displayed Bourdelle’s continued interest in his hometown and its impact on his art. My examination of all these topics shows that a person’s identity is never simple; it is a concept that is constructed by others as much as it is by oneself, is constantly in flux, and can reveal itself both subtly and conspicuously

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Chapter 1

COMING FROM THE MIDI

Antoine Bourdelle’s sculpture, Head of Apollo (1900-1909), is considered a critical work in his artistic development and was created at a pivotal point in his career

(Fig. 1). For Bourdelle scholars, the Head of Apollo represents the moment at which the artist began to turn away from the style of Auguste Rodin, for whom Bourdelle had worked as a studio assistant from 1893-1908. The work itself demonstrates Bourdelle’s growing interest in the ancient Mediterranean world. Inspiration from archaeological discoveries of Greek and Roman statuary, the mythological subject, the seemingly time- worn modelling, and planar base underline the sculptor’s fascination with Classical antiquity, a subject which had a revival of interest in fin-de-siècle France.27 Such

27 Interest in ancient Greek and Roman art at the end of the 19th century in Europe was the culmination of a dramatic shift in the understanding of antiquities that developed throughout the 1800s. The study of the human past was previously dominated by amateurs, antiquaries, and collectors who were focused primarily on aesthetics in their interpretation of ancient objects, and who relied on cultural and religious traditions to understand the past. The development of archaeology as an academic and scientific discipline occurred in the first half of the 19th century. Practitioners of archaeology were interested in objects as a tool to interpret the human past, rather than seeing such objects only in aesthetic terms. Archaeologists also developed the discipline in a scientific manner by using close observation and careful documentation at excavations and when describing unearthed artefacts. They also relied upon the work of geologists, biologists, botanists, and other naturalists to create a comparative approach to archaeology that enabled more accurate dating of ancient material culture. As a result of these shifts, departments of archaeology were established in universities across Europe in the second half of the 19th century, with Prussia, and later Germany, taking the lead in the

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classical tendencies in the Head of Apollo defined the sculptor’s career.28 Yet alongside the “archaic” classicism evident in this pivotal work, Bourdelle was also developing an identity as a loyal French southerner, deeply linked to the land and the culture of the

Midi.

Being a méridional in Paris at the turn of the 20th century presented a multitude of implications that colored interpretations of Bourdelle’s persona and oeuvre. There

development of the discipline. Archaeological research in the 1800s was, also, often political and mirrored the rise of the European nation-states. Both France, which had focused more on aesthetics and antiquarian pursuits, and the , which preferred to study Classical philology, shifted to the German academic and scientific approach of archaeology in the late 19th century. Changes in government in both Italy and Greece caused archaeological study by other European nations to adapt as well. After its establishment in 1830, the Kingdom of Greece was restrictive of foreign excavations, while Italy closed all digs by foreign nations after the country’s unification in 1861. The foreign ban by Italy caused new excavations to center on Greece, as well as the Ottoman Empire. The Ottomans had a plethora of Hellenic archaeological sites in their territories and were willing to part with numerous objects at the request, and expense, of Western European nations. Several of these excavations - including those undertaken by the French at Delos and Delphi, the Germans at Olympia and Pergamon, and Heinrich Schliemann’s work at the ancient site of Troy in the 1870s - captivated the European public and further encouraged the growth of archaeology as a discipline and as a means of promoting a nation’s cultural wealth. See Alain Schnapp, The Discovery of the Past, trans. Ian Kinnes and Gillian Varndell (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1997), 275-315 for background on the creation of archaeology as an academic discipline. See Stephen L. Dyson, In Pursuit of Ancient Pasts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006) for a comprehensive examination of the political, cultural, and historical development of Classical Archaeology in the 19th century.

28 The importance of the sculpture is stated in nearly every text on the artist. Examples include Jianou and Dufet, Bourdelle, 26: “This need for order asserted itself more after 1900, when the Head of Apollo started a new period. This time the Dyonisiac [sic] spirit of his first sculptures gave way to the Apollonian which is balance, harmony and synthesis.” Additional commentary is found in Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 100. “Bourdelle pose clairement en 1909 les bases d’un qui lui appartient en propre. Plus que jamais, il se présente comme un sculpteur et un architecte.” This is in reference to the Head of Apollo.

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were negative perceptions of southerners as being coarse and unfamiliar with the refined customs of the capital; but at the same time, there were also positive associations of a

Midi artist being closer to the natural world and as being more “Latin,” because of the historical and cultural bonds between ancient Greece and Rome, and southern France.29

29 For the perception of French southerners in 19th century Paris, see Tudor Edwards, The Lion of Arles: A Portrait of Mistral and His Circle (New York: Fordham University Press, 1964); Eugen Weber, Peasants into Frenchmen: The modernization of rural France, 1870-1914 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1976); Robert Lafont and André Armegaud, eds., Histoire de l’Occitanie (Paris: Hachette, 1979); and Eric Hobsbawm, “Mass-Producing Traditions: Europe, 1870-1914,” in The Invention of Tradition, eds. Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 263-307. Kallmyer, Cézanne and Provence, 20-6, offers an overview of stereotypes about the provincial in Paris, and specifically focuses on the traits associated with the méridional, who was “construed as the complete antithesis of his geographical opposite, the inhabitant of the north, that is, primarily the Parisian … Northerners were viewed as civilized; southerners were regarded as barbaric, savage, and uncultured primitives.” Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie, “North-South,” trans. Jennifer Gage, in Rethinking France: Les Lieux de Mémoire, Volume 2, under the direction of Pierre Nora (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), 1-24 analyzes the geographic, cultural, and political differences between northern and southern France from prehistory to the 20th century. Alain Corbin, “Paris-Province,” in Realms of Memory, Volume I: Conflicts and Divisions, under the direction of Pierre Nora, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), 427-64 investigates how the provinces were defined in antithetical terms to Paris, generally by Parisians. Of the languedocien, Corbin said “France south of the Loire, especially the Midi, symbolized a sort of exacerbated province. The inhabitants of that remote territory epitomized the height of bad taste. Their language was mere gibberish. Gradually these figures were ‘carnivalized’ and became unreal, like the caricatural puppet Gascons that amused a Paris eager for symbolic revenge against the once overbearing men of Navarre.” For discussions about Latin identity and the méridionaux, André Thérive, “L’Idée Latine,” Revue des Deux Mondes (April 15, 1958): 598-608; and Marilyn McCully, “Mediterranean Classicism and Sculpture in the Early Twentieth Century,” Catalan Review 5, no. 1 (July 1991): 145- 67. Also Harald Hendrix, “Petrarch 1804-1904: Nation-Building and Global Identities,” and Francesca Zantedeschi, “Petrarch 1874: Pan-National Celebrations and Provençal Regionalism,” both in Commemorating Writers in Nineteenth-Century Europe: Nation Building and Centenary Fever, eds. Joep Jeerssen and Ann Rigney (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014). The late 19th century also saw the rise of amateur archaeological societies in southern France, which strove to investigate the Greek and Roman ancestry of Provence and the Languedoc. The Société archéologique du Midi de la France was

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The loaded terms “Latinité” and “classicisme” were already complicated by the turn of the 20th century: the former concerned the ethnic and cultural heritage of French and Mediterranean people that connected them to ancient Greece and Rome, while the latter focused on the artistic values and traditions that originated in ancient Greece and were preserved by later Roman, , and French cultures. The terms were often connected and their significance was debated as new notions of race, state, and identity were developing at the close of the 1800s. Latinity and classicism would only become more charged as France hurtled towards World War I, carried by a rising tide of nationalism and resentment against the German Empire following the defeat of 1870.

This happened in a culture that drew sharp divisions between notions such as French and non-French, classical and modern, tradition and progress, Latin and Germanic. Bourdelle began to craft an identity that reclaimed the ancient past as an important component of his French southern legacy. The Head of Apollo is a witness of this shift, but what led

Bourdelle to assert his southern identity and how did artistic currents in Paris influence him during his first two decades in the French capital? An investigation into Bourdelle’s work in the fin-de-siècle shows how new artistic influences and a continued connection to Montauban helped the sculptor develop a style of sculpture linked to his southern ancestry.

founded in Toulouse in 1831, and the Société archéologique du Tarn-et-Garonne (of which Antoine Bourdelle was a member) was founded in Montauban in 1866. Archaeological societies promoted a sense of community among southerners and focused on the traces of Greek and Roman civilizations found in the French south.

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It is first necessary to include a few clarifications on concepts and terminology that will be used in this and subsequent chapters. The French south at the beginning of the 20th century was complicated and diverse, spanning an area that included towns as varied as Bordeaux, Nice, Valence, and Toulouse. The terms “Midi” and “méridional” will be used as shorthand, but this does not imply that southerners all held the same values and beliefs. There was a renaissance of French southern identity and culture in the latter half of the 19th century - spurred by the founding of the Félibrige in 1854 - but there was also a distinct focus on home regions and towns within the greater south.30 The term “Languedoc,” when used, refers to the southwest area of France, also known as

Occitania. This is differentiated from the term “Langue d’Oc,” which refers to the

Romance language that was spoken in southern France. Additionally, Bourdelle did not forget his ties to the French south upon moving to Paris and exploring Symbolism, only to rediscover them at a moment when having such roots became advantageous to his

30 Philippe Martel, “Le Félibrige,” in Les Lieux de Mémoire, sous la direction de Pierre Nora (Paris: Gallimard, 1997), 3515-3553. The Félibrige was a society of patriotic Provençal poets, founded on May 21, 1854 at the Château de Font-Ségugne, a historic castle in Châteauneuf-de-Gadagne, Vaucluse. The seven founding members were Frédéric Mistral, , Théodore Aubanel, , Jean Brunet, , and Paul Giéra. Their common goal was the preservation of Provençal language, history, and culture. Roumanille organized the early meetings and had been recording the Provençal language and writing original works in it since the mid 1840s. His efforts, in turn, inspired Mistral to focus on the revival of Provençal poetry. Mistral became the leader of the organization and his vision for a non-political cultural revival enabled the Félibrige to establish chapters across France. Mistral’s works - particularly his two epic poems “Mirèio” (1859) and “Lou Pouèmo dóu Rose” (1897), and his memoirs Moun espelido (1906) - were universally acclaimed and he received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1904. Although originally dedicated to the revival of Provençal language and culture, the Félibrige served as a major inspiration to other areas of the Languedoc that were recognizing the importance of their regional identity in the second half of the 19th century.

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career.31 There was, however, a time in his life when his affiliation with avant-garde artists obscured the Latin and méridional features that became evident in his later oeuvre.

How he attempted to navigate these artistic and political changes will be addressed in this dissertation.

The year 1884 was an exciting time for a young, provincial artist to move to Paris.

Bourdelle arrived in the city when members of artistic and literary circles began to reject the prevailing naturalism of both avant-garde and . A call for a return to the ideal in art - echoed by such diverse individuals as Félix Fénéon and (Sâr) Joséphin

Péladan - began to rise in the early 1880s, leading to the emergence of varied movements such as Decadence and Symbolism, and groups like the Nabis and the École romane.

Composed of both visual artists and writers, the loosely organized Decadence and

Symbolist movements had their own specific goals; but they were united in their efforts to reclaim the ideal in art and, concurrently, to reject the values of materialism and naturalism, the latter viewed as central to the perceived failure of French art and politics.

During his early Paris years, Bourdelle moved among these artistic and literary groups and became familiar with their theories.

While Bourdelle was beginning his career in the capital, the arts industry was rapidly changing for both professional artists and consumers. Not only were there more young men moving to the city to establish their artistic careers, but there were also more venues in which to display their works. Inclusion in the Salon - seen before the second

31 A primer on how Bourdelle expressed his southern identity upon arriving in Paris and at certain points in his career can be found in Curtis, “Sculpting in patois,” 49-60.

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half of the 19th century as the only way to establish a successful artistic career in Paris - was challenged by the creation of independent exhibitions by artists and groups such as

Gustave Courbet (in 1855 and 1867), Edouard Manet (in 1867), the Impressionists (from

1874-86), and Sâr Péladan’s symbolist-focused Salon de la Rose + Croix (from 1892-

97).32 In addition to new exhibitions, individual art dealers were establishing galleries in the city where they would show sponsored artists. Artists in turn-of-the-century Paris had more possibilities than ever before for exhibiting their art, and the public had more opportunities than ever before to see the development of contemporary art. Besides the changes to artistic professions, new conceptions of the media and distribution of literature were being invented in late-19th century Paris. People of minor means now had the ability to create their own published works.33 Newspapers competed with petites revues for the dissemination of opinions about art and the development of new literary and aesthetic theories.34 A young provincial arriving in Paris would have encountered a

32 Although it supported the École des Beaux-Arts since 1667, the French government withdrew its sponsorship from the Salon in 1881. The event was then managed by the Société des Artistes Français, also founded in 1881. Disagreement between members of the Société des Artistes Français about who could show their works at the Salon led to a split in the organization, with a new Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts being created in 1890, along with its own Salon. See Patricia Mainardi, The End of the Salon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993) for more information.

33 Patrick McGuinness, Poetry and Radical Politics in fin de siècle France: From Anarchism to Action française (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 86-8. McGuinness discussed not only the wide availability of literature that was then easily printed, but also the demand for artists and intellectuals to share their opinion on a variety of topics.

34 The publication of journals and periodicals, and their massive distribution in late-1800s Paris, was the culmination of a century-long development in the printing, marketing, and distribution of literature for popular audiences. Advancements in printing technology and

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plethora of literary ephemera on the subject of art, and these writings in turn would contribute to the rapid development of new artistic groups that pioneered innovative formal directions.

As an artist, Bourdelle has continually evaded classification. He has been touted as a precursor of Cubism; hailed as an influence to modernist sculpture because he taught

Alberto Giacometti; grouped into the nebulous field of Archaic Modernist sculptors, which included Maillol, Charles Despiau, the American sculptor Paul Manship, and the

German Wilhelm Lehmbruck; and has more recently been investigated for his earlier ties to the Symbolist movement. Like much French sculpture of the early-20th century,

Bourdelle’s work has been difficult to define. A look at his southern past, coupled with a

the reduction of cost in material goods allowed publishers to produce more books at reduced prices for consumers. The lowered cost for publishing and distribution also opened the market to more printers and booksellers who increasingly had to rely upon advertising and the solicitation of literature from authors to increase business. These developments coincided with the rise of the Romantic movement in literature, which, more than ever before, gave Parisians the ability to consume the work of new authors. Themes of moved into popular literature aimed at the middle and lower classes of the city, and new printing technology in the mid 1800s allowed for easier and more cost-efficient production of newspapers. These newspapers often serialized new stories by contemporary authors as a means of gaining higher readership. The creation of books in the late-18th century - a time-consuming process that resulted in an expensive product only intended for the wealthy and cultural elite - gave way, by the mid-19th century, to the widespread distribution of inexpensive texts and a newspaper culture that catered to popular audiences. These literary developments continued into the fin-de-siècle where the technological advancements and lowered cost of materials meant authors and publishers could distribute their work to specific Parisian audiences with ease, especially when compared to the beginning of the 19th century. See chapter 4, “The Romantic Book Trade,” and chapter 5, “The Production and Distribution of Romantic Works,” in James Smith Allen, Popular French Romanticism: Authors, Readers, and Books in the 19th Century (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1981), 102-50.

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careful examination of the political, artistic, and literary trends of his time will explain why Bourdelle’s work developed in the manner it did.

Early Southern Influences: The Félibrige, Ingres, and Toulouse

Bourdelle had a modest upbringing in Montauban before moving to Toulouse to study at its École des Beaux-Arts from 1876 to 1883. The artist travelled between his hometown and the larger city of Toulouse during his eight years at the École, taking care of his parents and staying in touch with old friends and patrons in Montauban. Many of

Bourdelle’s acquaintances and connections in Montauban were affiliated with a growing sense of regional pride and Occitan identity that had been developing since the middle of the 1800s. The Second Empire (1852-70) and the Third Republic saw the emergence of regionalist and nativist movements throughout the French provinces that demanded greater administrative, economic, and cultural autonomy.35 The most famous of these movements was the Félibrige.36 Although centered in Provence, its influence spread

35 While this dissertation focuses specifically on regionalism as it pertains to the French south, the entire nation saw a growth of interest in its regions and assertions of regional identity in the 19th century. For more information on regionalism in France and explanations on its growth, see Alphonse Roche, Provençal Regionalism: a study of the movement in the Revue félibréene, Le Feu, and other reviews of southern France (New York: AMS Press, 1970); Maurice Agulhon, “The Center and the Periphery,” trans. Mary Trouille, in Rethinking France: Le Lieux de Mémoire, Vol. I: The State, under the direction of Pierre Nora (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 53-79; Jacques Revel, “The Region,” trans. Janine Maltz Perron, in Rethinking France, 149-82; Alan Forrest, Paris, the Provinces and the (London: Arnold, 2004), 223-29; and Robert Gildea, Children of the Revolution: The French, 1799-1914 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008), 66-90, 289-310.

36 For more information on the history of the Félibrige and its activities, see Edwards, The Lion of Arles; Roche, Provençal Regionalism; René Jouveau, Histoire du Félibrige 1854-1876, 2 volumes (Nîmes: Bené, 1970-87); Martel, “Le Félibrige;” and Joseph P.

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across the Midi, eventually reaching all the way to Paris. By the end of the century it had established chapters and affiliates throughout France. The Parisian Félibrige was noted for its lively banquets and festivals, at which noted members of the French literary elite, including Anatole France and Émile Zola, would make appearances. The presence of the

Félibrige in Paris, as well as the emergence of similar regionalist associations throughout

France, was related to the drive for administrative, economic, and cultural decentralization that emerged as a form of resistance to the centralizing policies of the

Second Empire and the Third Republic. The popularity of the Félibrige was the result of numerous historical events and cultural changes that happened throughout the 19th century. The movement had its roots in the times of the French Revolution and in the popular reaction against the centralizing decrees promulgated by the in the 1790s that abolished regional divisions and replaced them with a system of newly designed departments that were administered from Paris. The strategy was intended to promote unification and a sense of streamlined national identity among all French citizens.37

Roza, “French Languages and French Nationalism: The Félibrige, Occitan, and the French Identity of Southern France, 1854-1914,” (PhD diss., University of Washington, 2003).

37 Such efforts included the abolition of ancien régime provinces - the previous administrative divisions of the nation - and the establishment of départements. The borders of the départements were decidedly political in nature and meant to divide areas that were historically and culturally connected. The hope was that severing provincial ties would help unite the citizens of a democratic France under the nation. Additionally, the Catholic priest and revolutionary leader Henri-Baptiste Grégoire launched an investigation in 1790 on the effects of regional dialects - referred to as “patois” by Grégoire - in establishing the goals of the French Revolution. In 1794, Grégoire concluded to the National Convention that a national initiative should be undertaken to

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Besides the resistance to the centralizing efforts of the imperial and republican governments, the Romantic movement in art, literature, and music created interest across the country in the folk traditions of France. In particular, painters including Jean-Auguste

Dominique Ingres, Pierre-Henri Révoil, and François-Fleury Richard adopted a

“troubadour style” to depict idealized scenes from the Middle Ages and the

Renaissance.38 The term “troubadour” also recalled the travelling medieval poets of the

Midi who composed lyrics in Langue d’Oc.39 It was primarily the troubadour model that

Frédéric Mistral and other members of the Félibrige embraced, pointedly reviving the local dialect in their literary works.

Greater exposure to the south through the efforts of the Félibrige would influence how Parisians understood southerners, especially those visiting or moving to the capital

instruct all areas of the country in the . The goal of the initiative would be to abolish regional dialects, which were symbols of ignorance and poor education in the eyes of Grégoire and other revolutionaries, and to make French, considered a language of enlightenment and of the Revolution, the universal language of a democratic nation. For more on Grégoire, see Roza, “French Languages and French Nationalism,” 56-8.

38 Interest in medieval French history and the folklore of the old provinces can also be understood as a reaction to the centralizing efforts of both the National Convention and Napoléon’s government. This was like the push for regional recognition at the end of the 1800s in response to governmental efforts for cultural unification. For more information on the troubadour style, see Françoise Baudson, Le Style troubadour (Bourg-en-Bresse, France: Musée de l’Ain, 1971) and François Pupil, Le Style troubadour ou la nostalgie du bon vieux temps (Nancy: Presses Universitaires de Nancy, 1985).

39 Late-18th and early-19th century studies that contributed to the interest in the troubadours as historic and cultural figures include Claude François Xavier Millot, Histoire littéraire des troubadours (Paris: Durand, 1774) and Antoine Fabre d’Olivet, Le Troubadour, poésies occitaniques du XIIIe siècle (Paris: Henrichs, 1803).

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in the fin-de-siècle.40 Bourdelle’s hometown of Montauban was no exception. Among its inhabitants, several participated in Félibre activities and those of similar regionalist organizations. They included the librarian and linguist Antonin Perbòsc (1861-1944), the novelists Léon Cladel (1834-92) and Émile Pouvillon (1840-1906), and the poet and cultural preservationist Auguste Quercy (1854-99), all of whom had a profound influence on Bourdelle as mentors, patrons, and friends.41

Besides the interest of prominent townspeople in preserving the Occitan language and identity, the painter Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, a Montauban native and member of the French Academy of Fine Arts, cast a long shadow over any aspiring artist who hailed from that southern town. Ingres was still alive during Bourdelle’s early years and the people of Montauban were understandably proud of his contributions to French art. Indeed, Ingres’s impact was also felt in the earliest stages of Bourdelle’s artistic career.

40 Throughout the 19th century, residents of Paris and northern France in general viewed southerners as existing far removed from the life and customs of the North. This topic is discussed in further detail later in this chapter, but Parisians generally saw southerners as coarse, unfashionable, and naïve. The spread of the Félibrige helped alleviate some of the more negative stereotypes that residents of Paris had, but there remained a belief that southerners were devoted to customs and traditions that were thoroughly behind modern times and unsuited to life in the capital.

41 For more information on Perbosc, Cladel, Pouvillon, and Quercy, see Marcel Maurières, 800 auteurs: dix siècles d’écriture en Tarn-et-Garonne (Montauban: Bibliothèque Central de Prêt, 1992). The relationship between Bourdelle and Perbosc, and Bourdelle and Quercy, are detailed in Mathieu Méras, “L’Amitié de Perbosc et de Bourdelle d’après leur correspondance,” Bulletin du Musée Ingres 12 (December 1962): 5-17, and Florence Viguier, “Une Amitié gravée: Bourdelle et Quercy,” Bulletin du Musée Ingres 69 (1996): 73-82.

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Growing Up as an Artist between the Midi and Paris

Artistic inclination ran deep among the members of the Bourdelle family. In an essay from 1905, Bourdelle mentioned his older brother Emmanuel’s talent in drawing.42

He also claimed that his father, Antoine, who was trained as a cabinetmaker, showed considerable promise in draughtsmanship, so much so that the senior Bourdelle’s drawing instructor offered to pay for his training in Ingres’s studio in Paris.43 But, as Bourdelle narrated, his father’s timidity prevented him from taking this opportunity. In his writing, the sculptor discussed what he saw as the wasted talent of his father and brother. His account of his family’s artistic propensity, especially in drawing, suggested his own higher artistic aspirations, possibly his ambition to match the celebrated Ingres,

Montauban’s most famous artist and a credit to southern-born talent.44 The emphasis on comparing himself to Ingres is a theme that recurs throughout Bourdelle’s career. It is with these comparisons that Bourdelle showed flux in his southern identity. Like Ingres, the young Bourdelle aspired to leave his hometown and achieve artistic fame in Paris through training at the École des Beaux-Arts. Ingres paid little attention to Montauban after his move to Paris while Bourdelle returned to his hometown throughout his life.

42 François Thiébault-Sisson, “Nos artistes racontés par eux-mêmes: le statuaire Bourdelle,” Le Temps, August 4, 1905. “Aux écoles de dessin de Montauban, il n’y eut, tant qu’il vécut, de récompenses que pour [mon frère], et mon père le chérissait d’autant plus qu’il caressait l’espoir de le voir un jour s’illustrer dans ces arts du dessin qu’il eût pu lui-même exercer, tant la nature l’avait favorisé de ce côté.”

43 Ibid.

44 Ibid. “Une ville qui a donné un maître des maîtres [in reference to Ingres] est une bonne terre à fruits. Ceux qui la cultivent ont des devoirs, et ces devoirs, nos édiles montalbanais les remplissent avec une admirable conscience.”

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Bourdelle’s relationship with Montauban was considerably different, but his use of Ingres as a model indicated a desire to escape the circumstances of his birth.45 I will return to the joint topics of the sculptor’s persisting interest in Ingres and his family’s artistic inclinations more fully in Chapter Two.

In addition to the influence of his hometown, Bourdelle’s time in Toulouse was another source for the cultivation of his méridional identity. Bourdelle entered Toulouse’s

École des Beaux-Arts, in 1876, when he was 15, having received financial support from the city of Montauban. He took in the history, culture, and sites of Toulouse, along with the training he received at the École. The city had a long and contentious history with the north of France, highlighted by the events of the Albigensian Crusade of the thirteenth century, in which the Kingdom of France invaded the independent County of Toulouse.

The end of the Crusade resulted in the Kingdom of France gaining control of Toulouse, an event that the city never forgot. This historical moment was memorialized in a series of mural paintings by the academic painter Jean-Paul Laurens in the late 1890s. In his work for the renovated interior of Toulouse’s city hall, the Capitole, Laurens chose to depict two subjects that symbolized the events of the Albigensian Crusade and the resistance of Toulouse against French forces (Figs. 2 & 3). Laurens’s murals, interestingly, were state commissions created for a government building, and all the descriptive text included in the works was written in Langue d’Oc. The creation of the

45 We can contrast Bourdelle’s affectionate view of Ingres with that of Cézanne’s as described in Kallmyer, Cézanne and Provence, 81-2. Cézanne despised Ingres for upholding the academic tradition, and Ingres’s lack of interest in his southern origins probably intensified Cézanne’s hatred.

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murals was a clear expression of regional identity, and its commission went against the wishes of government officials in Paris.46 This serves as a very public example of the state of affairs in Toulouse at the turn of the century and the growing culture of méridional identity, all at a time when Bourdelle was coming of age.

Toulouse’s Fine Arts school had an old and distinguished reputation. Instruction at the school was viewed as more practical than the traditional approach of the Paris

École des Beaux-Arts. Students of sculpture, architecture, and the decorative and industrial arts completed a curriculum in drawing that included live models, copying antique sculpture, and studying geometric and structural form.47 The latter aspect - a focus of instruction associated with artisans and industrial artists - gave Toulouse students an education that was comparable to the Petite École in Paris.48 As a result,

46 Kimberly A. Jones, “Art and Regional Identity: Jean-Paul Laurens and the Murals of the Capitole of Toulouse, 1892-1915,” Studies in the Decorative Arts, Vol. 12, No. 2 (Spring-Summer 2005): 97-103. Jones recounted Toulouse’s ability to make the French government dismiss an artist for the Capitole decoration project chosen by the State, and to award the commissions solely to Toulousain artists. Interestingly, the French government accepted Laurens’s murals and never objected to their subject matter but did have concerns about the aesthetic harmony of the paintings and sculptures that were being created for the renovations.

47 Denis Milhau and Monique Rey-Delqué, Les “Toulousains”: Plâtres Originaux et Sculptures du XIXe siècle (Toulouse: Musée des Augustins, 1991), 14. Milhau and Rey- Delqué’s text is an excellent resource that discusses the history and style of the artistic group known as “Les Toulousains,” which is discussed later in this chapter.

48 The Petite École - officially known as the École nationale des arts décoratifs after 1877 - is a state-run school that focuses on education in decorative arts and design. Founded by royal decree in 1766, the school was dedicated to training individuals in skilled crafts and decorative arts but expanded its instruction into industrial arts in the 19th century. As such, the curriculum included traditional arts instruction that was associated with the École des Beaux-Arts, but also courses in mathematics and design, both of which were useful for students training in sculpture, architecture, and the decorative and industrial

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Bourdelle and other Toulouse-educated students came to the Paris École with a background in fine and applied arts and exhibited a high level of practicality in comparison to other academy students. Bourdelle’s drawing ability would have certainly been encouraged by this instruction, along with his interest in sculpture’s relationship to architectural form.

Bourdelle’s arrival in Toulouse coincided with that city’s growing reputation in

Paris as a premiere training center for talented sculptors. The “Toulousains” - as these sculptors were nicknamed - came to the capital specifically to enroll in the studio of the sculptor Alexandre Falguière (1831-1900), a professor at the École des Beaux-Arts.

Falguière’s oeuvre was known for its eclecticism. It embraced a range of genres, a fact that sometimes spurred accusations of unevenness. His Cardinal Lavigerie, for example, combines contradictory tendencies: a theatrical pose with naturalistic individualism (Fig.

4). Falguière’s sculptures of Classical figures, such as Huntress Nymphe and Diana, also depicted familiar mythological subjects in a naturalistic and eroticized manner (Figs. 5 &

6). Accordingly, his subjects have been compared to Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux’s work, like his unconventional Dance for Paris’s Grand Opera (Fig. 7).49 Falguière’s work indicated

arts. The hierarchical structure of state-run art schools in 19th century France, as well as the perception that painting was a more noble and intellectual pursuit than the decorative arts, meant that the Petite École was considered inferior to the École des Beaux-Arts and intended for those pursuing a career in the “lesser” fine arts. For more information on the history of the school, see “Histoire,” École nationale supérieure des arts décoratifs, accessed July 6, 2019, https://www.ensad.fr/lecole/histoire.

49 “Cet éclectisme des «Toulousains» de la fin du siècle exalta un érotisme de la matière figurative que condamnaient également les purists et formalistes de la novation … et les moralistes de l’ordre social, Académie en tête, mais Académie prête à récupérer, en le vidant de son contenu, le renouvellement formel de l’art dû aux inventeurs de l’Art

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the continued presence of naturalism in 1880s French sculpture, and his style was emulated by his students. The teacher’s approach to instruction was reportedly hands-off and distant. He encouraged students to explore different genres and figures and was especially confident in the abilities of those who were trained at the Toulouse École.50

Bourdelle entered Falguière’s studio in 1884. He was expected to follow in the footsteps of his fellow Toulouse students and the studio’s preference for an eclectic style of monumental sculpture. And so he did, at least initially.51 Bourdelle’s second work exhibited at the Salon des Artistes Français, in 1885, was his First Victory of Hannibal, a sculpture that shared stylistic and thematic similarities with the works of other

“Toulousains” (Fig. 8).52 The sculpture depicts a youthful exploit of the Carthaginian general Hannibal, who proudly displays an eagle he captured and killed. The scene was directly taken from Gustave Flaubert’s novel Salammbô (1862). This was a popular book

Moderne … Il faut se souvenir que ces purists et ces moralists vilipendérent «la danse» de Carpeaux et le «le Balzac» de Rodin pour les raison formelles qui font, justement, toute la qualité et la saveur des sculpteurs toulousains de cette époque.” Milhau and Rey- Delqué, Les “Toulousains,” 16.

50 Ibid., 14.

51 Curtis, “Sculpting in patois,” 54. Bourdelle made a genuine attempt to succeed in the academy by submitting entries to the Prix de Rome competition, although he would later deny doing so.

52 Bourdelle’s first Salon entry was a bronze bust of Montalbanian composer Armand Saintis in 1884. The bronze of Saintis will be discussed in detail later in the chapter. Sculptures produced by fellow students of Falguière that show the same interest as Bourdelle in ancient history and focus on naturalism include Gabriel-Edouard Pech’s Sophocle (1890), Alexandre-Gabriel Laporte’s Tircis (1886), and Laurent-Honoré Marqueste’s Cupidon (1882). These sculptures are located in the Musée des Augustins in Toulouse. Regarding Falguière, Bourdelle’s Hannibal may have been inspired by his teacher’s Winner of the Cock Fight (1864, Musée d’Orsay).

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among Falguière’s students, as evidenced by several Salon sculptures inspired by it by contemporary artists like Antonin Idrac and Émile Berges (Fig. 9).53 Bourdelle evoked this energy-filled scene by focusing on the details of both Hannibal and the eagle, as well as showing divergent emotions, childish joy (Hannibal) versus poignant death throes (the dying eagle). His work garnered little mention at the Salon, but one critic, Léon Roger-

Miles, noticed it and approved.54

Only two years after his enrollment in 1884, Bourdelle left the Paris École. He had failed to win any significant prizes during that brief time and expressed impatience at being unable to begin a professional career. In a letter to his friend and mentor, the novelist Émile Pouvillon, Bourdelle declared, “I’ve had enough! I don’t understand at all these systems of prizes, of contests. By 30 I must have the measure of myself and my work, it’s the street, it’s life!”55 The artist indicated a preference to seek artistic

53 Both Idrac (1849-84) and Berges (1863-1900) were students of Falguière.

54 The Musée Bourdelle has an archive of criticisms and press reviews on the artist’s work. The only critical mention of La Première Victoire d’Hannibal in the museum archives is a review by Léon Roger-Milès in the May 9, 1885 issue of Le Mémorial diplomatique. “Nous terminerons notre première visite en signalant à nos lecteurs un nouveau venu parmi les sculpteurs, mais un nouveau venu qui pour son coup d’essai voulu un coup de maître. Annibal, attaqué par un aigle, a vaincu l’oiseau de proie. Il a attaché les serres avec une lapière, et, le regard joyeux la bouche riante, il porte sur la tête son premier ennemi, objet de son premier triomphe, l’aigle, qui encore palpitant, étend toutes grandes ses ailes dans un dernier effort. Ce sujet, emprunté à la Salammbô de Flaubert, M. E. Bourdelle l’a traité avec une sincérité et une jeunesse dignes d’éloges … Pour nous, nous sommes heureux de le féliciter de ce beau début, que nous pouvons signaler comme un succès tout chargé de promesses.”

55 “J’en ai assez! Je ne comprends rien à tous ces systèmes de prix, de concours. Il faut qu’à trente ans j’aie donné ma mesure et mon travail à moi c’est la rue, c’est la vie!” Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 24.

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inspiration and subjects directly from nature, as opposed to the curriculum of the École.

His belief that training at the Paris school enabled students to be mere copiers of antiquities also exasperated him.56 Although he left the academy after a short tenure, the influence from his former master Falguière and his time in Toulouse were both significant and would continue to shape his artistic output over the next few years. His relationship with Falguière remained cordial and the two continued to correspond.

Bourdelle even dedicated a poem to Falguière that appeared in the newspaper, La Tribune du Tarn-et-Garonne, in 1890.57

Before looking at Bourdelle’s post-École work in the 1880s and 1890s, it is important to further examine the reasons that caused him to leave the academy, for they light on Bourdelle’s sense of his southern identity while in Paris. Reflecting on his departure from Falguière’s studio, Bourdelle explained that:

[N]ever could I not drop the most beautiful frame, the most beautiful work, if a divine child returned, if the merchant woman was beautiful, if flowers or some struggling horse passed, if sky dazzled the street … There was always a great dissimilarity between my colleagues and me. I was friendly, but very reserved, open only to the passing street, to the admirable, victorious workers who hurried in the morning to earn their meager bread.58

56 Ibid., 14. In an 1883 letter to M. Dispan, Bourdelle stated, “Étant pensionné par deux villes (si je le suis) je dois aller à l’École des Beaux-Arts! Je dois sacrifier, toutes mes aspirations, méconnaitre mon idéal, pour suivre ce lieu commun, ce classique bête et froid!”

57 Bourdelle, “Le poème du sculpteur,” La Tribune du Tarn-et-Garonne, July 3, 1890.

58 Bourdelle, “Letter to Madame A …, January 29, 1912,” in Bourdelle, Écrits sur l’art et sur la vie (Paris: Collection Jacques Haumont, 1955), 19. “Mais jamais je n’ai pu ne pas laisser tomber des mains le plus beau cadre, la plus belle œuvre, si un enfant divin rentrait, si la marchande était belle, si des fleurs vivantes passaient, ou quelque cheval en effort, si quelque ciel vivace éblouissait la rue … Il y a eu toujours une immense

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A genuine love for the natural world, according to the artist, compelled him to escape the artifice of the École and to keep creating art that was rooted in his understanding of beauty. Moreover, his belief that he was different than his fellow students at the École recurred in his personal and public statements. This was, in part, due to his impoverished, country upbringing and his father’s commitment to republican values.59 Peter Cannon-Brookes stated that “Bourdelle’s father was a committed

dissemblance entre mes camarades et moi. J’étais aimant, mais très réservé, ouvert seulement à la rue passante, aux admirables victoires-ouvrières qui courent le matin gagner leur maigre pain.”

59 Reflecting on his childhood, Bourdelle said, “… [As a] child, I didn’t like the children proud of their wealth. I was poor. I really liked those proud vagabonds. Rich children had lifeless, odious toys that reflected their pride. The children of beggars took me to lively streams and violet-filled, peaceful woods. With the rich kids, I had golden chains; with the barefoot kids, I had the freedom of the sky.” (… Enfant, je n’aimais pas les enfants fiers de leurs richesses. J’étais pauvre. J’aimais beaucoup les fiers vagabondes. Les enfants riches avaient des jouets inertes, odieux de leur même orgueil. Les petits des mendiants m’emmenaient aux ruisseaux vivants, aux bois paisibles pleins de violettes. Avec les petits riches, j’avais des chaînes dorées; avec les va-nu-pieds, j’avais la liberté du ciel). Antoine Bourdelle, “Les Dimanches à Montauban,” in Écrits sur l’art et sur la vie, 13-14. Such statements indicate a preference for working-class subjects and company that Bourdelle continued into adulthood. Additionally, Bourdelle wrote a short poem around 1882 in which he imagined himself as cattle pushed out of the country and into an urban setting: “Like an exiled ox, I drag my plow / The street came after the woods’ horizon / And the slippery pavement is hard on my feet / At first birdsong spied by the herdsman, / We left, crushing lavender and verbena, / At noon we drank from clear fountains / We returned in the evening, weary but glorious / While the pale crescent climbed in the sky / Like a holy lamp in some archangel’s hands.” (Comme un bœuf exilé, je traîne ma charrue / À l’horizon des bois a succédé la rue / Et le pavé glissant est hostile à mes pieds / Aux premiers chants d’oiseaux du bouvier épiés, / Nous partions, écrasant lavandes et verveines, / À midi nous buvions aux limpides fontaines / Et le soir, nous rentrions, lassés mais glorieux / Tandis que le croissant pâle montait aux cieux / Comme une lampe sainte en quelques mains d’archange). Antoine Bourdelle, “[Comme un bœuf exilé],” in L’Atelier perpétuel, 191. Just as Bourdelle is ending his training in Toulouse and preparing to move to the Paris École, the allegory of himself as an ox – a

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republican whose liberal opinions had almost led to his death in 1848 and were the cause of his economic problems in the aftermath of the war of 1870.”60 Cannon-Brooks also suggested that it was this democratic background – and the hardships that it caused – that may have strengthened the bond between Bourdelle and his neighbor in Paris, the monumental sculptor .61 Bourdelle’s rural upbringing in Montauban and his informal training in his father’s woodworking studio are topics he returned to often, and he spoke about the impact of his youth in an autobiographical essay he wrote for the

Parisian newspaper Le Temps in 1905. Before that article, he also absorbed new symbolist ideas that he discovered during his early years in Paris. It is through reflection on these varying influences that he, later, expressed his status as a southern artist.

Bourdelle’s Early Years in Paris

Reflecting in a letter of 1912 to an acquaintance, Bourdelle wrote, “The grandiose stones, earth, and woods of old Toulousain ruins ... these are the ... active forces, the ...

rural animal that engages in hard labor – traversing an uncomfortable and inhospitable urban setting is fitting.

60 Cannon-Brookes, Emile Antoine Bourdelle, 10.

61 Ibid., 10. Jules Dalou (1838-1902) was one of the most famous nineteenth-century French sculptors and gained monumental commissions throughout his career. Born into an artisanal Parisian family, he was a committed republican and joined the radical Artists Federation during the Paris Commune. He was exiled to London after the fall of the Commune in 1871 and only returned to Paris after being granted amnesty in 1879. Like Bourdelle, Dalou was frustrated by his training at the Paris École des Beaux-Arts and remained critical of the academic system for the rest of his life. Dalou became one of Bourdelle’s mentors after the latter left Falguière’s studio. See John M. Hunisak, “Jules Dalou,” in The Romantics to Rodin, ed. Peter Fusco and H.W. Janson (Los Angeles: Los Angeles County Museum of Art, 1980), 185-99.

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sources from which my mind flowed.” And he continued: “When I came to Paris … it was too late to change.”62 Both statements indicate Bourdelle’s awareness of the impact his experiences in the south had had on him by the time he arrived in the French capital in

1884. At that time, southern France was still seen by many in Paris as existing in a world of its own, one with a dialect, customs, and traditions that divided it from the northern half of the country.

In line with previous centuries, provincials in 19th century Paris remained the objects of social derision and contempt. Méridional provincials, stereotypically marked by their boorish manners, unfashionable outfits, and heavy southern accents, epitomized the archetypical outsider and stood in stark opposition to the sophisticated, elegant, and fashionable Parisian bourgeois. As the century progressed, there were improvements in the way southerners were perceived; méridionaux were still regarded as different from their sophisticated counterparts in the capital, but there was also a recognition of their unkempt and quaint charm.63 This was a result of the promotion of regional culture and southerners’ connection to Mediterranean lands that were under the perceived influence

62 Bourdelle, “Letter to Madame A …,” 18-19. “Les pierres grandioses, les terres, les bois des vieilles ruines toulousaines et l’amour qui toujours tortura mon cœur, voilà les deux forces actives, les deux sources dont mon esprit suivit le flot.” The following paragraph begins with “Quand je vins à Paris, Madame, il était trop tard pour changer.”

63 Agulhon, “The Center and the Periphery,” 61-66. Agulhon stated that the softening of Parisian opinions about provincials was due to the Romantic interest in local traditions and regional culture, “But in the 1820s, people began to view these same customs no longer as archaic barbarisms to be eradicated but instead as delightful vestiges of the past that deserved to be protected and preserved. Travelers took pleasure in describing regional customs, costumes, popular songs, and folklore.” This quote from Agulhon shows a growing appreciation for the provincial from the Parisian perspective, but it is presented in a voyeuristic manner that did not change the “otherness” of regional identity.

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of Greco-Roman ancestry.64 Bourdelle himself fell into some of these stereotypes of the southerner, perhaps willingly, as we shall see in his artistic production during those first few years in Paris.

One of the earliest works Bourdelle created after arriving in Paris was a print representing his close friend, fellow Montalbanian, and félibre, the poet Auguste Quercy

(Fig. 10). Quercy was a childhood friend of Bourdelle who became a prominent member of Montauban’s Langue d’Oc literary community. He was a tailor by trade and owned a shop in town, but his passion was for the preservation of the Occitan language and culture.65 The print - possibly intended as a frontispiece for a collection of Quercy’s poems - shows a man with half his body covered in shadow, wearing a workman’s smock and pausing from contemplation of the book in his left hand, presumably to acknowledge the viewer in front of him.

64 Robert Gildea, The Past in French History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), 208-210. Gildea presented a brief overview of how two luminaries of Occitan revival - Frédéric Mistral and Louis-Xavier de Ricard - viewed the Midi’s relationship to the ancient past. Hendrix, “Petrarch 1804-1904,” Zantedeschi, “Petrarch 1874,” and McCully, “Mediterranean Classicism and Sculpture in the Early Twentieth Century,” investigate the conception of ancient Mediterranean ancestry and Latin identity in southern France. Le Roy Ladurie, “North-South,” 18-24 includes an analysis of the legal differences between northern and southern France, with the north following a tradition of custom law, while the south inherited and felt the continued influence of Roman law. Southern legal tradition, which included a continued adherence to earlier Latin legal systems and applications of Roman law, shaped the way that méridionaux thought of property, governance, and self-identity.

65 Quercy’s efforts to preserve the Occitan language led to his admittance to the Académie de Montauban in 1885. He assumed leadership of the Escolo Carcinolo (the Félibrige chapter in Montauban) in 1895. Besides his promotion of Occitan language and local culture, Quercy was also active in city affairs. He served as a Montauban municipal advisor from 1888-92 and was a member of the city’s chamber of commerce. For more information, see Viguier, “Une Amitié Gravée,” 73-82.

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Bourdelle intentionally presented two prominent features of Quercy’s identity in this piece: the country artisan, connected to his native soil, and the literary figure, connected to the culture and ideas of his region. As opposed to the bourgeois author who wore a coat and tie, Quercy is represented in an intimate setting, engaged in intellectual pursuit while also sporting the dress of a provincial worker. A photograph of Quercy from 1873, in which he wears an outfit that conforms to bourgeois standards of dress, shows that the author did alternate between social standards of presentation (Fig. 11).

Bourdelle’s print of Quercy is certainly an idealized representation and connected the writer to the image of a rough, natural, and authentic southerner, as if a deliberate challenge to the portrayal of a bourgeois intellectual.

The engraved portrait of Quercy offers the viewer an intimate look at the poet- laborer who devoted himself to his two pursuits. Although the supposed frontispiece never materialized, Quercy clearly appreciated the portrait and attached it to poems he sent to friends.66 A version of the engraving also appears on Quercy’s tomb in

Montauban, and the drawing served as inspiration for Bourdelle’s creation of his friend’s memorial bust in 1911, a work which will be discussed in Chapter Two (Fig. 12).

Bourdelle’s portrayal of Quercy also offers a way to understand how the artist chose to present himself as he began his career in Paris. In a series of three self-portraits,

Bourdelle created the image of a serious artist who, much like Quercy, was devoted to his craft and his home region. The first of these paintings was created in 1886, the same year

66 Viguier, “Une amitié gravée,” 77. “Quercy, quant à lui, s’est servi de cette image pour envoyer ses poèmes à ses amis.”

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that Bourdelle left the École to pursue his own career (Fig. 13). Here, Bourdelle depicted himself at work in his studio, standing with his right hand placed on his hip and a palette in his obscured left hand. Curly black hair escapes from underneath his méridional hat, and an open green overcoat reveals parts of a workman’s smock, like the one worn by

Quercy. The artist is surrounded by the clutter of his studio, which features half-finished projects and copies of works by other artists. The female nude behind Bourdelle’s right shoulder bears a strong resemblance to Falguière’s Diane (modelled in 1882). We can also see Bourdelle’s Love in Agony sculpture, created in 1886, in the background. Like the Quercy portrait, Bourdelle depicted himself as an artist too deeply engaged in his work to uphold social conventions and dress as a bourgeois gentleman. Instead, Bourdelle donned a work shirt and connected himself to the world of the artisan. Additionally, the artist’s wide-brimmed hat and curly black hair linked him to the Midi. This style of portraiture is like other artists, including Gustave Courbet and Paul Cézanne, who presented themselves in a manner that tied them to their home regions. Much like

Cézanne’s self-portraits that focus on his wild, unkempt hair, the feature also identified

Bourdelle as a French southerner (Fig. 14).67

A similarly rustic and southern Bourdelle is seen in another self-portrait in three- quarters profile, in which the sculptor posed in a wide-brimmed hat and dark overcoat

(Fig. 15). Here, the viewer is offered a closer look at the man’s focused expression. This painting’s background includes a study for one of his sculptures (The Kiss), which suggests that it dates to the 1890s. A third self-portrait prominently features the face of

67 Kallmyer, Cézanne and Provence, 15-26.

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the artist, with an even greater emphasis on appearance and dress (Fig. 16). Executed after the other two portraits, Bourdelle fully confronts the viewer. Gone is the background of the studio that was seen in the first self-portrait and was alluded to in the second with the inclusion of sculpture. Now, we are presented with an unknown location and no figural referents to understand the space that Bourdelle inhabits. The objects of the artist’s studio have been replaced with agitated brushwork in earth tones. Bourdelle’s dark goatee has grown into a bushy and unkempt beard, and the previous hat has been replaced by a straw one with a wider brim, taller crown, and blue ribbon.

In these self-portraits, Bourdelle seemed to assume some of the southern French stereotypes. However, another consideration of these portraits may reveal Bourdelle’s attempt to reconsider the presentation of the Midi artist. Looking back at the first self- portrait of Bourdelle in his studio, there is little indication of the stereotypical southern characteristics of charm or simplicity in the artist. Bourdelle instead painted himself as a serious worker who was devoted to his craft. The hard stare presented to the viewer in this portrait is one of concentration, presumably for the artist to record his features and complete the painting to his satisfaction. The visual expression of Bourdelle as dedicated to his oeuvre is supported by his recollections of his behavior during his training at the

École des Beaux-Arts in Toulouse and his beginnings in Paris. The sculptor often wrote of working into the late hours of the night and rarely socializing with other students and acquaintances, in the hopes of improving his abilities and moving to the head of the

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class.68 Some of the traits associated with the Midi - artisanal tradition and unfashionable clothes, in particular - remain in the Bourdelle and Quercy portraits, and the third self- portrait of Bourdelle suggests the heat of the southern sun with red covering the artist’s face. Still, the focus displayed by each does set them apart from caricatures of French southerners circulating in Paris at the end of the 19th century.69

Besides being a sculptor and draughtsman, Bourdelle also wrote verse. His poems, which he wrote throughout his adult life, provide invaluable insight into his thoughts.70 The Provençal-born novelist and journalist Félicien Champsaur wrote, in an

68 Varenne, Bourdelle par lui-même, 13. “Le gringalet partit pour Toulouse. Dévoré d’une fièvre de travail, il passa des mois sans desserrer les dents. Ses camarades n’en revenaient pas de son mutisme. Soutenu par une dose de volonté formidable, il ne travaillait pas seulement durant le jour, il travaillait encore la nuit, exécutant, pour se faire la main, à la plume, des copies très réduites de gravures anciennes. En trois mois, il franchit deux classes et se vit aux prises avec de grands gaillards barbus, moustachus, de six à sept ans plus âgés.”

69 One of the most well-known portrayals of a méridional in late-1800s France was the fictional character Tartarin. First appearing in Alphonse Daudet’s 1872 novel Tartarin de Tarascon, the titular character hails from the Provençal town of Tarascon. The residents of Tarascon are described as gullible, gun-crazy, and prone to overactive imaginations. Tartarin is almost always depicted the same way in illustrations: overweight, oafish, holding a firearm, and with black facial hair and curly black hair on his head. He is exclusively dressed in traditional garments of Provence, which include loose-fitting white pants and shirt, a broad red sash worn around the waist, and a red cap with a tassel. While Bourdelle and Quercy may appear unfashionable in their illustrations, they exhibit a focus, determination, and seriousness completely at odds with caricatures such as Tartarin.

70 Bourdelle’s poems are housed in the archives of the Musée Bourdelle in Paris. The museum has compiled and published many the artist’s poems, which can be found in Bourdelle, L’Atelier perpétuel.

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1891 article, that Bourdelle was an “artist, engraver - but first a poet.”71 This was in reference to an 1891 showing of Bourdelle’s sketches and sculptures at the Cave du 4, a

Latin Quarter café frequented by Decadent and Symbolist writers. One early example of

Bourdelle’s poetry after moving to Paris is a quintet, created in 1885 and included on the base of a plaster bust of Quercy (Fig. 17). The complicated relationship between northern and southern France at the end of the 19th century can be gauged from two poems written by Bourdelle and Quercy, respectively, on the bust:

To the poet A. Quercy / Towards what goal are we heading, and who could say? / Launched below the immense blue sky by Destiny / Poor arrows of God’s invisible bow / Must we bless everything? / Must we curse everything? / Émile Bourdelle72

Bourdelle’s questioning lines on the left of the bust were answered, in Langue d’Oc, by

Quercy on the right:

To the sculptor E. Bourdelle / Where are we going?.. Who knows?.. Nobody knows [what] to say. / That heads searched for it without being able to know it: / That doesn’t matter to me. I do not pray and I do not know how to curse, / But I feel much greater if I did a little good. / Quercy A.73

71 Félicien Champsaur, Le Courier de Montauban, May 23, 1891, included in Lavrillier and Dufet, Bourdelle et la critique de son temps, 12. About a small exhibition of Bourdelle’s work, Champsaur said, “ … on sentait qu’on n'était pas là devant un homme de métier - qui met sur sa carte: artiste graveur - mais devant un poète.”

72 “Au Poëte A. Quercy / Vers quel but allons-nous? et qui pourrait le dire? / Lancés par le Destin sous l’immense ciel bleu / Pauvres flèches de L’arc invisible de Dieu / Devons nous tout bénir? / Devons nous tout maudire? / Émile Bourdelle”

73 “A l’escultaire E. Bourdèllo / Ountatan? .. Cal ba sap? … Digus ba sajut dire. / Que de caps l’an cercat sans ba poude sabe: / M’es egal. Prègui pas e sabi pas maoudire, / Mes mesinti pus grand s’ai fats un paou de be. / Quercy A.” Text from the sculpture is written in the object’s notice at the Joconde website, accessed March 28, 2018, http://www2.culture.gouv.fr/public/mistral/joconde_fr?ACTION=RETROUVER&FIEL D_1=DOMN&VALUE_1=&FIELD_2=Ctyob&VALUE_2=&FIELD_3=AUTR&VALU

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We are fortunate to have a poetic dialogue between the sculptor and the subject of his work, and the inclusion of the text directly onto the bust marks the work as unique.

Bourdelle’s text, written in French, addresses his friend with a series of existential questions. The juxtaposition in the text of questions and responses creates a dynamic evocative of a student-teacher relationship between Bourdelle and Quercy. The tone of

Bourdelle’s unanswerable “why are we here?” reveals the artist’s worries in 1885. His stressful early years in Paris and disappointment with instruction at the Paris École may have spawned considerable anxiety. Bourdelle returned to Montauban in the late summer of 1885 to recover from an illness and completed the bust in his hometown, with

Quercy’s help.74 The middle of the short poem reveals a lack of agency for humanity, as

Bourdelle suggested that people are manhandled by divinity as they wrestle with urges to do good or evil. Being tossed around by Destiny and God underlines the trepidation that

Bourdelle must have felt in 1885.

Quercy, who was seven years Bourdelle’s senior, played the part of the wise elder in the exchange. Composed as a response to Bourdelle’s poem, Quercy immediately

E_3=&FIELD_4=Clieu&VALUE_4=&FIELD_5=REPR&VALUE_5=%27QUERCY%2 0AUGUSTE%27&FIELD_6=Cdate&VALUE_6=&FIELD_7=DECV&VALUE_7=&FI ELD_8=LOCA&VALUE_8=&FIELD_9=Mat%e9riaux%2ftechniques&VALUE_9=&FI ELD_10=Titre&VALUE_10=&NUMBER=1&GRP=0&REQ=%28%28%27QUERCY% 20AUGUSTE%27%29%20%3aREPR%20%29&USRNAME=nobody&USRPWD=4%2 4%2534P&SPEC=5&SYN=1&IMLY=&MAX1=1&MAX2=1&MAX3=200&DOM=All . Translation of the Occitan text into French was done by Rémi Firmin for Joconde: “Au sculpteur E. Bourdelle / Où allons-nous? Qui le sait? Personne n’a su le dire. / Que de têtes l’ont cherché sans pouvoir le savoir: / Cela m’est égal. Je ne prie pas et je ne sais pas maudire, / Mais je me sens plus grand si j’ai fait un peu de bien. / Quercy A.”

74 Le Normand-Romain, “Devenir Bourdelle,” 32.

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dismissed the angst-inducing questions of his friend as unanswerable and ultimately unimportant. The actions of the divine realm do not concern us, according to Quercy; what is meaningful is that we can do a bit of good - whatever that may be - with the time we have. The authority of Quercy’s response is emphasized by his representation in sculpture. Borrowing from the 1884 print of Quercy, the subject maintains a fixed gaze outward, and both the print and bust display the same closely cropped hair and trimmed facial hair. The bust does differ in showing Quercy’s fixed jaw and pursed lips, which hint at the resolve and confidence of the sitter in responding to Bourdelle’s questions.

The differing viewpoints of the poems, as well as the difference in language, could be alluding to the relationship between Paris and the provinces at the end of the

19th century. At the time of the bust’s creation, the young Bourdelle had spent one year in Paris and was still enrolled in the country’s most prestigious art school. His illness and return to Montauban may have delayed his progress, but he was still regarded as a sculptor of great promise. It could be useful to consider the questions posed by Bourdelle, as well as his use of French, as if they indicated the interests of the stereotypically aspirational Parisian. As Eugen Weber discussed in Peasants into Frenchmen, knowledge of French was a display of cultural capital and an advantage for country folk. For an artist such as Bourdelle - born into a provincial, artisan family and paying little attention to his formal schooling - the use of standard French could place him in the context of the cosmopolitan Parisian, especially when countered with a Langue d’Oc response by

Auguste Quercy, who represented the cultural revival of the Midi.

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Besides presenting himself as the older and wiser companion in this exchange,

Quercy’s decision to reply to Bourdelle in Occitan casts his response in a different light than if it were in French. He is a southerner conversing in a méridional “patois.”

Juxtaposed to Parisian French, his idiom suggests the simple life. His pursuits, leading to his ultimate contentment, necessarily differed from those of his Paris-bound friend. Here, we are presented with Langue d’Oc as a language removed from Paris, spoken by those who had little concern for the anxious questions and existential crises exhibited by those in the metropolis. Instead, the méridional’s focus was on doing what they could on the earth for those around them. There is also the suggestion that the customs of the country, though quaint from the capital’s perspective, led to a more fulfilling life. The difference between the French speaker who lived in Paris and the Langue d’Oc speaker who remained in a small southern town defines the sculptural bust, and it is worth noting that

Bourdelle gave his friend, speaking on behalf of the Midi, the final say in the exchange.

Bourdelle struggled considerably during the 1880s. Having left the École des

Beaux-Arts without receiving any major prizes, he lacked the notice that would have helped him gain official commissions to bolster his career. He instead began taking work for book illustrations and minor commissions that provided for both himself and his parents, who moved to Paris in 1886. Bourdelle also leaned heavily on old connections and patrons in Montauban for support during this time, and actively sought commissions from other méridionaux living in Paris. The artist’s first showing at the Salon des Artistes français, in 1884, was the bust of a contemporary Montalbanian composer and Félibrige supporter, Armand Saintis (Fig. 18). Bourdelle presented a bronze cast of the bust, which

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displayed a higher level of completion than what was expected from young artists at their first Salon.75 Funds for the casting were provided by the marquise Silvia de Mari, a member of Montauban’s social elite who supported Bourdelle’s early career.76

Bourdelle’s decision to present the bust of a regionally famous, yet nationally unknown,

Occitan composer at his first Salon would appear to be an odd choice for making his professional debut in the Parisian art world. This might have been an attempt to please his

Montauban patrons; but because they later commissioned Bourdelle to create sculptures that did not feature regional subjects suggests that displaying southern identity was not a major issue for his supporters. It was instead Bourdelle’s wish as a sculptor to align himself with his regional heritage.77

Bourdelle never gave up his reliance on kindred countrymen. He had a deep connection to the Midi and repaid the kindness of those who supported him in his early years. While he sought the help of méridionaux in the 1880s and early 1890s, he eventually returned the favor by supporting southern organizations and connecting with new arrivals in Paris once he was established. He joined the Société archéologique du

Tarn-et-Garonne in 1897, an organization that was instrumental in developing the

75 Most often, artists would present plaster casts of sculptures, in the hopes of gaining a commission to complete a finished bronze version.

76 Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 19.

77 The marquise de Mari would go on to donate the bust of Saintis to the Musée Ingres and would purchase the cast of the First Victory of Hannibal in 1885, also for the museum. See Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 22.

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collection of the Musée Ingres Bourdelle and documenting the history of Montauban. In

1908, the sculptor became vice president of the Société Ingres, an association of Tarn-et-

Garonnais living in the capital.78

Avenues to Symbolism

Besides the marquise de Mari, other Montalbanians helped Bourdelle early on by commissioning book illustrations. The engraving of Auguste Quercy was one of these commissions. Additionally, Émile Pouvillon began corresponding with Bourdelle to create a series of illustrations for the 1881 novel Césette: histoire d’une paysanne.

Pouvillon’s book was widely celebrated upon its release for its realist depiction of rural life in the Languedoc and earned Pouvillon the reputation of being a national voice for the Tarn-et-Garonne. Césette was one of Pouvillon’s earliest works, and the author would continue to create stories about southwestern France throughout his career.79 After its initial publication, Pouvillon asked Bourdelle to undertake an illustrated edition of the book. This version never materialized, but Bourdelle worked on the project for approximately 10 years and created around 100 drawings inspired by the novel.80 His

78 Ibid., 20.

79 Other novels written by Pouvillon that address life in the Languedoc include L’Innocent (1884), Jean-de-Jeanne (1886), Chante-Pleure (1890), and Les Antibel (1892). Pouvillon’s posthumously published Terre d’Oc (Paris: Plon-Nourrit et Cie, 1908) consists of travel accounts of cities and regions in the Languedoc. Pouvillon had conflicted thoughts on his hometown of Montauban in Terre d’Oc (pages 13-21). He summarized that, while still beautiful and retaining architectural features of its proud history, the best days of Montauban are behind.

80 The majority of the Césette drawings are in the collection of the Musée Bourdelle. Some are also housed at the Musée Ingres Bourdelle in Montauban.

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illustrations began to show the artist’s own transition from a naturalist style - rooted in his childhood experiences and his time at Toulouse’s École - to a symbolist one, inspired by his time in Paris. There is certainly sculptural evidence to chronicle this stylistic shift, but it is worthwhile to first look at how the illustrations for Césette, inspired by life in the

Languedoc, served to develop Bourdelle’s new artistic and philosophical approach.

Césette tells the story of a young shepherdess who leaves her family’s farm to work on another estate. Once there, a love triangle develops between her, a male ox driver, and the heiress of the farmlands. The novel ends happily for Césette and the ox driver, Jordi, as the two are married and begin to work their own farm.81 Most discussions and reviews of the novel focused not on the story, but rather on Pouvillon’s evocative descriptions of the southwestern French countryside and straightforward characterization of méridional peasant life.

Inspiration from the work of Millet is apparent in Bourdelle’s illustrations for

Césette. Charcoal drawings of oxen and laborers in farmland recall realist depictions of the country worker struggling to survive (Fig. 19). This parallels the descriptions of poverty and suffering that Pouvillon highlighted in the novel. When Bourdelle turned to using ink on paper, he adapted an application that gave the impression of an etching (Fig.

20). The art historian Stéphane Ferrand has suggested that Bourdelle’s repetitive nature of making quick hatched lines with an ink pen is comparable to the repetition of the

81 Émile Pouvillon, Césette: histoire d’une paysanne (Paris: A. Lemerre, 1881).

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laborers’ work.82 This is an interesting theory, and one that could show Bourdelle’s attempt to connect to the “true” labor depicted by Millet. The sharp diagonal of the hill on the left side of the drawing could also indicate the uphill struggle and painstaking effort of rural work.83 The application of ink on paper also created stark lines and a considerable amount of shadowing in the illustrations, which adds to a mood of suffering and bleakness. One illustration shows stylistic inspiration from Millet’s Gleaners, particularly in the use of high horizon lines and land stretching vertical to the picture plane (Figs. 21 & 22). The figure curled up in the upper right corner of Bourdelle’s drawing, exhausted from the day’s work, also has dress and bent shoulders like Millet’s figures. However, as Bourdelle continued to experiment with depicting the rural landscapes and peasant life featured in Césette, he explored themes that would lead to investigations of imagination and the interior. These topics became increasingly present in 1880s Parisian art, particularly among Decadent and Symbolist artists.

Beyond these comparisons to realist art, Bourdelle inserted symbolist imagery into his sketch of an exhausted field worker. The dead tree in the upper-left corner and

82 Stéphane Ferrand, “Œuvre de jeunesse pour l’illustration de Césette,” Musée Bourdelle, accessed March 29, 2018, http://www.bourdelle.paris.fr/fr/oeuvre/oeuvre-de- jeunesse-pour-lillustration-de-cesette. “Parmi la centaine de dessins de Bourdelle destinés à illustrer Césette, histoire d'une paysanne, d'Emile Pouvillon, plusieurs comptant parmi les plus fouillés sont conçus dans une manière très spécifique, tel celui-ci : une multitude de traits de plume méthodiques sur un fond homogène gris résultant de l'application de la même encre de Chine diluée. Métaphore du labeur pénible patiemment répété par le paysan, le geste minutieux de l'artiste a patiemment parcouru toute la surface, tout le champ.”

83 My thanks to Margaret Werth for this interpretation.

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the distraught figure in isolation evoke a sense of loneliness and decay that were common in symbolist art. Although noted for its blue skies, persistent sunshine, and pleasant rolling hills, here the Tarn-et-Garonne is transformed into a setting of desperation and fear through Bourdelle’s application of ink. The despairing worker has withdrawn, perhaps as a means of escaping the nightmarish landscape. In another example of the

Césette illustrations, Bourdelle drew the female protagonist as a crouching figure in a swirling mass of black ink (Fig. 23). The title of this work is taken from the inscription on the bottom of the page: “Césette dreams and again her ideas turn to black.” The dream state, the subconscious, and the inner self were topics exhaustively explored by symbolist writers and artists, and Bourdelle’s manner of depicting country life as an exploration of the interior mind displays the influence that Symbolist ideas had on him. It is through the implied pessimistic mood of depressed figures and haunting landscapes, as well as the shadowy and somber style of the ink drawings that Bourdelle highlights his interest in

Symbolism. The artist also exhibited some of the Césette illustrations at the first two

Salons de la Rose + Croix in 1892 and 1893.84

Another work, undated but presumably from the 1880s, shows a genre scene of sheep and a sleeping shepherd (Fig. 24). This drawing is not specifically linked to

Césette, but the subject matter, style, and approximate date indicate that it was inspired

84 “Bourdelle décida de montrer ses dessins, pour eux-mêmes. Il les présenta en nombre à sa première exposition, à La Closerie des Lilas en 1889 puis aux deux premiers Salons de la Rose-Croix, en 1892 et 1893.” Annie Barbera, “Césette songe et de nouveau ses idées tournent au noir,” Musée Bourdelle, accessed April 17, 2020, http://www.bourdelle.paris.fr/fr/oeuvre/cesette-songe-et-de-nouveau-ses-idees-tournent- au-noir.

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by Bourdelle’s work on the novel illustrations. In drawings like this, with its haunting landscape and figure in a dream state, the influence of Pierre Puvis de Chavannes becomes apparent in Bourdelle’s oeuvre.85 In her essay “Antoine Bourdelle: The Untold

Posterity of Puvis de Chavannes,” Véronique Gautherin described Puvis de Chavannes’s philosophical and aesthetic approach to his art as one that Bourdelle embraced and attempted to incorporate into his own work.86 Gautherin stated that Bourdelle’s first encounter with Puvis de Chavannes’s works happened most likely at the 1884 Salon - the same year that Bourdelle arrived in Paris.87 Gautherin explained that Bourdelle expressed admiration for the painter and, by the 1890s, Bourdelle “had acquired a knowledgeable insight into the essential monuments, synthetic and classical qualities it reflected, as attested by the presence in his library of a series of books on [Puvis] and his work.”88

Bourdelle purchased three of Puvis de Chavannes’s drawings after the painter’s death, and in a 1912 correspondence that detailed his artistic inspirations, Bourdelle declared,

85 Bourdelle’s drawing is reminiscent of Puvis de Chavannes’s Dream (1883), now at the Musée d’Orsay.

86 Véronique Gautherin, “Antoine Bourdelle: The Untold Posterity of Puvis de Chavannes,” in Toward Modern Art: From Puvis de Chavannes to Matisse and Picasso, ed. Serge Lemoine (New York: Rizzoli, 2002), 189-95.

87 Ibid., 190. “It seems likely that Bourdelle discovered Puvis’s art as soon as he arrived in Paris, on the occasion of the Salon of 1884, where the Sacred Wood Dear to the Arts and Muses was exhibited, as a text he wrote in 1898 proves he had seen. Later, he had the opportunity to further this knowledge in the Salons as well as the exhibitions mounted in 1887 and 1894 by the Galerie Durand-Ruel which we presume he attended, along with the retrospective of forty-three large paintings presented in 1904 at the Salon d’Automne that we know for certain inspired a number of artists with a renewed interest in his work.”

88 Ibid., 190.

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“there was Chavannes, whom I admired a lot.”89 Further discussion regarding Puvis de

Chavannes’s impact on Bourdelle will be part of Chapter Three.

The year 1886 marked a transition for Bourdelle’s work. The artist came from a training focused on naturalism and the Beaux-Arts tradition, two artistic styles that were being challenged in the 1880s. Bourdelle came to Paris in the same year that Joris-Karl

Huysmans published his seminal novel Against Nature (À Rebours). The book defined the Decadent style and heralded the Symbolist movement. In 1886, the year that

Bourdelle left the École, the writer Jean Moréas released his “Symbolist Manifesto” in the Parisian newspaper Le Figaro.90 The theories and styles of both Decadence and

Symbolism came from a reaction against the continued popularity of Naturalism in the literary and visual arts.91 Writers, artists, and critics associated with the Symbolist movement worried about the effect that Naturalism would have on the expression of the ideal in art. Alongside Naturalism was the embrace of materialism and scientific research in the Third Republic, with government officials and academics promoting the belief that positivism would solve all of France’s problems.92 Artists and writers associated with

89 Bourdelle, “Letter to Madame A …,” in Écrits sur l’art et sur la vie, 20.

90 Moréas’s essay, titled “Le Symbolisme,” was published in the newspaper on September 18, 1886.

91 Chapter 1, “Antinaturalism,” in Michael Marlais’s Conservative Echoes in Fin-de- Siècle Parisian Art Criticism (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992) discusses the origins and reactions to the rise of Naturalism, and the forms that this reaction took in turn-of-the-century Paris.

92 One example of this approach in art was Hippolyte Taine’s Philosophie de l’Art, first published in the 1860s, in which the author used the latest terminology and interests in

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Symbolism were alarmed by this view and its application to the visual arts. Furthermore, they disagreed with a style of art and literature that seemed more intent on pleasing the bourgeoisie than with gaining a deeper understanding of art and philosophy.93 Symbolism was, by its nature, snobbish and exclusive, with many adherents holding an elitist view of what art should be. True art, they believed, was the realm of the intelligentsia. The proliferation of genre paintings and sculpture at the Salons meant that too many artists were pandering to people that could not understand symbolist work. Art was the pursuit of the ideal and a glimpse into a realm beyond the material world. In addition, many symbolist writers and artists saw the Naturalist movement - with its perceived intention on faithfully depicting the world as observed - as producing nothing more than mere documentation, much like a camera. Symbolists believed that it was the artist’s responsibility to see beyond the world, synthesizing their observations with their own artistic sensibilities and imagination to create a work of art that revealed essential truth.94

Much more can be said about the origins of Symbolism and the profound effect that it had on the development of modern art. For the purpose of an investigation into

Bourdelle, it is informative to discuss the reaction against Naturalism embraced by

positivism to classify the development of art strictly in terms of “race, environment, and epoch.” See Marlais, Conservative Echoes, 60.

93 Marlais, Conservative Echoes, 30-41. Decadents and Symbolists decried the prevalence of genre scenes at the Salon, which they believed lacked substance or anything that challenged the viewer intellectually. This elitist view of art was a sentiment shared by many in Symbolism.

94 This sentiment was expressed years before the fin-de-siècle, and many Symbolist art critics were drawing from Charles Baudelaire’s philosophy on art and synthesis expressed in Le Peintre de la vie moderne, first published in 1863.

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symbolist artists. This backlash has been called “antinaturalism” by the art historian

Michael Marlais.95 Like the term “classicism,” antinaturalism holds a variety of meanings and can apply to artists, writers, and art critics across political and cultural spheres in late-19th century Paris. It is also a general and non-committal characterization for an artist. In Conservative Echoes in Fin-de-Siècle Parisian Art Criticism, Marlais argued that antinaturalism refers to the reaction against the Realist and Naturalist movements that flourished in French art and literature from the 1850s to the 1880s. Furthermore,

Marlais maintained that this broad definition encompasses groups from a variety of backgrounds, be they Catholic monarchists, militant nationalists, anarchists, or avant- garde poets. These groups called for a new investigation of the ideal, each in their own way, to combat cultural shifts in Third Republic France that they found deeply troubling.

This loose and varied grouping indicates the complexity and fluidity of avant-garde movements in fin-de-siècle France. As a movement, Symbolism can only be understood in vague and general terms and artists associated with the movement expressed a wide variety of personal beliefs on art, literature, and life. Stéphane Mallarmé’s famous statement that the goal of art is to suggest indicates the difficulty in trying to pin down any specific goals or unifying themes for Symbolism.96 What is important here is the reactionary mood that permeated many avant-garde groups in Paris at this time, all of

95 Marlais, Conservative Echoes.

96 Albert Thibaudet, La poésie de Stéphane Mallarmé, Fifth Edition (Paris: Gallimard, 1930), 110. “Nommer un object, répond-il dans l’Enquête de Jules Huret, c’est supprimer les trois quarts de la jouissance du poème qui est faite du bonheur de deviner peu à peu; le suggérer voilà le rêve.”

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which were pushing back against Naturalism. Bourdelle’s artistic practices from 1885-

1900 were emblematic of this antinaturalist shift in the Parisian art world; particularly that an artist who trained at the Toulouse and Paris Écoles to work in a naturalist style began to explore aspects of the “ideal” almost immediately after leaving the academy.

Some of the first hints we see of his stylistic shift occurred in the set of illustrations for

Césette. After this, Bourdelle began to move in new directions.

A shift from Naturalism to Symbolism might seem like Bourdelle was abandoning aspects of his southern identity. Symbolist artists generally were noted for their embrace of cosmopolitanism and ideas that crossed nationalities. Still, there were regionalist influences on symbolist art and literature, with artists particularly interested in folklore, spiritual practices, and traditions. Writers like Paul Redonnel, Léon Cladel, and

Pierre Devoluy were associated both with Symbolism and the Félibrige. Two journals,

Chimère (1891-93) and Le Saint Graal (1892-93), were published in the Midi and both featured literature that addressed southern regionalism and Symbolism.97 Bourdelle’s exploration of symbolist ideas in his art did not mean that he lost his interest in the

French south. The Césette illustrations show how he thought of the ways he could depict his home region through a symbolist point of view.

97 Daniel Laqua and Christophe Verbruggen, “Beyond the Metropolis: French and Belgian Symbolists between the Region and the Republic of Letters,” Comparative Critical Studies 10.2 (2013): 250. “Le Saint Graal, and to a lesser extent, Chimère, combined regionalism with Catholic mysticism and occult Symbolism.” Paul Redonnel was secretary of the prominent Parisian-based Symbolist journal La Plume before he moved back to his hometown of Montpelier to found Chimère.

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Bourdelle submitted a plaster to the Salon des Artistes Français, in 1886, that would continue the themes he began exploring with the Césette illustrations and his Puvis de Chavannes-inspired sketch of the sleeping shepherd. The 1886 Salon plaster, Love in

Agony, is now lost but the subject has much in common with other symbolist artists (Fig.

25). Love in Agony is an adolescent Cupid laying on the floor, either in the act of dying or great suffering. The head and facial expression of the plaster Cupid feature strong similarities to the sleeping man in the lower left corner of Puvis de Chavannes’s 1883 work Dream, which was exhibited at the 1883 Salon (Fig. 26). Bourdelle’s sculpture of

Love in Agony was complemented with two ink drawings with a similar subject: a version featuring the expiring personification of Love set in a field and another with a shrouded figure placed on a bier (Figs. 27 & 28). It should come as no surprise that the shrouded version of Love in Agony was shown at the Salon de la Rose + Croix in the early 1890s, as it featured aesthetic and thematic elements that many symbolist artists addressed.98

The transition of Love in Agony from a countryside like the Césette landscapes to a place of mourning showed Bourdelle’s transition from a naturalist to symbolist style.

98 Colin Lemoine, “L’Amour agonise,” Musée Bourdelle, accessed March 29, 2018, http://www.bourdelle.paris.fr/fr/oeuvre/lamour-agonise-0. “La manière noire de Bourdelle fraye, plastiquement et intellectuellement, avec les tendances symbolistes qui, au seuil du XXe siècle, contribuèrent à réformer considérablement la peinture comme la sculpture européennes. A cet égard, Bourdelle participe, en 1892 puis en 1893, aux deux premiers Salons de la Rose-Croix, ces manifestations spiritualistes organisées par le Sâr Joséphin Péladan, grand ordonnateur d'un mouvement hermétique, théosophe occulte décidé à célébrer un Idéal majuscule, à « ruiner le réalisme ». En 1892, l'artiste envoie le plâtre de La Douleur (1887), quatorze illustrations destinées à Césette, le roman populaire de son ami Emile Pouvillon et - reproduit au sein du catalogue illustré - ce dessin inspiré par sa sculpture L'Amour agonise (1886), une figure désormais aptère et revêtue d'un voile.”

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The themes of suffering love or winged figures in their death throes are topics with which symbolist artists were well acquainted. Just one year after the First Victory of

Hannibal – which shared considerable similarities with the dominant style of naturalist sculpture as defined by artists like Falguière, Dalou, and Carpeaux – Bourdelle created a work for a movement that was just beginning to define itself. Love in Agony was poorly received, however, and Bourdelle expressed irritation at the lack of interest from critics and public attendees of the Salon. As the artist complained in a letter, “Lived work, work of suffering, a deep cry. the beastly public, the stupid bourgeois passed without understanding[,] my artists looked without seeing, false fellows!”99 The particular criticism of “looking without seeing,” levelled at other artists, is striking for the similar tone that other symbolist artists and writers would use when discussing their works.

Two examples of Bourdelle’s poetry from the 1880s showcase his interest in symbolist themes. The first, titled “At the tomb (Au Tombeau)” and written in 1885, is filled with reflection on death and the mysteries of the afterlife, as the name suggests:

For me, life is a martyr, / A dream soon erased, / Here is death, hurry to smile / Before she chilled you. // Already, its hand gouges your face / And turns your stiffened limbs blue, / Its curved eyes mourn the trace / To see you seem enlarged. // Black tomb, lamentable mirror? / Where does the quiet man go? / Somber and great mystery / Dreary door of the heavens. // Wild mask of medusa / So frightening in your splendor / Which steals scattered dawn, / Showing happiness to man. // Vast, strange, misshapen screen / A cemetery at night / It’s there, the key of the huge vault / Where

99 Bourdelle, Letter to M. Dispan, October 4, 1886, in Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 33. “Œuvre vécue, œuvre de souffrance cri profond. le [sic] public bête, le bourgeois stupide sont passés sans comprendre mes artistes ont regardé sans voir, faux bonshommes!”

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human life ends. // A quick barque passes / Slick like a great black bird / It’s our wandering and weary life / Which crosses the black river.100

The second example, “Poor Artist (L’Artiste Pauvre),” written circa 1889, betrays

Bourdelle’s stress and uncertainty in his future as an artist. Still, themes dear to symbolist writers make their appearance:

Work, poor wretch / In your humble studio / A regular effort / Drives out the misery. // And if you turned pale / Under a woman’s eye / Close your soul to love / Art is long, you know this // To art alone is your wealth / Your life is your pride / Your wife is beauty / Your greatest mistress // Everywhere, though wounded / The race still shines / Lover of the golden dream / You do not have a homeland // From your vast cradle / The sky was the roof / Glory of nature / You have no tomb101

The symbolist and Romantic theme of the suffering artist, who exists outside the norms of society and devotes himself to his art, is fully displayed in the poem. Most interesting is the claim that the artist has no “homeland,” which speaks to the universality

100 Bourdelle, “Au Tombeau,” in L’Atelier Perpétuel, 198. “Pour moi la vie est un martyre, / Un rêve bientôt effacé. / Voici la mort, hâte-toi de sourire / Avant qu’elle ne t’ait glacé. // Déjà, sa main creuse ta face / Et bleuit tes membres raidis, / Ses yeux courbes pleurent la trace / Pour te voir semblent agrandis. // Noir tombeau, miroir lamentable? / Où va l’homme silencieux? / Mystère sombre et formidable / Inclémente porte des cieux. // Masque farouche de méduse / Si effrayant dans ta splendeur / Qui dérobe l’aube diffuse, / Montrant à l’homme le bonheur. // Crible vaste, étrange, difforme / Un cimetière dans la nuit. / C’est là, la clef de voûte énorme / Où la vie humaine finit. // Une barque rapide passe / Glissant comme un grand oiseau noir / C’est notre vie errante et lasse / Qui traverse le fleuve noir.”

101 Bourdelle, “L’Artiste pauvre,” in L’Atelier Perpétuel, 206. “Travaille pauvre hère / Dans ton humble atelier / Un effort régulier / Chasse l’ordre misère // Et si tu pâlissais / Sous un regard de femme / Ferme à l’amour ton âme / L’art est long tu le sais // Lui seul est ta richesse / Ta vie est ta fierté / Ta femme est la beauté / Ta plus grande maîtresse // Partout quoique meurtrie / La race brille encore / Amant du rêve d’or / Tu n’as pas de patrie // De ton vaste berceau / Le ciel fut la toiture / Gloire de la nature / Tu n’as pas de tombeau.”

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of art that Symbolists professed. The term “race” was also used by Bourdelle in the poem, but this referred to the universal nature, and perhaps elitism, of artists who transcend political and natural boundaries. Art is the ideal to which the artist aspires, especially those artists who suffer.

Bourdelle increasingly gravitated towards literary groups associated with

Decadence and Symbolism in the late 1880s. By the early 1890s, Bourdelle’s friends and acquaintances included Moréas, Jules Tellier, Charles Le Goffic, Émile Verhaeren, and

Paul Verlaine, among others. Like Paul Gauguin, the influence of symbolist literary circles increasingly affected the work of Bourdelle. In a series of illustrations that are referred to as “the black drawings” by the Musée Bourdelle, the artist unleashed visions of ghouls, suffering humans, monsters, and demons on paper.102 While all these drawings engage with symbolist interests in the realm of the fantastic and the workings of the inner mind, some of Bourdelle’s drawings also indicate his familiarity with artists that explored symbolist themes. In Bourdelle’s drawing of ’s character Gavroche from Les

Misérables, the exaggerated smile, shading, and facial features of the boy reference

Odilon Redon’s drawing of The Smiling Spider (Figs. 29 & 30). The work by Redon was made notorious after it was described in Huysmans’s novel Against Nature. Other drawings by Bourdelle show that the artist was familiar with Félicien Rops’s work

102 For more information on these drawings, see Barbera et al., Le Broyeur de sombre.

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(Figs. 31, 32, 33 & 34).103 Bourdelle’s sketches show his indebtedness to symbolist artists and their influence on his output at the end of the 19th century.

As with the reception of his Love in Agony, Bourdelle would gain little attention from the Parisian public and garner minimal acclaim from critics after the creation of another symbolist-inspired work, Adam, in 1889 (Fig. 35).104 The monumental plaster was one of the largest completed by the artist at that point. Adam sits in dismay after his recognition of original sin and expulsion from the Garden of Eden. In a letter to his friend

Marie Laprade, Bourdelle stated that his sculpture of Adam was meant to be “the union of the Greek and modern soul.”105 This statement may at first seem like the expressed hope of creating a classical or Beaux-Arts subject, but the wording suggests that

Bourdelle did not want to create art in a traditional style. To create a union of Greek and modern, rather than just copying ancient examples for the present, sounds more like the notion of “modern classicism,” a concept that was promoted by Moréas and Charles

Maurras with the founding of the École romane literary circle in 1891. Looking at the activities and writings of the École romane offers a way to understand what initially

103 For more information on Félicien Rops’s influence on Bourdelle, see Jérôme Godeau, “La Danse des pendus,” Musée Bourdelle, accessed January 17, 2020, http://www.bourdelle.paris.fr/fr/oeuvre/la-danse-des-pendus, and “Chute d’un damné – Dessins noirs,” Musée Bourdelle, accessed January 17, 2020, http://www.bourdelle.paris.fr/fr/oeuvre/oeuvre-de-jeunesse-5.

104 Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 35. “Malheureusement, son [Adam] reçoit un accueil mitigé de la part de la critique. Le grand plâtre réintègre un coin de l’atelier de l’artiste, où il restera plusieurs années.”

105 Bourdelle, Letter to Marie Laprade, November 1888, in Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 35. “L’union du Grec et de l’Âme moderne.”

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appears to be a gap in the connection between Bourdelle’s symbolist youth and his later interest in Classicism that is embodied by his 20th century works. An examination of

Moréas’s career is a means of understanding the École romane and how it related to

Bourdelle.

From Symbolism to the École romane

Born to a wealthy and prominent Greek family, Moréas received his education in

Paris and became involved with the literary group that he named in 1886: Symbolism.

Moréas’s “Symbolist Manifesto” was meant to elevate his circle of artistic compatriots and give them a name different than “Decadent,” which was being used by Parisian critics to describe the group, and which Moréas considered disparaging. The political and artistic differences between followers of Symbolism were vast. There was room for self- styled symbolists to be progressive or conservative, anarchist or monarchist. What united most artists at the beginning of the movement was the desire for Symbolism to focus only on poetry and to use subject matter that was detached from contemporary life. This was a continuation of antinaturalism, as symbolists wished to explore the ideal in their art and believed that poetry was the best medium for conveying these goals. Eventually, ideological differences between members and in-fighting over the artistic direction of the movement led Moréas to abandon Symbolism and form the École romane in 1891. The goal of the École romane was to use the art of ancient Greece and Rome as inspiration for the creation of literature that expressed harmony, balance, and beauty. While the wish of

Moréas’s new group - to look at Classicism and ancient Mediterranean culture for

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inspiration - might seem close to the practice of some symbolists, the stated goals of the

École romane were considerably different from Symbolism.

Many symbolists saw art as universal, having no preferred nationality and inspired by a variety of sources. Belgian writers were equally important as French in the foundation and proliferation of Symbolism, and artists from across Europe - as well as a handful of Americans - came to Paris to contribute to the movement at the height of its popularity in the 1890s. The concept of “race” - already quite complicated by the end of the 19th century in Europe - was discussed in both symbolist and Romantic theory, but not in the same exclusionary or xenophobic way that would later appear in nationalist movements.

As opposed to Symbolism, the École romane dismissed a universal approach and sought instead to create an art form that was exclusively French. In fact, the name of the movement was quickly changed to the École romane française. On September 14, 1891,

Jean Moréas published a manifesto for the École romane in Le Figaro, the same newspaper in which he published his Symbolist Manifesto five years prior. Moréas stated that:

The Ecole romane française claims the Greco-Latin principle, the fundamental principle of French literature which flowered in the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries with our poet-composers, in the sixteenth with Ronsard and his school, in the seventeenth with Racine and La Fontaine. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, as in the eighteenth, the Greco-Latin principle stops being a rich source of inspiration and only appears in the form of a few excellent poets, such as Guillaume de Machaut, Villon, and André Chénier. It was Romanticism which altered this principle in its conception as in its style, thus depriving the French Muses of their legitimate heritage.106

106 McGuinness, Poetry and Radical Politics, 207.

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It was through the French classical tradition that the way to a renewed and great art would be discovered, according to the École romane. Moréas highlighted aspects of

French artistic history - its Latin heritage and the poetry of the troubadours in the

Languedoc - that would particularly appeal to méridionaux who had seen the status of southern culture elevated by the Félibrige. Members of the École romane, especially

Charles Maurras, would paint Romanticism as the great artistic villain against which they struggled.107 It was Romanticism, with its presumed Germanic origins, that ruptured the classical tradition in French literature that stretched all the way back to ancient

Mediterranean civilizations. Jean Moréas was not intentionally political in his approach to art, but his theories inspired Charles Maurras to develop a call for changes in French government and culture. Maurras’s political shifts would eventually become the intellectual doctrine of the far-right nationalist group Action française.

Bourdelle was familiar with avant-garde literary circles in the fin-de-siècle, and this position gave him access to new theories that would transfer to the visual arts.

Bourdelle’s ideas in the visual arts developed at a different pace than his writing, and although the École romane was formed at the beginning of the 1890s, we do not see an immediate change in the artist’s sculpture. Indeed, the influence of Rodin is more apparent in his work in the last decade of the 19th century, due to Rodin’s hiring of

Bourdelle as a studio assistant in 1893. If we turn, however, to Bourdelle’s poetic output

107 Chapter 4, “The Ecole romane: An arrière-garde within the avant-garde,” in McGuinness’ Poetry and Radical Politics details the rise of the École romane, its mission and values, and the ideological direction for the movement pushed by Maurras.

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in the 1880s and 1890s, we see a shift that points to a keener interest in Classicism, issues of heritage, and French identity. All these topics were championed by the École romane.

A shift in Bourdelle’s writing appeared roughly a year after composing “Poor

Artist” in 1889. In the poem “Salluste du Bartas,” Bourdelle pays homage to a historic méridional poet and member of Henri IV’s court.108 The topic of choice may seem unusual because of Salluste du Bartas’s lack of recognition in the fin-de-siècle. If we, however, compare it to the growth of regional pride in the Languedoc and the formation of the École romane, we see that Bourdelle displayed sympathy to the literary and cultural shifts occurring in France:

Salluste du Bartas! popped out of the earth! / In the sky, see the solitary moon turn pale / And in the pure, undecided, and red morning / Flee completely frightened in front of the sun! / Take back myrtle, lily, roses, the material / That was once your body, and that haughty death / With her fleshless hand extinguishing what shines / Believed to seal forever in the night’s oblivion / You are the superb laborer of the idea! / When your plain was wrinkled with long furrows / Under the plowshare that the cattle of your torment pulled / You threw the seed harmoniously. / Two centuries have matured the grain of your thought! / Divine sower; curve on the injured ground / Come, cut with scythe the ears of your verses! / For the fiery day with green branches / Of laurels, cut from the coppice of

108 Guillaume de Salluste du Bartas (1544-90) was born in Montfort, a small town in Gascony. He was a Huguenot and epic poet sponsored by two regents of Navarre: Jeanne d’Albret (1528-1572) and Henri IV (1553-1610). Salluste du Bartas used poetry to express his religious views and political opinions during the Wars of Religion in France. His most well-known works are La Judit (1574) and La Sepmaine (1578). Both are epic poems based on Biblical stories: La Judit retells the story of Judith’s salvation of Bethulia by killing Holophernes and La Sepmaine describes God’s creation of the universe and Earth in seven days. Although famous in the 16th and 17th centuries, the work of Salluste du Bartas subsequently fell out of favor and he was largely forgotten by the end of the 19th century. See Katherine S. Maynard, Reveries of Community: French Epic in the Age of Henri IV, 1572-1616 (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 2018), 39-58 for more information of the creation of Salluste du Bartas’s epic poetry and their political meanings.

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your dreams / Of golden oak of your forest, full of sap / Shade your great forehead, sublime harvester.109

Bourdelle’s continued interest in the Midi was underlined by praise for a 16th century poet noted for his lyrical skills in both French and Langue d’Oc. The intriguing parts of the poem are Bourdelle’s continued references to the earth and his farming metaphors.110 Bourdelle continually compared the work of Salluste du Bartas in literature to the rural laborer, and Salluste du Bartas’s poetic contributions were akin to seeds that were sown across farmland and allowed to germinate and grow over the centuries. This comparison between poetry and the spreading of seeds seems to be a reference to the

109 Bourdelle, “Salluste du Bartas,” in L’Atelier Perpétuel, 214. “Salluste du Bartas! surgis hors de la terre! / Dans le ciel vois pâlir la lune solitaire / Et dans le matin pur indécis et vermeil / S’enfuir toute apeurée en face du soleil! / Reprends au myrte, aux lys, aux roses la matière / Qui fut ton corps jadis, et que la mort altière / De sa main décharnée éteignant ce qui luit / Crut sceller à jamais dans l’oubli de la nuit. / Tu fus le laboureur superbe de l’idée! / Lorsque de longs sillons ta plaine fut ridée / Sous le soc que tiraient les bœufs de ton tourment; / Tu jetas la semence harmonieusement. / Deux siècles ont mûri le grain de ta pensée! / Divin semeur; courbe sur la terre blessée / Viens, coupe avec la faux les épis de tes vers! / Pour la journée ardente avec des rameaux verts / De lauriers coupés aux taillis de tes rêves / Du chêne d’or de ta forêt pleine de sèves / Ombrage ton grand front sublime moissonneur.”

110 The mention of the earth and the tilling of soil is reminiscent of the famous term “la terre et les morts,” which was coined by the nationalist politician and writer Maurice Barrès at the end of the 19th century. Barrès became a colleague of Charles Maurras when both contributed to the growth of the nationalist and monarchist organization Action française, and Barrès became well known in France for his populist appeal to a French race that was intimately connected to the land and to home regions. Although Bourdelle’s poem is several years before Barrès conceived of the term “la terre et les morts,” the idea of connecting the French people to the soil of France was beginning to be formulated in the late 1880s and the early 1890s by École romane writers and the political campaigns of Georges Boulanger. Further discussion on the origins of late-19th and early-20th century nationalism and populism appear in Chapter Two of this dissertation.

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Occitan revival and the continued work of the Félibrige. Bourdelle also highlighted themes in Salluste du Bartas’s own writing, including Salluste du Bartas’s pride in his

Gascon identity.111 Most intriguing is the claim that Salluste du Bartas “popped out of the earth,” as a natural product of his home soil and continues long after death to spread the cultural “vegetation” of the Midi through his poetry.

Highlighting Occitan literary figures and praising the rural aspects of the south were long-used tactics of the Félibrige, but it is noteworthy that Bourdelle - always fond of the Tarn-et-Garonne - turned back to southern themes more strongly after delving into symbolist lyricism in the 1880s. I previously mentioned that Bourdelle had written a poem in 1890 that was dedicated to his former master, Alexandre Falguière. An examination of this work, the “Sculptor’s Poem” (Poème du sculpteur), will offer further consideration of how Bourdelle is reconsidering his rural roots and their connection to his artistic output (Appendix A).

Symbolist themes are still present in the “Sculptor’s Poem.” The implied subject of the poem, however, indicates a shift away from the universality of Symbolism and offers the reader specific clues about the sculptor’s background and his connections to his craft. The sculptor-subject of the poem is described as a “Child of the sacred sun, understanding Nature.” He whittles wooden figures – “Carving the rustic wood in the

111 “In the Troisième jour, the book that describes the creation of the earth and sea and the origin of vegetation, Du Bartas praises the beauty and bounty of his home region, ‘Gascogne,’ privileging its abundance ‘plus qu’autre part du monde.’ The poet’s attachment to his home region is expressed through his love of simplicity and his personal ownership (conveyed with possessive pronouns) of the natural elements in his domains.” Maynard, Reveries of Community, 41.

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knife’s shadow” – while keeping watch over a flock of sheep, whose company he enjoys more than people – “Simple shepherd living on dairy and pure water, / Loving mortals less than my little herd.” Later stanzas indicate that the folk artisan is just one of many forms that a sculptor could take, as Bourdelle also mentioned metalsmithing and stone carving, and specifically cited Phidias and Michelangelo. As the poem begins to address the evening, we return to the shepherd-artisan – “wrapped in my coarse canvases, /

Across the great woods, the bramble, the brush, / Drive my sheep under the pebble roof, /

And go to sleep, having the stars on my forehead.” Bourdelle also mentioned the pottery practices of his protagonist who turns “the rural clay” and is able to “suddenly make bloom, / A flowering of kaolin urns, / Great squat vases, slender amphorae, / Perennial flowers forming a magic garden.” Eventually, the sculptor-subject muses on death. He discusses returning to the material that he used to make art and continuing the cycle of creation, “Earth receive your child and take back your dust. / The tomb will have the softness of the cradle for me.” Throughout the poem, Bourdelle presented the protagonist sculptor as a man of the country, looking over his flock and engaging in traditionally artisanal practices. The act of sculpting is described in the poem as a provincial pursuit that is deeply connected to nature and the earth, yet it also has parallels with the work of historic artists like Phidias and Michelangelo.

Bourdelle continued to pay homage to the south with his 1891 “Death of the Poet

(Mort du Poète),” another allegorical musing on the continued contributions of writers after their death. The “Death of the Poet” was dedicated to the recently deceased félibre,

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Auguste Fourès. Further embracing a southern identity, Bourdelle composed the heavily nostalgic “Country Bread (Lo pan de campanha)” in Langue d’Oc in April 1895:

The wild mint smelled near the bread oven / And the cooking bread smells the blossom of flour. / The smoke of the fire wanders across the framework / And the soul of holy wheat embalms the dinner. // Good, this fresh bread, happy, I am going to cut it! / It seems that I am eating the fruits of the country; / Its dense, smooth crumbs in the fingers of my wife / Looks so much like her flesh that I’m afraid I’m mistaken. // The tablecloth smells lavender, and like the spindle / Which twisted its grey string where there is more than one knot / Turning all day and never stopping // It seems as well that I see in other times / Into the scent of the ancients and the odor of the earth / And in the peasantry you eat spring.112

Spoken like a true félibre, Bourdelle described the joys of the southern kitchen.

Once again, he connected the products of the earth to people, mistaking the cooked bread for the presumably tanned skin of the wife and separating French southerners from paler- skinned inhabitants of the north. Additionally, Bourdelle suggested that the contemporary

112 Compagnie des écrivains de Tarn-et-Garonne, “Emile-Antoine Bourdelle,” in Poètes à l’École No. 16 (Autumn 2008): 7. The translation of the poem from Occitan to French was done by André Moulis. The original Occitan is as follows: “Lo mentastre sentís al prèp del forn al pan / E lo pan que se còi sent la flor de farina. / La fumada del fòc per las brancas gorrina / E l’ama del blat sant enbaumarà ‘l sopar. // Anatz, d’aquel pan fresc, urós ne vau copar! / Me semblarà manjar los fruchs de la campanha; / Sa mica plena, lissa, als dets de ma companha, / Es tan coma sa carn qu’ai paur de me trompar. // La napa sent l’aspic e tanben que’l fusèl / Qu’a tossut son fial gris ont i a mai d’un nosèl / De flairar tot lo jorn s’arrèsta pas enquèra, // Tanben me sembla plan que vivi als autres temps / Dins’l perfum dels ancians e l’audor de la tèrra / E que chas los païsans òm manja de printemps.” The French translation is: “La menthe sauvage sent près du four à pain / Et le pain qui se cuit sent la fleur de farine. / La fumée du feu vagabonde à travers les branches / Et l’âme du blé saint embaumera le dîner. // Bien, de ce pain frais, heureux, je vais en couper! / Il me semblera manger les fruits de la campagne; / Sa mie dense, lisse, aux doigts de ma compagne / Ressemble tellement à sa chair que j’ai peur de me tromper. // La nappe sent la lavande et comme le fuseau / Qui a tordu son fil gris où il y a plus d’un nœud / De tourner tout le jour ne cesse encore // Ainsi il me semble bien que je vis en d’autres temps / Dans le parfum des anciens et l’odeur de la terre / Et que chez les paysans on mange du printemps.”

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practices of the country house are the same as “the ancients,” connecting méridionaux to their Latin ancestry. Bourdelle’s poetic investigations into topics such as soil, regional culture, and ancient heritage was happening while the École romane was embracing the same ideas. Bourdelle continued along this path and used terminology reminiscent of the

École romane in his 1898 “Poets (Les Poètes)”:

The songs are of doughty Don Quixotes / Their fingers are ten sharp swords / Poets, lean, all touching / They sing in all notes. // All rolled, like balls / Or bristly, set up, fluffed, / The air of good or defiant apostle / It’s their heart that beats under their coats. // They are proud to love, they are kings! / To say their loves to the world / They are going to scream it from the rooftops. // Warriors of fire, always soldiers! / Never extinguished by foul gold / They live and die with love.113

Bourdelle suggested the poet is a combination of knight and bard, fighting to live in a world that must be reminded of what is beautiful. École romane authors often used metaphors of militarism and battle in describing their literary efforts, and Patrick

McGuinness has stated that “romane writers cannot resist metaphors of battle” and

“Martial images, often specifically military images of swords and shields, infuse romane criticism and poetry.”114 Through the 1880s and 1890s, Bourdelle’s writing showed his experimentation with avant-garde groups as they were forming in Paris. Earlier

113 Bourdelle, “Les Poètes,” in L’Atelier Perpétuel, 235. “Les chants sont de preux Don Quichottes / Leurs mains ont dix glaives tranchants / Poètes, maigres, tous touchants / Ils chantent sur toutes les notes. // Tout roulés comme des pelotes / Ou hérissés, dressés, bouffants, / L’air bon apôtre ou défiants / C’est leur cœur qui bat sous leurs cottes. // Ils sont fiers d’aimer, ils sont rois! / Pour dire leurs amours au monde / Ils vont le crier sur les toits. // Guerriers de feu, soldats toujours! / Jamais éteints par l’or immonde / Ils vivent et meurent d’amour.”

114 McGuinness, Poetry and Radical Politics, 197.

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investigations of Symbolism gave way to a renewed interest in the Midi, as well as consideration of the region’s Latin ancestry. Bourdelle did publish some of his writings, but for the most part, they were meant for private consumption. To see how these ideas are developing visually, let us return to his work in the 1890s.

The Synthesis of Southern Heritage and École romane: The Beginning of

Bourdelle’s Classical Modernity

Many of Bourdelle’s sculptural projects in the 1890s were influenced by his connection to Auguste Rodin. Bourdelle’s first major commission, the Monument to the

Soldiers and Defenders of the Tarn-et-Garonne of 1870-1871 (1894-1902, hereafter abbreviated as Monument to the Soldiers), is also the most well-known example of

Rodin’s and Symbolism’s influence on his sculpture (Figs. 36, 37 & 38).115 Bourdelle was commissioned by his hometown of Montauban in 1895 to create the work, and it was his friends and colleagues in the city that helped secure the project for him.116 The large- scale work features four interconnected figures engaged in combat, but the manipulation of the material and the distortion of the figures by Bourdelle creates a sense of chaos and confusion when looking at the monument. The frontal cuirassier and allegorical figure of

Marianne behind him stride forward valiantly with banners and cloaks swirling around

115 Texts that specifically discuss the Monument to the Soldiers and public reception to it are Jianou and Dufet, Bourdelle, 22-5; Cannon-Brookes, Emile Antoine Bourdelle, 22-8; Curtis, “E.A. Bourdelle and Monumental Sculpture;” Rose, “Succeeding Rodin;” and Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 66-8.

116 Auguste Quercy and Émile Pouvillon were both on the board of commissioners for the project and pushed for their friend to receive the commission. Sadly, both died before the monument was installed in Montauban.

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them. In contrast, the mostly nude side figures contort their appendages and faces in anguish. One of the side figures is falling over, mortally wounded, while the other - nicknamed the Great Warrior - extends his oversized left arm in a state of great tension.

On the sculptural plinth, friezes display individuals stunned by fear or screaming in terror, presumably witnessing the horrors of war. In opposition to the static and valorized depictions of defeated French soldiers that many sculptors created since the end of the

Franco-Prussian War, Bourdelle’s monument introduced the dehumanizing, traumatic, and horrific aspects of combat. Additionally, the final version was indebted to

Bourdelle’s earlier symbolist drawings. Studies for the Monument to the Soldiers include works entitled Cry, Suffering, and Screaming Figures and recall the work of artists like

Rude, Rodin, and Carpeaux (Figs. 39, 40 & 41).117 The result is a study in emotion, a writhing mass of individuals twisted and contorted in radical ways that symbolized the toll that war took on those involved. Further discussion of how the Monument to the

Soldiers compared to other Franco-Prussian War memorials will be addressed in Chapter

Two.

The Monument to the Soldiers was Bourdelle’s first major achievement and serves as the culmination of his early career. It is at this point we start to see glimpses of the sculptural style that Bourdelle used in the early 20th century. Like his poetic output, the Monument to the Soldiers explores symbolist themes, but it also hints at an interest in

Mediterranean classicism. A sculpture that represents Bourdelle’s shift is Draped Pallas,

117 François Rude’s La Marseillaise (1833-6), Auguste Rodin’s La Defense (1879), and Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux’s Ugolino and His Sons (1862).

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from 1889, which depicts the upper torso and head of a woman who is partially covered by a shroud (Fig. 42). The figure’s face stares in defiance at the viewer and the upper portion of the head is unfinished, still leaving signs of the artist’s hand. Just as in the symbolist-influenced Love in Agony, the shroud suggests death, mourning, and mystery.

While the cloaked figure of Pallas Athena has some of these qualities, the facial features and body stance contrast with the somber message previously seen in Bourdelle’s late-

1880s art. The torso and face are altogether more rigid and solid than the other sculpture that Bourdelle produced in the 1880s and moving into the 1890s. The “Pallas” theme was revisited by Bourdelle at the beginning of the 20th century; the later versions were a critical shift that signaled the artistic direction in which he was moving (Fig. 43). It was the 1905 Pallas Torso, along with an autobiographical statement put out by Bourdelle in the same year, that indicated a change in his oeuvre and artistic philosophy that defined his later career. It was also through this art and literature that Bourdelle fully presented himself as a man of the south, whose Latin ancestry connected him to the sculpture of

Mediterranean antiquity.118

These topics will form the subject of the forthcoming chapters. I will examine how Bourdelle’s upbringing in Montauban, combined with his explorations into

Symbolism and the École romane, contributed to his development of a style that became

118 It is also possible to think about the creation of Pallas in relation to the political climate that inspired the Monument to the Soldiers. Amélie Simier comments that Henri de Bideran initially saw the sculpture as dominant and aggressive. In a letter to the art critic Gustave Geffroy, Bourdelle calls his work “Pallas ou bien une Walkirie [sic].” Amélie Simier, “Torse de Pallas (1903-1905),” in Bourdelle et l’antique: une passion moderne, sous la direction de Claire Barbillon, Jérôme Godeau, et Amélie Simier (Paris: Paris-Musées, 2017), 85.

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associated with the classical revival of the early 20th century. Between the end of the

19th century and the beginning of World War I, Bourdelle and the rest of the Parisian art world were trying to understand the constant transformations in contemporary visual arts.

These changes brought forth new interpretations of Bourdelle’s sculpture.

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FIGURES

ALL IMAGES REMOVED DUE TO COPYRIGHT

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Chapter 2

AN ERA OF REGIONALISM AND RISING NATIONALISM

Monument to the Soldiers and Memorials after the Franco-Prussian War

Bourdelle’s Monument to the Soldiers received mixed reviews at the 1902 Salon de la Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts and was greeted coolly by Montauban city officials when it was finally dedicated. In his biography of Bourdelle, Peter Cannon-

Brookes stated that, after seeing the completed work, the planning committee changed the installation site to reduce the importance of the sculpture. This indicates obvious displeasure with the monument and Bourdelle recognized the insult.119 The Monument to the Soldiers was the artist’s most divisive public sculpture; it represented a style that some critics did not think was suitable for a war memorial. One of the best-known critiques came from Yvanhoe Rambosson, who stated that:

There is in [the monument] a lot of movement, vigor, and fire. However, its faults are considerable. Why does this part have a formal heaviness where there is no form? Why make the woman holding a flag into a sort of

119 Cannon-Brookes, Emile Antoine Bourdelle, 27-28. Brookes spoke to the polarized reception that the Monument to the Soldiers received when it debuted at the 1902 S.N.B.A. Salon. He stated, “ … on the monument’s arrival in Montauban the embarrassed town authorities tried to reduce the importance of its site … [W]hen the monument was moved to its present location, several decades ago … a bottle was discovered within the plinth, placed there by Bourdelle himself, and containing a statement highly critical of the town authorities of the time.” Bourdelle later spoke of the poor treatment he received from Montauban officials while working on the Monument to the Soldiers. This was during a speech he gave for the 1911 dedication of his Auguste Quercy memorial in Montauban, which is discussed later in the chapter.

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hottentot monstrosity? Why all these loose limbs in which anatomy is voluntarily negated? If this was for the benefit of symbolizing power, terror, the great inexplicable, perhaps the author could be excused. But here, I see nothing that allows for this negation of anatomical laws.120

Criticism like this considered Bourdelle’s handling of the material too heavy, too rough, and too focused on the symbolic at the expense of the monument’s formal qualities.

Bourdelle’s sculptural group includes a defiant Marianne, striding forth, brandishing the flag, and acting as a protector to the soldiers below her, who either lay dying on the field of battle or continue fighting against the odds (Fig. 44). The sculpted figures were described in the last chapter, but further analysis of the monument’s formal qualities is necessary to understand it. The center of the Monument to the Soldiers features a significant amount of empty space, especially when the group is viewed from the left (Fig. 45). The figures all radiate outwards from this negative center. The twisting bodies and distorted limbs of each figure means that the viewer is looking in multiple

120 Yvanhoe Rambosson, “La Sculpture aux Salons de 1902,” L’Art décoratif: revue de l’art ancien et de la vie artistique moderne, No. 46 (July 1902): 157-58. In his article, Rambosson explained, “J’aime beaucoup Bourdelle. J’ai toujours défendu son art et sa sincère passion, mais je crois devoir à son talent d’avouer en toute sincérité mon opinion. Son monument est l’erreur d’une belle intelligence et d’un sculpteur qui, j’en suis persuadé, ne fera pourtant point mentir l’espoir mis en lui. Voyons le sujet: Tandis qu’une femme brandit un drapeau déchiqueté par l’action de la bataille, un cuirassier de rêve, le sabre haut, un poing en avant, s’élance; un homme nu tombe dans la lutte, piétiné; un autre combattant, colosse de chair affolé et reniflant le combat, se prépare à frapper l’ennemi d’une arme inutile réduite à un tronçon. Il y a en tout ceci beaucoup de mouvement, de vigueur et de flamme, et cependant les fautes sont considérables. Pourquoi ce parti pris de lourdeur dans des formes qui ne sont plus des formes? Pourquoi avoir fait de cette femme qui tient le drapeau une sorte de monstruosité hottentotte? Pourquoi ces membres sans attaches, dont toute l’anatomie est niée volontairement? Si c’était au profit d’une impression de puissance, de terreur, d’inexpliqué formidable, peut- être l’auteur eût-il pu donner cette excuse. Mais ici je ne vois rien qui autorise cette négation des lois anatomiques.”

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directions when trying to consider each part of the work. There is a lack of formal unification in the Monument to the Soldiers and no central point on which the viewer’s eye can ground the multitude of straining limbs emanating from the group. The distortion of the figures’ appendages also adds to the disharmony of the monument. The overly muscular Great Warrior on the right is contrasted with the elongated form of the cuirassier at the front of the monument (Fig. 46). Furthermore, the cuirassier’s head is small relative to the rest of his body. The figures display a range of emotions, including , fear, courage, and resoluteness.

When compared to works like Antonin Mercié’s Gloria Victis, Louis-Ernest

Barrias’s Defense of Paris 1870-1871, or Etienne Pagny’s Monument to the Sons of the

Rhône, Bourdelle’s war memorial was a departure from a monumental style that had been established over several decades (Figs. 47, 48 & 49). Most Franco-Prussian monuments stemmed from the academic tradition, mixing aspects of naturalism with a Beaux-Arts classicism popular in late-19th century French sculpture. Instead, Bourdelle’s Monument to the Soldiers took a different stylistic approach, one clearly indebted to Rodin.121 The swirling and twisted forms of Bourdelle’s Monument to the Soldiers might not have surprised any artist or art critic who was familiar with Rodin, but its application on a

Franco-Prussian War memorial was surprising. However, some critics like Mecislas

121 Rambosson did acknowledge Bourdelle’s relationship to Rodin as a means of explaining the monument’s distortion of form, but the critic believed that Rodin constructed his figures with a purposefulness that Bourdelle lacked in the Monument to the Soldiers.

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Golberg saw Bourdelle’s work as an innovative attempt in a field of static and formulaic war memorials. Golberg explained that:

You know the banal form for these sorts of monuments: bugle, woman with a flag, a wounded soldier. Nothing of the sort for Bourdelle! Across a series of figures, he studied war and its furies. He saw deformation of form that shows struggle and brutality and scanned gestures for desolation, fury, and despair.122

As opposed to Rambosson, Golberg thought Bourdelle’s sculptures succeeded in using form to convey symbolic meaning. The distortions of the figures, including elongated limbs and miniscule heads, needed to be read as representing the horrors of war. While the formal qualities of the Monument to the Soldiers were interpreted in different ways by critics, the meaning of the sculpture must be further investigated to understand the impact of the Franco-Prussian War on Bourdelle and how this display of conflict reflects national sentiment.

The success of the monument’s style was debated by critics. There was, however, some agreement on the theme presented in Bourdelle’s work, even if it was covered less than the sculpture’s formal aspects.123 The comparative lack of attention to the subject

122 Mecislas Golberg, “L’art pour tous: l’œuvre de M. Bourdelle,” La Petite République, March 21, 1902. Golberg declared that “Vous connaissez la banale forme de ces sortes de monuments: clairon, femme avec un drapeau, un soldat blessé. Rien de pareil chez Bourdelle! A travers une série de figures, il étudia la guerre et ses furies. Il a pu voir les déformations de la forme que donnent la lutte et la brutalité, scruter les gestes de désolation, de fureur et de désespoir. Au début, dans ses premiers essais, l’artiste est docile à l'idée et au modèle … Mais voici le monument: tout s’est coordonné, les détails se sont fondus, l’œuvre se dresse à la fois sombre de grandeur, profonde et sculpturale - rien ici ne cède à rien: l'idée, passion, modèle et matière se sont coordonnés.” It is through Bourdelle’s style that Golberg interprets symbolic meaning in the sculpture.

123 For example, a critique in the April 20th, 1902 edition of Le XIXe siècle stated, “Nous voyons un grand groupe en bronze par M. Emile Bourdelle, rappelant la guerre de 1870-

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matter was due to Bourdelle having presented a message that previous Franco-Prussian

War monuments had also displayed.124 Bourdelle’s work was thematically similar to memorials of the 1880s and early 1890s in their allegorical representation of a city, a region, or France as a whole.125 It is true that the dying soldier on the left of the

Monument to the Soldiers and the Great Warrior on the right have expressions of fear on their faces, but the cuirassier and Marianne both walk forward in seeming defiance of an overpowering enemy in front of them. The range of emotions is wide, but Bourdelle still placed a strong emphasis on sacrifice, resolve, and heroics that were seen in works like

Mercié’s Even So! or Edmond Desca’s Monument to the Sons of the Dordogne (Figs. 50

& 51). It still sent the same message of military valor, self-sacrifice for one’s country, and incitement of revenge against Germany.

71: Hommage aux morts, aux combatants et serviteurs du Tarn-et-Garonne. Il y a dans cette œuvre, traitée un peu à la manière de Rodin, des qualités d’ampleur et de puissance, mais certains morceaux ne sont-ils pas laissés un peu trop à l’état d’ébauche?” In the April 22, 1902 issue of Le Français, the critic M. Stiegler commented that “Les lourdes personnages du groupe de la Guerre de 1870, par M. Bourdelle, pour la ville de Montauban, m’ont paru barbares des formes et de types. Peut-être l’artiste a-t-il voulu indiquer que la guerre est philosophiquement une chose d’un autre âge, primitif et sauvage. Je ne vois que cette interprétation, non pas pour justifier l’œuvre mais pour expliquer la tentative.”

124 June Hargrove, “Qui vive? France! War Monuments from the Defense to the Revanche,” in Nationalism and French Visual Culture, 1870-1914, ed. June Hargrove and Neil McWilliam (Washington: National Gallery of Art, 2005), 55-81. Hargrove’s article traces the progression of war memorials in France from the loss to the Prussians in 1871 to the onset of World War I. She concluded by saying that the message of most memorials reflected the anxieties, fears, and anger of the French people as relations with Germany oscillated between calm and hostile.

125 Personifications of the country, particularly in Franco-Prussian war memorials, always took the form of Marianne, the female allegory of Republican France.

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As June Hargrove has discussed, Franco-Prussian war memorials in France were indicative of the greater social and political changes happening in the country.

Nationalism was employed by the Third Republic government in the aftermath of the war as a political tool for unifying the country; but it was eventually seized from the republican left by a more militant and reactionary right, who rallied around traditionalism, regionalism, Catholicism, monarchism, and “revanchisme.”126 The political right at the time was comprised of a variety of groups with differing opinions on how to reach the end goals of a stronger, more cohesive France and reclamation of the

126 “La Revanche” or “revenge” was an ideological doctrine in France that grew out of the humiliating French defeat in the Franco-Prussian War and the subsequent loss of Alsace and Lorraine to the Prussians. Revanchists, who were associated with the political right, demanded a new conflict with the German Empire to retake Alsace and Lorraine and restore the military power of the nation. Revanchisme also was associated with militant nationalism and authoritarianism. The most famous example of these ideas from the late-19th century was the political ascendancy of General Georges Boulanger. His platform focused on renewed conflict with Germany and the restoration of the French monarchy (the political consequences of Boulanger will be discussed later in this chapter). See François Robichon, “Representing the 1870-1871 War, or the Impossible Revanche,” trans. Olga Grlić, in Nationalism and French Visual Culture, 1870-1914, eds. June Hargrove and Neil McWilliam (Washington: National Gallery of Art, 2005), 83-99 for a discussion about how revanchisme was depicted in late-19th century French art. The shifting politics of the Third Republic is a topic that has had extensive research dedicated to it. I bring up topics and the nature of the political movements as they apply to the dissertation and will note them in the text. For more information on the nature of the political right in Third Republic France, see Eugen Weber, Action Française: Royalism and Reaction in Twentieth-Century France (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1962); Zeev Sternhell, Neither Right nor Left: fascist ideology in France, trans. David Maisel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986); Kenneth E. Silver, Esprit de Corps: the art of the Parisian avant-garde and the First World War, 1914-1925 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989); Nationhood and Nationalism in France: From Boulangism to the Great War 1889-1918, ed. Robert Tombs (New York: HarperCollinsAcademic, 1991); David Cottington, Cubism in the Shadow of War: the avant-garde and politics in Paris 1905-1914 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998); Nationalism and French Visual Culture, eds. Hargrove and McWilliam; and Frederick Brown, The Embrace of Unreason: France, 1914-1940 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2014).

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lost provinces of Alsace and Lorraine from the German Empire. Such ideals were embodied in war memorials that showed soldiers from all French regions sacrificing themselves for their motherland. This was one way of visualizing and reinforcing the goal of political and cultural unification. War memorials created in the decades after the

Franco-Prussian War, many of which were commissioned by militant and conservative organizations like the Ligue des Patriotes and the Souvenir français, emphasized outrage, mourning, and potential revenge against the Germans for the French loss of land and life.127 Like its predecessors, Bourdelle’s Monument to the Soldiers is an emotionally charged piece, meant to cause reflection and spur such vengeful sentiment in the viewer.

127 René Rémond, The Right Wing in France, From 1815 to de Gaulle, trans. James M. Laux (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1969), 229 and R.D. Anderson, France 1870-1914: Politics and Society (London: Routledge, 1977), 70. The Ligue des Patriotes was founded in May 1882 by the poet Paul Déroulède, under the sponsorship of Léon Gambetta and the republican government. From the text: “The initial objectives [of the Ligue] were exclusively patriotic: to preserve in the country the memory of Alsace- Lorraine and the cult of the national virtues, to prepare it on the military level. The program then admitted of no political intent nor did it hide any conservative reservations.” It was only later that the Ligue threw its support behind the radical nationalist general Georges Boulanger in his rise to power and became known as a far- right organization. Maurice Barrès also served as president of the Ligue des Patriotes. Rachel Chrastil, Organizing for War: France, 1870-1914 (Baton Rouge: State University Press, 2010), 101-105. The Souvenir français was founded in 1887 by the Alsacian Xavier Niessen as a private agency whose goal was to care for tombs of French soldiers, particularly those who died in the Franco-Prussian War. Souvenir français also commissioned new war memorials. Although it was nonpartisan in its mission and was instructed by the French government to take no political stance upon its founding, the organization had militant nationalist intent in its practices. On page 105, Chrastil stated that “although the Souvenir Français fostered remembrance of the Franco-Prussian War, its purpose was not to mourn but to inspire future generations to unify and sacrifice for the sake of France. The organization therefore helped to forge the myth that participation in commemorative events constituted a form of preparation for a future conflict, and it invited individuals in communities large and small to see themselves as part of this process.”

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Although Bourdelle was only ten years old during the war, his approach to the war monument fulfilled the period’s war memorial expectations. His sculpture rhetorically and symbolically asserted unity like the other memorials, but its formal disharmony and lack of hierarchy, especially compared to other sculptor’s memorials, irritated critics.

A better formal comparison for the Monument to the Soldiers would be Rodin’s project for a monument to the 1870-71 defense of Paris against Prussian forces (Fig.

52).128 Rodin’s La Défense was never constructed, but the study features a wounded soldier partially supported by a winged spirit wearing a Phrygian cap. The spirit screams in fury at the fate of the fallen soldier and her expression of rage is a call for revenge against the Prussians that caused the Frenchman’s death. The twisted limbs of the soldier, curving wings of the spirit and surface treatment in Rodin’s study are more like

Bourdelle’s formal approach than most Franco-Prussian memorials created at the end of the 19th century. A range of emotions, including despair, grief, and rage, are present in

Rodin’s La Défense just as in Bourdelle’s Monument to the Soldiers. Rodin’s and

Bourdelle’s figures were more expressive than many of the reserved memorials that appeared throughout France, but the message of all this sculpture was similar: the French people should mourn the dead, remember the bravery of soldiers, and never forget the

128 Rodin submitted La Défense to a state-sponsored 1879 competition for a monument to the defense of Paris during the Franco-Prussian War. The monument committee rejected Rodin’s proposal in favor of Louis-Ernest Barrias’s La Défense de Paris 1870-1871. Rodin believed that the committee found his sculpture too violent and unbalanced, especially in comparison to the more reserved, academic style of Barrias’s sculpture. See “La Défense,” Musée Rodin, accessed February 12, 2020, http://www.musee- rodin.fr/fr/collections/sculptures/la-defense.

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suffering inflicted upon the nation. The trauma of the war was a part of the French people’s shared experience, and how the country was moving forward as a political entity was contingent on memories of the Franco-Prussian War defeat and how this loss was visually represented in memorials.

Bourdelle’s personal opinions on conflict are perhaps reflected in the poem “Aux

Défenseurs.” The poem – now in the archives of the Musée Bourdelle - was written in

1900 and was accompanied by an illustration of a distraught person burying her face in her hands (Fig. 53). The gesture of the figure in the sketch matches the somber mood conveyed by Bourdelle’s writing. Although it was never included with the Monument to the Soldiers, “Aux Défenseurs” can enhance the meaning of the work and may have been intended as an inscription:

Passer-by, I am living in these four warriors! / My soul is the standard that flies over their courage / My clamor of pity weeps in their storms / Lightning above our dark brows breaks their steeds / On the unjust pile of graves / I set this dismal altar of widowhood / Holy quadrilateral dominating the carnage / Where my justice reflects from deadly waves / I watch over my sons in this burning tomb / Full of my thoughts and of their [bones] / Pure, fallen defenders, of a fervent race / In the serenity of great sacrifices / My will rises beyond glory / And the love that cut this bronze is so divine / That in waiting for the dove to come drink there / I commune with myself here in the bronze spirit.129

129 Musée Bourdelle archives (MB_ARCH_BO_AB/C.Boîte1.04), 1900. “Passant, je suis vivant dans ces quatre guerriers! / Mon âme est l’étendard battant sur leur courage, / Ma clameur de pitié pleure dans leurs orages, / L’éclair sur nos [fronts] noirs vient briser ses coursiers, / Sur l’ammoncellement inique [sic] des charniers / J’ai dressé cet autel lugubre des veuvages, / Quadrilatère saint dominant les carnages / Où songe ma justice hors de flots meurtriers / Je veille sur mes fils dans cette tombe ardente / Haute de ma pensée et de leurs [des ossements] / Purs défenseurs tombés, d’une race fervente / Dans la sérénité des grands renoncements / Ma volonté s’élève au delà de la gloire / Et l’amour qui creusa ce bronze est si divin / Qu’en attendant que la colombe y vienne boire / Je me receuille [sic] ici dans l’âme de l’airain.” Bourdelle wrote two versions of the poem, but their differences are negligible.

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The poem is written from Bourdelle’s perspective as he reflects on the loss of

French soldiers during the Franco-Prussian War. The beginning and middle strike a mourning note, triggered by the nation’s war losses, while the end takes a turn towards pacifism. Specifically, the statement that the speaker stood “in the serenity of great sacrifices,” and that the speaker’s “will rises beyond glory” can be read as a wariness towards violence and a desire to move beyond national pride, which often leads to violent conflict. The closing lines on “waiting for the dove to come drink” introduce a familiar symbol of peace as the speaker meditates on the human toll of the Franco-Prussian War.

Lacking the poem, the Monument to the Soldiers highlights the emotionally charged messages of war memorials in France, albeit in a considerably different visual form. It is unknown why the poem was never included in the actual monument. Perhaps Bourdelle’s attitude had shifted by the time the monument was completed and unveiled to the public.

Or, like much of his other written work, the poem was meant only for private consumption.

The Rise of Conservative Thought and Nationalism in Early-20th Century

France

Without the inclusion of Bourdelle’s poem, the message of the monument was interpreted by some as an affirmation of the rising revanchisme in society. The

September 21, 1902 issue of the Tribune du Sud-Ouest covered the dedication of

Bourdelle’s Monument to the Soldiers. Among the articles that reported the day’s ceremonies and speeches was a favorable review by the critic Henri de Bideran:

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One of the soldiers sleeps, proud, in the calm of death; another arises, unbroken and barely free of the material; a third, in front, makes his righteous weapon shine high. It’s not vengeance that animates this wall of bronze, but sacrificial conscience, enthusiasm of youth and human right. They are there, these warriors, symbolizing the three ages of a nation [no punctuation] those of memory, of hope, and of valor. In front of this severe ensemble, I could not help but consider a thought of M. Maurice Barrès; he speaks of the dead of each country, he recalls the heritage there: “I am them. And from this consciousness, what consequences to extract! what acceptance! You glimpse it. It’s a complete vertigo in which the individual is ruined, only to find himself in the family, in the race, in the nation, in the thousands of years buried in the tomb.”130

The interpretation of Bourdelle’s work through a quote by Maurice Barrès implies the heightened nationalist spirit at the beginning of the century. As this chapter will discuss, Barrès’s theories were critical in the development of an emotionally charged nationalism that placed deep value on heritage and continuity in France. The Barrèsian notion of nationalism was widely debated and interpreted by intellectuals and writers and influenced the creative development of many Paris-based artists. It is through conservative and populist thinkers like Barrès, and their reinterpretation of France’s

130 Henri de Bideran, “Inauguration du Monument des Combattants,” La Tribune du Sud- Ouest, September 21, 1902. “Un des combattants se couche, superbe, dans le calme de la mort; un autre surgit indompté et dégagé à peine de la matière; un troisième, en avant, fait briller bien haut son arme justicière. Ce n’est pas la vengeance qui anime ce mur de bronze, mais la conscience du sacrifice, l’enthousiasme de la jeunesse et le droit humain. Ils sont là, ces guerriers, symbolisant les trois âges d’une nation ceux du souvenir, de l’espérance et de la valeur./En face de cet ensemble sévère, je ne puis m'empêcher de songer à une pensée de M. Maurice Barrès; il parle des morts de chaque pays, il en rappelle l’héritage: «Je suis eux-mêmes. - Et, de cette conscience, quelles conséquences à tirer! quelle acceptation! Vous l’entrevoyez. C’est tout un vertige où l’individu, décidément, s’abîme pour se retrouver dans la famille, dans la race, dans la nation, dans des milliers d’années enfouies au tombeau.»” Henri de Bideran was a sculptor and friend of Bourdelle, also hailing from Tarn-et-Garonne. He later became a studio assistant to Bourdelle.

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connection to the culture of Classical antiquity, that we can further understand the meaning of Bourdelle’s artistic production from 1900 onward.

By the early 20th century, organizations inspired by the activities of the Félibrige

- including the École romane and Action française - embodied a reactionary movement that was attempting to popularize French classicism and Latin identity in the face of a growing cosmopolitanism.131 While Action française was an organization that was far

131 By the turn of the 20th century, the Félibrige was an umbrella association comprised of members espousing a variety of political ideologies, all of whom shared a love of southern culture and language. The Félibrige was dominated by the vision of the original founders from the 1850s to the early 1890s, focusing primarily on cultural preservation while publicly remaining politically neutral. As all the original members were from Provence, there was an explicit favoritism of the Provençal dialect of Occitan over other regions. The last decade of the 19th century saw the rise of a new generation of Félibrige members, with many of the newcomers urging a stronger political stance and a more inclusive approach to Occitan - especially the southwestern dialects - from the organization. Charles Maurras was part of the rising generation and he linked Félibrige- associated ideas of the Latin “race” and regional culture with far-right nationalism and monarchism. Other prominent figures of the new generation, including Louis-Xavier de Ricard and Jean Charles-Brun, also sought political action from the Félibrige, but their goal was the adoption of democratic federalism, which would be bolstered by regional identity and economics. In opposition to Maurras’s Provençal-linked traditionalism, both Ricard and Charles-Brun promoted an idea of the “regionalist” Félibrige popular in the southwest Languedoc: one that saw the organization as a confederation of local groups, all of which had parity. Underpinning the cultural and political views of Ricard and Charles-Brun was the “Idée latine” concept. As Julian Wright stated in his book, The Regionalist Movement in France 1890-1914: Jean Charles-Brun and French Political Thought, “Ricard believed in the ‘idée latine’: a democratic federalism that privileged the difference between races, but also emphasized the need for mutual respect between them.” Wright further said that, “as Charles-Brun saw it … the ancient democratic cultures of the Mediterranean had a vital mission in modern Europe, as the leaders of a quest for international peace … The idea was inclusive and internationalist, deliberately opposed to the race-theories established by pan-Germanists.” The countries and regions associated with the idée latine were Italy, Spain, Provence, Languedoc, Catalonia, Romania, and Swiss Romandy. Members of these groups also recognized shared linguistic and cultural traits, and there was a considerable amount of attention paid to common cultural patriarchs like Petrarch. For further information on activities associated with the idée latine, see Hendrix, “Petrarch 1804-1904,” and Zantedeschi, “Petrarch

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more infamous than others, its embrace of classicism and Greco-Roman heritage was partially inspired by the Félibrige.132 It was also through the classical aesthetics promoted by Action française that classicism and Latin identity gained popularity in French art in the first two decades of the 20th century. This does not mean that all artists using a neoclassical style at the time agreed with the opinions of the right-wing organization.

There was, however, a seemingly strong incentive to echo the reactionary spirit that led

France to World War I.

Let us consider Bourdelle’s style through the reception of his first one-man exhibition.133 The 1905 show, held at the Hébrard foundry gallery, presented Bourdelle’s work across media - including paintings, drawings, prints, and pastels - and included

1874.” See Julian Wright, The Regionalist Movement in France 1890-1914: Jean Charles-Brun and French Political Thought (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 43-75 for a discussion on the schisms in the Félibrige in the 1890s and the push for greater political action by the organization and associate groups.

132 Weber, Action Française, 52-7. The infamy of the organization was due to its willingness to incite riots and engage in violent protests. Many of these incidents were instigated by the Camelots du Roi - the youth wing of the Action française - which was formed in November of 1908. Examples of the Camelots’ activity included storming the Sorbonne and attacking professors that spoke against the Action française, demonstrations at government parades, and occupying theaters. In a particularly shocking event, one of the Camelots slapped Prime Minister Aristide Briand at the public unveiling of a Jules Ferry statue in Paris. On page 55, Weber stated, “Camelot demonstrations at republican ceremonies and Camelot irreverence and larks would set police and press by the ears. By 1909, the police considered the Camelots the most troublesome of all the right-wing organizations.”

133 The Galerie Hébrard opened in 1904 at 8, Rue Royale in Paris to showcase the work coming out of the fonderie Hébrard, which also operated in the city. The owner of the gallery and foundry, Adiren-Aurélien Hébrard (1865-1937) had family connections to Montauban and the Tarn-et-Garonne region.

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some of his symbolist works from the 1880s and 1890s.134 Work created after 1900 showed a shift away from the previous influence of Symbolism and Rodin - examples of which include visual parallels between Bourdelle’s The Lovers (1899-1901) and Rodin’s

The Kiss (c. 1882); Bourdelle’s Adam (1889) and Rodin’s Adam (1880-81); and

Bourdelle’s Kiss with Morning Glories (1900) and Rodin’s (c. 1881-

82) - and emphasized the classical aspects that came to define Bourdelle in the 20th century: simplification of form, emphasis on order, symmetry, and clarity of structure

(Figs. 54, 55, 56, 57, 58 & 59). The most prominent example of this new aesthetic was the statue of Pallas Torso, shown in both marble and bronze at Bourdelle’s 1905 exhibition (Figs. 60 & 61).135 The sculpture represents the Greek goddess Athena as a nude woman, lacking arms and legs. Her face is stern and her neck is elongated, especially in comparison to the vertical, cylindrical shape of the torso. Amélie Simier has compared the body of Pallas to a Greek temple column, and Bourdelle’s exclusion of arms and legs for the sculpture replicated ancient Greek and Roman statuary as they appeared in their unearthed, fragmented states.136 In a review of the exhibition, titled

134 Exposition des sculptures, peintures, pastels, etc. par Emile Bourdelle (Paris: G. de Malherbe, 1904). Sculptures were in plaster, marble, wood, sandstone, and bronze.

135 The exhibition included a bronze torso and a separate bronze head of Athena, as well as a marble torso.

136 Amélie Simier, “Torse de Pallas,” in Bourdelle et l’antique, 90-5. “Car le corps marmoréen de Pallas, leçon d’épure, construit par soustraction, se résume, dans le prolongement de la vision de Cézanne, que Bourdelle admirait tant, en un cylindre parfait posé sur deux cylindres coupés … Dans Torse de Pallas, le corps féminin, synthétisé en une «immortelle colonne», devient le corps divin, manifestation du «calme auguste des idoles».” The most famous of ancient statues lacking appendages is the Venus de Milo (circa 100 BCE), which has been on display at the Louvre since 1821.

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“L’Hellénisme d’Emile Bourdelle,” the critic Raymond Bouyer stressed Bourdelle’s mission to reinterpret antiquity for the contemporary era.137 This is one of the earliest examples of Bourdelle’s work being described as “Hellenic” and specifically tied to ancient Greek and Roman sculpture. In addition to the Pallas effigy, yet another work suggested Bourdelle’s forthcoming style: his Shepherdess Joan of Arc from 1904.138 The bronze statue features Joan of Arc kneeling in prayer. Her facial features and the smooth, planar forms of her body echo the Athena statue’s composition (Fig. 62).

Pallas Athena and Joan of Arc are vastly different subjects. Bourdelle’s choice to create these sculptures in the same year may seem odd but the cultural and political events that shaped the Paris art world explain his thinking. In particular, the creation of a

Joan of Arc statue in 1904 potentially sent a strong message to the viewing public, as the legendary French heroine soon became a unifying symbol of the political right and linked to both the causes of monarchism and resurgent Catholicism.139

137 Raymond Bouyer, “L’Hellénisme d’Emile Bourdelle,” La Revue du Bien (November 1905): 19-22. To offer one example, from pages 20-1, Bouyer stated, “Chaque âme, chaque époque refait le beau rêve antique à son image et le modèle au gré de ses regrets … Ce fils de chévrier [Bourdelle], formé seul, longtemps praticien chez les novateurs, Dalou, Falguière ou Rodin, n’a pas impunément traversé les fièvres contemporaines et les ateliers en révolte; mais à Paris, il est allé droit aux pieds de la Samothrace, cette reine longtemps méconnue de notre Louvre …”

138 Exposition des sculptures, 9.

139 The fate of Joan of Arc as a conservative symbol was not clear at the beginning of the twentieth century, but it was certainly moving in that direction with the rise of the Action française, the emergence of militant Catholicism, and the continued influence of royalists. Beginning in the Romantic era, there was an ongoing battle for the interpretation of Joan of Arc in the French consciousness. Romantic authors and thinkers reassessed the history of the famous French heroine by implying her goal was French unity and nationhood, as well as reminding the public of the Catholic Church’s decision to have Joan of Arc

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Classicism in the Social-Political Context of Early-20th Century Paris

Bourdelle’s interest in the literary output of the École romane and the classical wing of Symbolism first emerged in his private writing, but it eventually spread to his artistic output. In addition to this, his fascination with his southern upbringing became a more public aspect of his persona. Bourdelle increasingly adopted the revived classicism in the arts that was being embraced by artists, art critics, and writers in the early 20th century. What was first investigated in poetry by Symbolists and the École romane was made cultural policy by the Third Republic. It was then adopted by the Action française and other far-right political organizations. As the prospect of renewed conflict with

burned at the stake. The last decades of the nineteenth century had a three-way struggle for representation of Joan of Arc: workers’ organizations and the rising socialist movement tried to paint the heroine as a country peasant that was standing up to the oppressiveness of religious and aristocratic institutions; the monarchist and religious right attempted to excuse the old Church for the great misdeed of Joan’s execution while still emphasizing the fighter’s devotion to the faith and the king; centrist republicans tried to placate all perspectives by focusing on Joan of Arc as a national hero that was devoted to the sustainment of the French state and people. By the dawn of the twentieth century, enthusiasm for “claiming” Joan of Arc had faded in leftist and centrist organizations, with the right (comprised of monarchists, Catholics, and militant nationalists) becoming most vocal in using her as a figure for their various causes. Celebrations were held throughout the country to commemorate the death of Joan of Arc on May 30, most notably in front of Emmanuel Frémiet’s statue of the heroine (installed in 1874) at the Place des Pyramides in Paris. Freemasons and anticlericals would sometimes stage a protest at these commemorations by laying wreaths at the statue that commemorated Joan as a defender of the republic and a victim of the Church, but such interjections were small and quickly dismissed. Joan of Arc was eventually beatified by Pope Pius X in 1909, much to the delight of the combined cultural and political right in France. Antoine Bourdelle’s decision to create a statue of a French historical figure at a time when her identity was subject to debate could have been viewed as a political statement in 1904. Martha Hanna, “Iconology and Ideology: Images of Joan of Arc in the Idiom of the Action Française, 1908-1931,” French Historical Studies 14, no. 2 (Autumn 1985): 215-239; Michel Winock, “Jeanne d’Arc,” in Les Lieux de mémoire, 4427-4473; and “The Battle for Joan,” in Brown, The Embrace of Unreason, 76-91.

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Germany became reality, more and more members of the French mainstream professed ideas that were previously considered radical. A classicism that was grouped with nationalism, racial lineage, and conservative politics became more popular as the first decade of the 1900s came to an end. Bourdelle embraced the revived interest in French classicism earlier than most, recognizing its importance as a component of French cultural identity. As such, he was in a prime position to become one of the foremost artists in the rebirth of a Classical style in the first decade of the 20th century.

Bourdelle’s work shows the influence of writers and poets who were producing new interpretations of the classical past. Questions about early-20th century culture in

Paris focused greatly on the legacy of classicism in French art. This is nothing new, for every succeeding artistic movement from the Renaissance onward in France looked at the precedent of Greece and Rome. The difference at the dawn of the new century was the sense of urgency, and even crisis, that writers and art critics applied when addressing questions of classicism.

The political and cultural climate in Paris was in constant flux during this period.

The Third Republic’s liberal policies and democratic values were facing growing threats from both far-left and far-right organizations.140 Militant anarchists created a state of fear in the capital with a series of bomb attacks and political assassinations. Socialists and

140 Although fundamental differences set far-left and far-right politicians at odds with one another, there were some similar goals for such groups at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century; namely, the attempt to overthrow the Third Republic government. Hard-line socialists, syndicalists, monarchists, and nationalists saw the current government as defending only the interests of the bourgeoisie at the expense of the working class and promoting a morally corrupt culture of materialism.

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workers’ movements protested the capitalist values of the Belle Époque through strikes and organization of the labor class. Far-right Catholics and nationalist groups called for an end to ideals associated with the French Revolution and argued that the country had been stronger and more orderly under the rule of the ancien régime and the Church.141 In short, a wide array of political groups were vying for power against a government that often fell far short of supporting the values of democracy and liberalism it claimed to uphold.142

Besides the defeat by the Germans and the loss of Alsace and Lorraine, the greatest crisis and upheaval of cultural and political ideology in France was the Dreyfus

Affair, which exposed deep-rooted antisemitism, judicial inequality, and xenophobia in the country and caused a deep rift in French society.143 The “Dreyfusards,” supporters of

141 Sternhell, Neither Right nor Left. Chapter one, “From One Prewar Period to Another,” and chapter two, “The Revolution of the Moralists,” detail the rise of both left- and right- wing organizations and movements in France between the Franco-Prussian War and World War I.

142 Ibid.

143 The Dreyfus Affair (1894-1906) was a cultural and political crisis that divided Third Republic France and resulted in considerable governmental and social change. The affair began in December 1894, when the Jewish army captain Alfred Dreyfus was charged with giving classified documents to German agents. He was quickly court martialed, found guilty of treason, and given a life sentence at the notorious Devil’s Island penal colony in . Dreyfus’s family, however, believed he was innocent and began investigating the case with the help of others who suspected Dreyfus was wrongfully accused. It was discovered in 1896 that army major Ferdinand Esterhazy was a German spy and the real traitor. Instead of correcting their error, the French army attempted a cover-up of the truth, acquitting Esterhazy of treason charges in a closed- door court martial in 1898 and refusing to reconsider Dreyfus’s conviction. The reason for the army’s course of action was a combination of systemic antisemitism and a belief in the military’s infallible authority. Subsequent events discussed further in this chapter caused the affair to become a nationwide scandal that pitted the political right

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Captain Dreyfus, were generally comprised of individuals on the political left - socialists and liberal republicans who believed in the democratic principles of the French

Revolution. By contrast, “anti-Dreyfusards” were associated with the political right and comprised nationalists, traditionalists, ultra-conservative Catholics, and monarchists. The anti-Dreyfusards considered questioning the Army’s authority more harmful for the nation than the mishandling of justice. Coupled with the antisemitism of the anti-

Dreyfusard camp, the belief in the State’s power and its ability to maintain order and stability pitted those on the right against the principles of individual liberty and “Les

Droits de l’Homme” of the Dreyfusards.144

(represented by the military, the Catholic church, and monarchists) against the left (comprised of republicans, intellectuals, and, initially, socialists). Retrials and a presidential pardon led to Dreyfus’s freedom. He was reinstated into the army and cleared of all charges by the French Supreme Court in 1906. Although Dreyfus eventually found justice and historians consider the Affair’s end as a victory for republican values, the whole ordeal pushed the political left and right further apart and created a backlash of antisemitic and xenophobic nationalism that would grow across France in the early 20th century. For more information on the Dreyfus Affair, see Jacques Kayser, The Dreyfus Affair, trans. Nora Bickley (New York: Covici, Friede, 1931); Douglas Johnson, France and the Dreyfus Affair (New York: Walker, 1966); Madeleine Reberioux, “The Dreyfus affair,” trans. J.R. Foster, in The Third Republic from Its Origins to the Great War, 1871- 1914, ed. Jean-Marie Mayeur and Madeleine Reberioux (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 179-208; The Dreyfus Affair: art, truth, and justice, ed. Norman L. Kleeblatt (Berkeley: University of Press, 1987); Michael Burns, “Families and fatherlands: the lost provinces and the case of Captain Dreyfus,” in Nationhood and Nationalism in France, 50-62; Gildea, The Past in French History, 305-10; and Pierre Birnbaum, “Grégoire, Dreyfus, Drancy, and the Copernic: Jews at the Heart of French History,” trans. Arthur Goldhammer, in Realms of Memory, 379-423.

144 Many French socialists expressed support for Dreyfus at the beginning of the scandal and called for new investigations. Syndicates and working-class groups joined with the bourgeoisie to support the Dreyfusard cause in the name of social justice. As the effects of the Affair continued into the 20th century, however, members of the far left began to move to the anti-Dreyfusard side. The reasoning for their shift was that the scandal did nothing to address class struggle in the country. Some believed the bourgeoisie - in the

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Charles Maurras and Maurice Barrès: The right-wing revival of Hellenism and Classicism

One of the most prominent and influential anti-Dreyfusards was the Provence- born writer and political theorist, Charles Maurras.145 As a young adherent of the

Félibrige, Maurras embraced the movement’s cultural platform and argued for the

Provençal people’s special connection to their land’s ancient Greek and Roman heritage.

While preserving provincial identity was a professed cultural mission for the Félibrige,

Maurras took regionalism into the political realm. He openly called for a federal system of government at a meeting of the Paris Félibrige on February 22, 1892. This act was a

form of the Bloc des Gauches - was using the support of the working poor to strengthen their position as the ruling class in the country and to further entrench parliamentary democracy as the system of government. Ire was aimed at Jean Jaurès and other socialists who decided to work with the Third Republic’s system of parliamentary democracy, rather than overthrow it. One of the most prominent individuals to change their opinion on the Dreyfus Affair was Georges Sorel, whose theories would eventually give rise to national socialist and fascist practices that would sweep through the European continent in the 1920s and 1930s. Sorel’s national socialist ideas were indebted to the earlier work of Maurice Barrès. See Sternhell, Neither Left nor Right, 51-60 for information on political shifts in the labor movement and the French working class at the beginning of the 20th century.

145 Weber, Action Française, 6-7. Charles Maurras was from a Provençal family. His father was a tax collector and believed in the values of a secular republic. His mother’s side of the family were devout Catholics and monarchists. For more information on Charles Maurras, see William Curt Buthman, The Rise of Integral Nationalism in France: With Special Reference to the Ideas and Activities of Charles Maurras (New York: Columbia University Press, 1939); Michael Curtis, Three Against the Third Republic: Sorel, Barrès, and Maurras (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1959); Edward R. Tannenbaum, The Action Française: Die-Hard Reactionaries in Twentieth-Century France (New York: Wiley, 1962); Rémond, The Right Wing in France, 233-53; and Bruno Goyet, Charles Maurras (Paris: Presses de la Fondation nationale des sciences politiques, 1999).

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direct challenge to the central government of the Third Republic.146 Fearing repercussions, the Félibrige condemned the position of Maurras, who was subsequently expelled from the Parisian branch of the organization.

Maurras became a member of the École romane in the early 1890s. It was through his influence that the literary group moved beyond just publishing poetry and began asserting its opinion on larger political, cultural, and social issues.147 Maurras’s reactionary politics and philosophy, however, would not be fully deployed until 1898, following Émile Zola’s famous “J’accuse …!” Zola’s open letter, in which he called for a retrial of Dreyfus, was published in the radical newspaper L’Aurore on January 13,

1898.148 Maurras responded with an essay, published in the October 23, 1898 edition of

Le Soleil, arguing that the French State and Army’s authority had been irreparably damaged by the scandal and they could not maintain a stable society under such criticism.

Maurras further stated that the push for freedom of the individual and equal justice above all else was a mistaken ideal from the Revolution.

146 Roza, “French Languages and French Nationalism,” 256-8. This speech, subsequently known as the “Young Félibres Declaration,” was given by both Maurras and Frédéric Amouretti. Roza said that, “… the pair of young Félibres apparently wanted to reach an even wider audience [than the Paris Félibrige meeting]. Their declaration appeared the following day in the Petit Marseillais, and other newspapers in the Midi. It also appeared in the next Revue Félibréenne, in both Occitan and translated into French.”

147 For more information, see McGuinness, Poetry and Radical Politics, Chapter 5, which addresses the impact that Maurras had on shaping the political message of the École romane.

148 Zola’s open letter criticized the government of conspiracy and obstruction of justice in the Dreyfus case. The publication of “J’accuse …!” led to new investigations for Alfred Dreyfus and began what is generally considered the high point of activity in the Affair (that is to say, when it became a true national scandal).

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For Maurras, order, authority, tradition, and the use of the past as a model for the present were central in maintaining French values and identity. He believed that the restoration of the monarchy would allow people to connect their French identity to the king instead of the Revolution’s values of democracy and liberalism.149 The restored monarchy would also help to preserve provincial identity, for contrary to Third Republic efforts at unification, monarchism was amenable to diverse cultural practices and traditions, as long as the king-as-state represented all of France.

Maurras had frequented symbolist circles in the 1880s and wrote numerous essays and opinion articles in petites revues and newspapers on art and literature. Maurras advocated for a return to classicism, seeing it as an essentially French trait that was inherited from the ancient Romans and Greeks and tied to the country’s ethnicity.150 Such focus would revive poetic form and return a distinctly French identity to literature.151

Maurras also insisted on the “Latinité” of southern France. This “Latinité” stood in

149 This was the argument of Maurras’s Enquête sur la monarchie, published in 1900.

150 By the 1890s, however, “classicism” was already a loaded term with a variety of movements trying to lay claim to the ideals of the ancient Mediterranean past. Even the Symbolists, from whom the École romane broke, saw themselves as restoring the classical tradition by exploring poetry as a distinct art form and using Greco-Roman mythology as subject matter.

151 In contrast to the beliefs of the École romane, the Symbolist understanding of classicism was international in its approach and open to all who wished to use it. For a further discussion on Symbolism, classicism, and cosmopolitanism, see McGuinness, Poetry and Radical Politics, Chapter 3, “Symbolists and Anarchists,” 75-124. More information on the debate over classicism at the turn of the century can be found in Gaetano DeLeonibus, “The Quarrel over Classicism: A Quest for Uniqueness,” in Nationalism and French Visual Culture, 293-305. Questions on classicism continued into the 20th century, and the manner in which it was interpreted can also be studied in the essays contained in Cowling and Mundy, On Classic Ground.

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opposition to the perceived Germanic roots of Romanticism, with its focus on emotion, individualism, and free will, all basic principles of the French Revolution.152

In contrast to Maurras’s elitist classicism, Barrès’s classicism was populist and left leaning at first.153 But as dissatisfaction with the Third Republic grew in time, Barrès eventually joined the political right. Both he and Maurras became influential figures in far-right organizations and both understood the importance of nationalism as a political tool. Their differences appeared in their interpretations of nationalism, as well as their understanding of classicism and the Classical tradition. Maurras took an aristocratic and intellectual approach, steeping his arguments in logic and rational consideration.154 It was essential for artists, according to Maurras, to look back to the Greco-Roman past for

152 Charles Maurras, “Barbares et Romains,” La Plume 53 (July 1891): 229-30. This essay by Maurras attempts to describe the ideas that the author has concerning the “Latin race’s” unique ability to contribute to the French classical tradition. This set up a contrast between outsiders - the Barbares of the title - and their inability to make long-lasting and substantial contributions to a storied literary tradition. This issue of La Plume was dedicated to the Félibrige and Maurras’s concluding essay offers a glimpse into the direction he went once he became more politically active at the end of the decade.

153 For more on the changing political personality of Barrès, see Brown, The Embrace of Unreason, 52-75, and Curtis, Three Against the Third Republic, 54-59. General information on the life and politics of Barrès can be found in Weber, Action française; Tannenbaum, The Action Française; and Zeev Sternhell, Maurice Barrès et le nationalisme français (Paris: A. Colin, 1972).

154 Cottington, Cubism, 54-56. Cottington outlined the major differences in the conceptions of nationalism and tradition between Maurras and Barrès. “For Maurras, traditionalism was not so all-encompassing; what was important was to choose the good tradition and reject the bad. The former was founded on reason, and the latter on anarchy. Reason required any nationalist to recognise that the logical embodiment of the concept of the nation was a monarchy: ‘Hereditary monarchy in France is the natural, the rational, the only possible constitution of central power.’ The Revolution and its consequences, democracy, were the enemies of order, and the revolutionary tradition was to be rejected.”

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inspiration and to ignore anything that existed beyond this cultural tradition. The Latin tradition was classicism for Maurras, and it was the perceived Greco-Roman focus on order, stability, and authority that allowed grand siècle France to succeed and led to its cultural prosperity through the patronage of Louis XIV and the art of Nicolas Poussin. In contrast to Maurras’s positivist and essentialist approach to nationalism, Barrès advocated what can be called a “traditionalist” nationalism.155 This approach considered all French history to be critical in the development of the nation. Nothing was ignored, because everything built on the traditions of the past and it was the guiding force of

French heritage in all forms that should lead contemporary decisions.

Barrès’s approach was clearly more inclusive than Maurras’s in its recognition that southern French culture was indeed critical in defining the French nation, as was the

Celtic ancestry of Brittany, or the Gothic cathedrals of Reims, Chartres, and .

This all-encompassing view had populist appeal and drew people toward the embrace of ethnic nationalism.156 One of Barrès’s central tenets was “la terre et les morts,” the idea

155 Ibid., 55. “… Barrès understood both of these terms in specific ways: ‘society’ was the French nation, its shared customs, territory and communities; ‘history’ was the succession of its generations through the centuries.” A quote from Barrès, used by Cottington, which emphasizes the importance of heritage and a shared tradition, “if one is a traditionalist, and submits to the law of continuity, one must take things as one finds them.”

156 Although Barrès and Maurras were friends and respected each other’s writing and ideas, Barrès never committed to the monarchist cause and never joined the Action française. He was, however, more politically active than Maurras and served as a member of the Assemblée Nationale for a large part of his adult life.

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that the land and one’s ancestors were critical in the development of the self.157 He cleverly did not limit this just to the Latin tradition, meaning that one could look at

Gallic, or Celtic, or Frankish heritage and see all as unequivocally French.

The Classical Revival in Art and Theory

By the early 20th century, Mediterranean classicism was a familiar theme among

Parisian literary circles. The visual arts started exploring the subject slightly later than symbolist and École romane poetry, but examples grew after 1900 and rose considerably as the first decade of the 20th century ended. Pierre Puvis de Chavannes was the French painter regarded as an originator of the classical revival in the visual arts. He also furthered national interest in Latin culture. The artist was held in high regard by virtually all members of the Parisian art world and was considered the most famous painter in

France upon his death in 1898. Since the painter began practicing well before Charles

Maurras solidified his theories, Maurras and other right-wing nationalists looked to Puvis de Chavannes as one of the prime examples of what the return to classicism in French art should look like.

Puvis de Chavannes mainly considered himself a decorator and believed that his large-scale murals and paintings should work in accordance with the surrounding architecture. Works such as Pleasant Land display his emphasis on order and structure in his art, as well as subject matter that conjured visions of ancient Mediterranean culture

157 Cottington, Cubism, 54-56. Margaret Werth, The Joy of Life: The Idyllic in French Art, circa 1900 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2002), 58-60 is also helpful in defining Barrès’s notion of “la terre et les morts.”

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(Fig. 63). The strong delineation of the landscape and figures and the muted colors of the overall subject are stylistic preferences cited by conservative critics to argue that Puvis de

Chavannes shared their love for the French classical tradition.158 Dismissing the use of strong and vibrant color to organize his paintings, Puvis de Chavannes focused on drawing as the means of creating structure. In his decorative work, the artist always wanted his painting to work in collaboration with the surrounding architecture to create a pleasing and more beautiful whole. The painting should never move beyond the architectural plane and the use of muted colors was inspired by Puvis de Chavannes’s admiration for Pompeian wall painting and the work of Italian quattrocento frescoists.

The acknowledgement of painting’s subservience to architectural order, the moralizing tone in many of his works, and reference to works of ancient Rome and the early

Renaissance are all qualities that appealed to Maurras and his definition of a nationalist

French aesthetic. Additionally, Puvis de Chavannes’s decision to use the Mediterranean as an idyllic and timeless setting made for an excellent visual counterpart to Maurrassian ideas about Latin heritage in France.159

158 Werth, The Joy of Life, 23-35. Werth detailed the various ways that Puvis de Chavannes’s work was received at the end of the 19th century and how it helped pave the way for the classical revival that happened in the first decades of the 20th century.

159 Puvis de Chavannes’s work was widely praised in the 1880s and 1890s by both republican and monarchist critics, and his universal acclaim led many to call him the most important national artist of the late 19th century. Jennifer L. Shaw, Dream States: Puvis de Chavannes, Modernism, and the Fantasy of France (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002) explored in depth the reception of the artist and how the ambiguous and fantastic nature of his paintings allowed for interpretations that would suit a variety of political arguments about the origins of the French nation. For example, where a nationalist like Maurras would see the depiction of Mediterranean lands as a direct racial link between the Greco-Roman world and modern France, republicans saw

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Besides Pleasant Land, two companion works - Massilia, Greek Colony and

Marseille, Gateway to the Orient - emphasize the ancient ancestry of France and the importance of the Mediterranean to the nation (Figs. 64 & 65). The first painting shows the city of Marseille as it existed in its early days as a Greek colony. Puvis de Chavannes filled the scene with Greek settlers that lived in pastoral bliss. The second work is a seascape of Marseille as it existed in 1869, when Puvis de Chavannes completed the painting. The Mediterranean coast is still emphasized, but the Greek colonists of the past have been replaced by French sailors and merchants who have expanded the city into a bustling hub of commerce and transport. Puvis de Chavannes was commissioned to create these two paintings for the Marseille Musée des Beaux-Arts during an era of

French imperial might. The connection to the past was intentional and had the contemporary French mirror the ancient Greeks. This comparison was meant to perpetuate a French belief that they were as skilled as the ancient Greeks in organization, seafaring, and colonization.160 The painter’s direct connection between 19th century

Puvis de Chavannes’s focus on the Classical past as an assertion of the democratic values that were the foundation of the Third Republic and the French Revolution. Even with differences in political opinion, critics believed there was still an assertion of order and artistic creative process associated with masculinity. But Shaw did illuminate the ambiguity in some of Puvis de Chavannes’s murals (particularly in chapter 3, “Dreaming the French Patrimony,” 65-98), noting that many of the artist’s depictions of ancient lands show values associated with femininity in the late 19th century. These included dreams states, the unconscious, desire, and a lack of order. Shaw’s arguments provide a means to account for Puvis de Chavannes’s widespread popularity while also acknowledging his ability to create paintings that visually manifested the chaos and disjunctures of modernity.

160 Nina Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, “Excavating Greece: Classicism between Empire and Nation in Nineteenth-Century Europe,” Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 7, no. 2

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France and the ancient Mediterranean world indicated the former’s status as the heir to the latter’s civilization. The message of this group of paintings endeared Puvis de

Chavannes to Maurras, who used such visual examples to further emphasize his own ideals for a Latin-based French nationalism.161

Maurice Barrès also used the work of Puvis de Chavannes to make his theory of

“la terre et les morts” visible. It was in the pastoral landscapes of the painter that Barrès saw a connection to the nation’s origins and its past, unspoiled by foreign interventions and present political uncertainty. The focus on the familial units of Puvis de Chavannes, so connected to their natural surroundings, offered a guiding example of behavior to

Barrès. The artist’s use of the past and figures of French ancestry as part of a synthesis

(Autumn 2008), http://www.19thc-artworldwide.org/autumn08/94-excavating-greece- classicism-between-empire-and-nation-in-nineteenth-century-europe.

161 Werth, The Joy of Life, 44. “Maurras appropriates Puvis for a nationalist narrative of historical, racial, aesthetic, intellectual, and psychic continuity, conforming to the law of the unified nation. The artist looks into the canvas-mirror and sees the race; the race realizes itself through the artist. Art enacts the law of continuity, rebinding the living to the dead.” Adding yet another aesthetic testimony to the impact of the classical revival are the sculptures of Aristide Maillol, a méridional who shared Bourdelle’s interest in Puvis de Chavannes. Both artists came to Paris in the early 1880s, and while Bourdelle was focused on a career in sculpture, Maillol only turned to the medium after first experimenting with painting and textile arts. After moving to Paris from his native Banyuls, Maillol enrolled at the École des Arts Décoratifs after being rejected from the École des Beaux-Arts. His paintings were heavily influenced by the Syncretists, notably Paul Gauguin, and the neoplatonic thought of the Nabis, whom Maillol joined in 1894. After an exploration of decorative mural painting, Maillol subsequently devoted himself to tapestry making. The second half of the 1890s was, for Maillol, focused primarily on tapestries, but he abandoned the medium after considerable eye strain - exacerbated by an eye disease - almost made him lose his vision. See Bertrand Lorquin, Maillol (London: Skira, 1995), 11-31.

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with observed landscape was, according to Barrès, the ideal inspiration for the contemporary painter.162

Development of Classicism and Regionalism in Bourdelle’s Art and Identity

New considerations of Bourdelle’s sculpture are found when looking at the rise of nationalism and conservative culture in France alongside the renewed interest in classically inspired art. It took only three years after the unveiling of his Monument to the

Soldiers for Bourdelle to fully shift his oeuvre and to publicly iterate his southern connections. Bourdelle’s display of his méridional pedigree and his appeal to the artisanal traditions of France was a manner of gaining attention in an era marked by concerns over cultural heritage, regional identity, and national pride. In the same year as his exhibition at the Hébrard Gallery, Bourdelle penned an autobiographical essay that was featured in the August 4, 1905 edition of Le Temps.163 This was Bourdelle’s most complete statement of his artistic identity at the time. Rich in detail, the essay presents the reader with Bourdelle’s southern roots and training, which were integral to the creation of his art. Certainly, his thorough and flowery autobiography was intended to establish

Bourdelle in an increasingly crowded field of artists in the capital. The economic boom that began in France in the 1880s resulted in a growing bourgeoisie ready to spend money

162 Werth, The Joy of Life, 59. “Unsurprisingly, Puvis suited Barrès’s conception of the great national artist. His classicizing landscapes with figures patently pictured la terre et les morts and his artistic persona and oeuvre affirmed the geographical and racial unity, the temporal continuity of France. As Barrès wrote of the murals in the museum at Marseille [Massilia, Greek Colony and Marseille, Gateway to the Orient], which he visited many times over the years: ‘Puvis affirms our kinship, and I believe in it.’”

163 Thiébault-Sisson, “Nos artistes racontés par eux-mêmes.”

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on entertainment, leisure, and cultural goods. Parisians in this era who identified their profession as “artist” doubled from the years before the Franco-Prussian War.164 The art market expanded to meet the demand of an expanding pool of wealthy Parisians, and being an artist gained a higher level of respectability as the opportunity to sell work grew.

The increase in practicing artists, however, also meant that there was a greater need to distinguish oneself.

The full essay is included in the appendix (Appendix B). There is a rich level of detail throughout the essay, which needs to be broken down for a clearer understanding of Bourdelle’s intentions. The essay begins with an idyllic description of Bourdelle’s rustic upbringing, one that reinforced a Parisian’s idea of a méridional way of life as pastoral and agricultural. Aspects of the description also parallel the make-believe landscapes of Puvis de Chavannes. Bourdelle discussed his grandfathers as embodiments of the southern “paysan,” in tune with local flora and fauna, connected to nature, practicing artisanal trades, and being content with a “simple” way of life. He embellished the stories of his relatives with mythical properties: he spoke of an uncle whose talents on the syrinx rivalled those of the satyr Marsyas, and of a grandfather possessed with a miraculous ability to catch fish wherever his “divine line” dropped in the water. Such tales add to the folksiness that Bourdelle conjured, thus feeding into the stereotype of the

French south as an exotic land in comparison with the metropolis.165 It is worth

164 Cottington, Cubism, 20.

165 Le Roy Ladurie, “North-South,” 1-24. Le Roy Ladurie’s chapter on the imagined and real divisions between northern and southern France provides illuminating details and general information on the millennia of historical development that contributed to the

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remembering that Bourdelle’s audience for an essay in Le Temps would not have been his fellow townspeople of Montauban. Rather, the tone struck in the essay and the description of his pastoral upbringing indicate that he expected his words to be read by a

Parisian audience that still held certain beliefs about the méridional way of life.

Bourdelle’s descriptions show his awareness of how the people of Paris understood the

Midi, and how he, as a resident of the metropolis, was expected to describe it.166

perceived differences that exist between the Midi and the North. The author cited the north-south dichotomy being strongest, culturally speaking, due to four major factors: Huguenot/Protestant control in the south, historical decentralization in the pays d’oc, positive memories and favoring of the ancien régime in many parts of the Midi in the 19th century, and the complicated aftermath and delayed effects of the Revolution in the south (the third and fourth reasons are interrelated). The impact of these vast historic changes could be applied to the ways in which Bourdelle talks about land, family, local customs, and artistic heritage. To offer one example of the influence of Le Roy Ladurie’s north-south dichotomy, we can look at how Bourdelle talked about the presumed paterfamilias: grandfather “Bourdelles.” He was a goatherd (Le Roy Ladurie makes note of the overabundance of goats in the south) who raised a family of goat herders, and he always dressed “to the nines,” including silver buckles on his shoes for Sunday wear. The grandfather’s Louis XVI vest could suggest both the behind-the-times fashion of the south in comparison to the north, but also speak to the nostalgia for the ancien régime that many méridionaux held. Bourdelle also made it no secret that he came from very humble means and that nobody in his extended family was wealthy. The showy dress could point to a comment by Le Roy Ladurie on page 6, “The poorly sheltered south tightened its belt in order to pay taxes and to dress somewhat ostentatiously - one way of masking certain deficiencies in other aspects of the standard of living.”

166 Ibid., 12. Such perceptions of north and south in France still hold true, especially when it comes to linguistics. As Le Roy Ladurie noted, “The ‘southern accent,’ which in fact varies widely but which strikes the Parisian ear as a unique or unified phenomenon, continues today to mark the majority of the region’s inhabitants, the ‘natives’ of this strange Occitanian country that is not one.” Bourdelle expressed frustration - particularly to Antonin Perbosc - at northern perceptions of the south. It also seems that Bourdelle’s tendency to speak in terms of Montauban or the province of Quercy when speaking about “home” continued this realization from a southerner that it was impossible to think of a unified southern mentality, especially when the region was historically resistant to any kind of unification.

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Bourdelle credited his relatives for raising him in a manner that paid respect to nature. A subtle reference to the expansion of industry and “progress” at the expense of traditional labor is made when he mentions his maternal grandfather’s abandonment of to become a railroad surveyor. Forced from Gaillac to find work, grandfather

Reille lived alone in the valleys of the Aveyron and Tarn rivers as a worker for the expansion of modern transportation.167 Bourdelle also commented on the raw artistic talent present in his family, as well as the tragic stories of his father and his deceased half-brother who were both unable to live up to their artistic potential. Discussion of his relations through memories and instruction rooted the artist to his home soil and to experiences that allowed him to create an art that bore the mark of his “petite patrie.”168

Bourdelle’s essay also connected him to a long line of Montalbanian ancestors. His reference to his father as having studied with Ingres, among others, emphasized the classical aesthetic legacy of his southern homeland.

167 Gaillac is a “commune” in southwestern France, approximately 50 kilometers east of Montauban.

168 “Petite patrie” (little homeland) was a term used by regionalists, including the félibres, to note the importance of one’s home region in relation to “Grande patrie,” the French nation. Two prominent, pro-Félibrige advocates of regionalism and federalism at the end of the 19th century were Louis-Xavier de Ricard and Alphonse Roque-Ferrier. Both devoted republicans, Ricard and Roque-Ferrier used petite patrie to express the love of a home region and how it complemented (and still owed allegiance to) an equally loved greater France. See Roza, “French Languages and French Nationalism,” 177-202 for information on the life and career of Ricard, and for details on the work of Roque-Ferrier. For further information on the concept of petite patrie, see Corbin, “Paris-Province,” 434- 44; Martel, “Le Félibrige,” 3515-553; Agulhon, “The Center and the Periphery,” 60-68; and Le Roy Ladurie, “North-South,” 7-18.

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Bourdelle continued his essay with an explanation of his initial artistic education.

Here, too, his allusion to Ingres and Ingres’s drawings stressed his ties to the celebrated painter. Just like Ingres, Bourdelle displayed a mastery of drawing and line. Additionally,

Bourdelle emphasized his artisanal background and expertise for skills that would facilitate his future career as a sculptor.

Besides insistent mention of the innate talent of his family members, the artist’s discussion of his father’s studio, and his participation in it, echoed the controversy surrounding the French craft tradition at the beginning of the 20th century. After the 1900

Exposition Universelle, there was a growing awareness in Paris that the French craft tradition - previously held in high regard for creating luxury goods of superior quality - was on the decline.169 Art critics of the era attributed this to a variety of causes, including the mechanization and industrialization of the production process and the bourgeois desire to only buy items that were created in older, aristocratic styles. These objects had the illustrious aura of the ancien régime. In addition, the demise of the apprentice system

- outlawed along with the guilds after the Revolution - and the continued high price of handmade, luxury goods contributed to the fall of French crafts. Some critics expressed frustration at the continued replication of older styles as new members of the bourgeoisie

169 A full description of the crisis of the French decorative arts and craft tradition at the turn of the 20th century is found in Nancy Troy, Modernism and the Decorative Arts in France (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991). The second chapter of Troy’s book, “Responses to Industrialization and Competition from Germany,” is the most informative for the purposes of this dissertation, but the first chapter, “Art Nouveau in Paris,” provides details on the conditions that led to Germany’s ability to successfully combine industry with the production of modern decorative arts, as well as the reluctance in France to move beyond conceiving of crafts and the decorative arts as mere handmade luxury goods.

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desired a connection, even if artificial, to the aristocratic past of France.170 When innovation did appear in the decorative arts in the Art Nouveau style, conservative critics saw over-decoration and emasculation in it. This fed back into national fears of a dying race and loss of virility after the Franco-Prussian War.171

The rise of factory-made decorative arts transformed the status of many artisans and decorative artists into industrial laborers, and the skills of the artisan were being negated by the increased demand for ready-made goods. In addition, the liberalism of the

Third Republic opened the consumer market to international, foreign-made products of the decorative arts, with which French artisans increasingly had to compete. German production was a case in point. As opposed to France, Germany’s craft industry was booming. The adoption of new technology by the Germans and the use of designers to develop decorative arts promoted efficiency in workshops and kept costs down. The shock of seeing well-made products coming out of the Munich Ausstellung prompted conservative French critics, including Louis Vauxcelles, to declare that the French craft

170 Ibid., 54-5. In addition to this appearance of refinement from the bourgeoisie, Troy noted that the tendency of furniture manufacturers to use older styles stems from changes to artistic property laws in the first decade of the 20th century. The new laws were beneficial to designers, and as Troy stated, “Thus rebuffed by designers or unable to afford their demands, manufacturers concentrated their efforts on reproductions of period furniture, the designs of which belonged in the public domain, thereby avoiding copyright expenses.”

171 Debora L. Silverman, Art Nouveau in Fin-de-Siècle France (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989). Silverman’s text is the authoritative source on how Art Nouveau and the shifting status of the decorative arts in the Third Republic was reflective of the greater social anxieties about the fallout of the Franco-Prussian War, the rise of feminism, and the continual evolution of both men’s and women’s relationship to the arts as the nineteenth century ended.

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tradition had something to learn from the production methods of the Germans.172 It also led many in France to believe that Germany had surpassed French production and industry, recalling the feelings of national inferiority after the Franco-Prussian War.

Vauxcelles and the critic Roger Marx proposed ways to correct the faults of the decorative arts in France, such as by linking the handmade traditions of French artisans with factory production. They also called for decorative artists to create new styles inspired by the past, but which did not amount to pure emulation.173 There was a push for

172 In reviewing the Salon d’Automne of 1911, which included decorative arts from both Germany and France, Vauxcelles stated, “we [the French] do not have the least bit of discipline, not the least bit of method. Think of the cohesion manifested by those people from Munich! Their teams marched at parade pace. We may be charming and witty, but we frolic about in ultra-dispersed array.” Vauxcelles held that the qualities inherent in the French race allowed decorative artists from that country to create objects that were charming and light, and of a higher aesthetic quality than German works. Still, it worried Vauxcelles that the German decorative artists were able to exhibit completed works in a coherent manner in both 1910 and 1911, while the French artists failed to have a similar level of organization and respect to deadlines. See Troy, Modernism and the Decorative Arts in France, 79. The comments by Vauxcelles spoke to the perceived cultural differences between the organized and industrialized Germans versus the frivolous and insouciant French, qualities that many believed allowed the Prussians to emerge victorious in 1870.

173 These proposals included having decorative artists and designers work more closely with industry and manufacturers, so that new and innovative objets d’art could be produced affordably and at a large scale. This would follow the model that was employed by the decorative arts industry in Munich and was seen by French visitors to the 1908 Ausstellung. There were several challenges to this model: one being that industrial manufacturers were loath to work with any artists that would demand rightful payment for their intellectual property. Emulating the styles of the ancien régime (which were in the public domain) or pulling illustrations from design journals gave the manufacturers complete control over the production and dissemination of their wares. Artistic property laws that were passed in the first decade of the 20th century gave greater control of artistic property to decorative artists and designers, in the hopes that this would foster great collaboration between artists and industry. The laws, however, made each side more hesitant to work with one another: manufacturers still did not want to lose control over designs, and decorative artists did not want to have their protected art - defined as a

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a renewed masculine production in the decorative arts, as opposed to the call in the 1880s and 90s for female craftsmanship. This shift maintained the avant-garde focus on masculinity.174 Bourdelle’s statement that his father was working “as an artist at commercial rates” reflected this return to an all-male artisanal ideal.175

Bourdelle’s discussion of his “training” in the artisanal tradition tapped directly into the fears surrounding the decorative arts in France. He sought to be connected to the older traditions, when French crafts were superior to those of other European nations. Not only were people worried about the outdated styles in which French artisans were working, but they were also concerned about the lack of training from master craftsmen who had been educated through apprenticeships. Akin to the rising populism across

France, the younger Bourdelle’s exposure to an artisanal education imbued him with an admiration of traditional style and practice. This training suggested a level of quality in his work that would not have been present in contemporary sculptors and decorative

cultural product in French copyright law - seen as an industrial object, which was defined differently than art objects. See Troy, Modernism and the Decorative Arts in France, 54- 62.

174 Carol Duncan, “Virility and Domination in Early Twentieth Century Vanguard Painting,” in The Aesthetics of Power (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 94-5.

175 Troy, Modernism and the Decorative Arts in France, 52-54, analyzed the complex and hotly debated definitions of decorative artist, artisan, and manufacturer at the turn of the 20th century, and how this related to the status of the decorative arts in France. The Société des Artistes Décorateurs was established in March 1901 to protect the intellectual property and rights of decorative artists in France. The group made clear that there was a definite distinction between decorative artists, artisans, and manufacturers.

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artists.176 There was undoubtedly a streak of pride that Bourdelle had in describing his family upbringing and the work of his father. The themes of regionalism, the decorative arts, and a distrust of internationalism represented by the École des Beaux-Arts indicate an artist who was very much aware of the developing trends in Parisian cultural and political circles.

The last section of Bourdelle’s essay details his experiences in the École des

Beaux-Arts educational system and the beginning of his professional career. Bourdelle again mentioned his connection to Ingres, the “master of masters,” and his innate talent that allowed him to progress rapidly through instruction at the Toulouse École. He also made clear his attitude towards his training at the Paris École. It is no secret that

Bourdelle looked unfavorably on his time at the École throughout his career.177 He

176 It is intriguing that Bourdelle specifically mentioned in his essay that he was “never made an apprentice” in his father’s studio. This may have been due to his reasons for doing the work, which was initially making wooden copies of sculptures for fun and then helping the family when it was in financial need. The work he did with his father, which included creating “copies of antique sculpted furniture” and repairing “complicated sculpture from China, Japan, Spain, or France” does, however, seem to be the kind of training that a cabinetmaker apprentice would do. Bourdelle’s comment on apprenticeship could also be placed in the context of the looser definition of craftsperson that existed after the disestablishment of artisanal guilds. In the days before the Revolution, guilds set limits on the number of apprentices accepted and had set instruction to ensure a high level of quality in those seeking to become masters of a trade. Apprenticeships were no longer required to become a professional tradesperson after 1791, leading to considerable disparity in the quality of work produced in French crafts.

177 For example, in an interview with the Paris Journal on January 2, 1911, Bourdelle said, “As a student of the School of Fine Arts, poor Michelangelo - condemned to the insipid labor of prize competitions, made foolish by official instruction – would have been lost despite all his skill.” (Michel-Ange pauvre, élève de l’Ecole des Beaux-Arts, condamné au labeur insipide des concours rémunérateurs, abruti par l’enseignement officiel, se serait égaré, en dépit de toute sa puissance. Au contraire, il vécut et travailla parmi les meilleurs et développa son génie en recueillant l’héritage magnifique.)

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sometimes mentioned its uselessness in the formation of original art during his lectures at the Académie de la Grande Chaumière. Significantly, the frustration that Bourdelle felt during his time at the École took cues from a larger debate about art instruction that was happening in Paris around 1905. The question about what defined a French national style became a topic of great interest for artists, art critics, and intellectuals as the country moved towards renewed conflict with Germany.178 The ideas of both Maurras and Barrès loomed large in discussions of French art’s legacy and trajectory. A Maurrassian perspective on artistic heritage, for example, focused on how French art connected back to the works of ancient Greece and Rome, and educated people about the Latin tradition and its high standards of beauty. A Barrèsian approach, in contrast, looked to the productions of the French people in total, including folk art and local architecture.179

178 The unification of the French against the German Empire was capped by the events of the Agadir Crisis (or Second Moroccan Crisis) from April-November 1911. The crisis began when a rebellion broke out against the Sultan of Morocco, Abdelhafid. French troops were quickly mobilized to Fez, where their stated mission was to protect European lives and property. However, the rebellion was a good excuse for a French invasion of Morocco. After French forces quelled the uprising, Abdelhafid quickly signed the Treaty of Fez on March 30, which effectively made Morocco a French colony. In turn, Germany saw French action as a threat to their economic and territorial interests in Africa and demanded compensation from France for their colonial expansion. On July 1, a German gunboat arrived in Agadir, Morocco, with its stated mission being the protection of German trade in the region. The gunboat was soon replaced by a battle cruiser and statements from Berlin included threats of war against France. Calls for negotiation occurred about a week after the arrival of the gunboat in Agadir, and the crisis was resolved in November 1911. Still, the actions of the Germans and threats of conflict convinced most French people that war with Germany was inevitable. For more information about the Agadir Crisis, see David G. Herrmann, The Arming of Europe and the Making of the First World War (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), 147-72.

179 Continuing the fascination with that began during the Romantic period, art critics who advocated for a “traditional” nationalism in the arts declared the highest admiration for Gothic cathedrals. Examples of such criticism can be seen in Laura

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Bourdelle certainly echoed the concerns about the state of the French artistic tradition, both regarding the decorative arts and what constitutes a national art for the country. In an undated letter, he wrote:

… these are years that we no longer create apprenticeships, and our sculptors have not been elected journeymen workers by their elders. The borrowing of Beaux-Arts officials from great Italy (Rome Prize) turned away our heritage. Having crafted buffets, chests, and boxes with wood pulled from the heart of trees, through the initiation that my father gave me, I keep the great French traditions that I almost lose at our annual salons. So I was labeled as rough, and then archaic, because I remain faithful to our sober, measured race, which strikes its internal bell. It must spring from the antique root and then rise up tree branches in the present and wait for flowers with fruits – known at last and sustainable – that will be eaten in the future, when we will have disappeared ...180

Bourdelle affirmed his connection to the traditions of the French people, taking exception to the decline of the French decorative arts and the international focus of the

Morowitz, “Medievalism, Classicism, and Nationalism: The Appropriation of the French Primitifs in Turn-of-the-Century France,” in Nationalism and French Visual Culture, 225-41.

180 Bourdelle, “French Heritage,” in Écrits sur l’art et sur la vie, 29. “C’est que, amis, il y a des années qu’on ne crée plus d’apprentis, et nos sculpteurs n’ont pas été élus compagnons ouvriers par leurs aînés. L’emprunt des Beaux-Arts officiels à la grande Italie (prix de Rome), a détourné notre héritage. D’avoir charpenté des buffets, des coffres, des stalles, avec le bois tiré du cœur des arbres, par l’initation que me donna mon père, m’a gardé aux grandes traditions de France que je faillis perdre à nos salons annuels. Aussi ai-je été traité de fruste, puis d’archaïque, parce que je reste fidèle à notre race sobre, mesurée, qui bat son tocsin en dedans. Il faut surgir de la racine antique et puis dresser les bras de son arbre dans le présent et attendre ses fleurs avec les fruits reconnus enfin et durables, qu’on mangera dans l’avenir, lorsque nous serons disparus …”

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École, a dominant attitude in the French art world between 1870 and 1914.181 This statement seems to favor ideas on French classicism more associated with Barrès.

Allusions to antique roots and branches that rise to the present are reminiscent of the nationalist motto “la terre et les morts.” These were ancestral roots in the nation’s soil that continued to inform French artists.

Herakles the Archer: Reception and Interpretations

Bourdelle’s most famous sculpture, Herakles the Archer, was exhibited at the

Salon de la Sociéte Nationale des Beaux-Arts (S.N.B.A.) in 1910 (Fig. 66). It received near-universal acclaim, was hailed as a milestone of French sculpture, and guaranteed the artist’s fame. The work portrays the sixth of Heracles’s twelve legendary labors: the killing of the Stymphalian birds. Lurking in a swamp in the Corinthian village of

Stymphalia, the mythic man-eating birds sported bronze beaks and metallic feathers, which made them nearly impossible to kill. Heracles overcame the birds by shooting them with arrows dipped in the poisonous blood of the Hydra. As a result of this feat, the horrific creatures were driven out of Arcadia.

In his review of Herakles the Archer, the critic Louis Vauxcelles called it “a tremendous masterpiece, very great heroic statuary.”182 Although the Herakles is

181 Silverman, Art Nouveau in Fin-de-Siècle France, 52-62 addresses the attempts to reassert French craft tradition and superiority in the late-19th century when Germany and the had rapidly increased their industrial and decorative arts production.

182 Louis Vauxcelles, “Promenades à travers le Salon,” Gil Blas, April 16, 1910. “Le «clou» de la sculpture, à la «Nationale» est sans contredit l’Héraclès … par Bourdelle. C’est là un chef-d’œuvre formidable, de la très grande statuaire héroïque.”

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considered a prime example of Bourdelle’s interest in Archaic Greek sculpture,

Vauxcelles did not mention this in his review.183 The critic, however, defined Herakles the Archer as “modern and barbaric” and made note of the roughness of the figure’s head, which is generally regarded as the most archaic feature of the statue. Like the figures in his Monument to the Soldiers, Bourdelle’s Herakles has rather large legs and thighs, especially in comparison to a small head. Vauxcelles did note the difference between head and appendages, both in size and in style. He mentioned Bourdelle’s successful contrast of the head with the “grandeur of volumes and the science of details” in

Heracles’s athletic body (Fig. 67).184

Nearly all critics praised Herakles the Archer as a powerful sculpture with strong musculature and force.185 Although Vauxcelles ignored Bourdelle’s archaic manner, several critics underscored the sculpture’s references to Archaic Greek statuary. They

183 As Herakles the Archer is the sculptor’s most well-known work, the way Bourdelle’s work is described as “Archaic” is often linked to this sculpture. It is difficult, however, to label Herakles the Archer as solely inspired by Archaic art. Even though Bourdelle gained some overall inspiration for the work from Archaic Greek sources, the naturalism and movement of the body is not seen in ancient examples from that era. In truth, it is the head that can be called the “most” Archaic component of the statue, featuring sharp angles, pointed nose, and almond-shaped eyes that were associated with Archaic Greek art in 1910.

184 Vauxcelles, “Promenades.” “L’élasticité d’une musculature svelte à la fois et robuste, le style de la tête de brute sauvage, au profil têtu et pointu, la grandeur des volumes et la science des détails, joignez à cela la beauté fruste d’une patine sans fignolage, et voilà cet Héraclès, moderne et barbare, d’un caractère unique, inoubliable.”

185 The power of Heracles as portrayed by Bourdelle was sometimes interpreted by critics as a display of savagery or barbarism and did lead to racist interpretations. M. Drouot, writing in the March 11, 1910 issue of Le Gaulois, asked “Mais quel motif a poussé cet artiste à s’éloigner de la juste tradition pour donner à son héros la ressemblance choquante d’un Peau-Rouge?”

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especially noted the similarities between Bourdelle’s work and the pediment sculptures of the Temple of Aphaia at Aegina (Figs. 68 & 69).186 And they remarked that Bourdelle may have copied Greek vase painting in the creation of the figure and profile.187

Comparisons to ancient sculptures also brought up thoughts regarding the display of heroism in contemporary artwork. According to Guillaume Apollinaire, sculpture in the

1910 Salon emanated a sense of power and force above all other sections.188 As the critic

Jean Claude stated in the April 16, 1910 issue of Le Petit Parisien:

The sculpture section this year has … a work of complete beauty: the Heracles killing the birds of Lake Stymphalia by Bourdelle. This is not the snoring Hercules of the Roman Italians, nor the beautiful brute of the Greeks, no more than the worrying athlete, so handsome, of the Florentines. It’s the hero who suffers, who fights, who defends himself against a great danger. His stubborn face, tensed by the will to defeat, his muscular arms, his large torso and narrow hips, his nervous legs, everything is in action,

186 The pediment sculptures were arguably the most well-known examples of Greek Archaic sculpture in the early 20th century. Installed in the Munich Glyptothek since 1830, they were a hallmark of the collection and a foundation for understanding the developing field of Classical Archaeology. Some critics made the connection between the and the ancient work. As we see from “La Sculpture,” Le Siècle, April 19, 1910, “Cette sculpture rapelle celles d’Egine.” We see a similar comment from Clement Janin, “La sculpture,” Action, April 14, 1910.

187 Such a critic was M. Morice in the April 14, 1910 issue of Paris Journal, “l’Hercule tendant l’arc, figure primitive telle qu’on voit sur les vases antiques …” Another review from the April 19, 1910 issue of La Gazette de France said, “cet Héraklès de Bourdelles [sic], tuant les oiseaux du Stymphale, que le statuaire a copié des vases grecs …”

188 Guillaume Apollinaire, “Rodin, le plus grand sculpteur moderne. L’influence de Despiau. - Bourdelle artiste puissant. - Jane Poupelet. Henri Arnold. - Niederhausen- Rodo. - Desbois,” Intransigeant, April 14, 1910. “La sculpture possède aujourd’hui une qualité qui manque à presque tous les peintres, sauf peut-être à quelques-uns, qui n’exposent pas dans les Salons officiels. Cette qualité, Goethe l’appelait: la virilité [sic] et la définissait: «une certaine force pénétrante qui, dans les siècles précédents, se répandait dans tous les arts». Il l’appelait aussi: le caractère disant que «dans les arts et la poésie, le caractère, c’est tout».

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however, through a superhuman effort, he pulls back the string of his great bow … This is not a likable art, it’s an august, archaic art, but vibrant, nearly painful … And this magnificent Heracles is poised to take rank among the most beautiful works of French statuary.189

While there were a variety of suggestions from critics about the inspiration of

Herakles the Archer, many remarked on its status as an aggressive work. This included commentary on the force conveyed through the musculature of the figure and the determination expressed in the facial features of Heracles. Bourdelle’s Herakles was viewed as no less than a boulder of a human being, arising from a mound of rocks. His tense muscles echo the hardness of stone. The bow’s string is drawn taut, the bow itself is deeply bent, and the fixed glare of the hero leads the viewer to imagine an invisible target. Critics mentioned the naturalism of the legs and upper torso while commenting on the juxtaposition of the body with the “barbarous” and comparatively miniscule head.

They also noticed Bourdelle’s focus on the figure’s lower body, especially the musculature of the thighs and the prominent display of Heracles’s genitalia. Terms used by critics – including “svelte and robust musculature” by Vauxcelles, “virility” by

Apollinaire, and “nervous legs” by Claude – underline the attention paid to the

189 Jean Claude, Le Petit Parisien, April 16, 1910. “La section de sculpture comte cette année, avenue d’Antin, une œuvre de toute beauté: l’Héraclès tuant les oiseaux du lac Stymphale, de Bourdelle. Ce n’est pas l’Hercule ronflant des Italiens de Rome ni la belle brute des Grecs, non plus que l’inquiétant athlète, trop beau, des Florentins. C’est le héros qui souffre, qui combat, qui se défend contre un danger formidable. Sa face têtue, tendue dans la volonté de vaincre, ses bras musculeux, son torse large et ses hanches étroites, ses jambes nerveuses, tout est en action cependant que, par un effort surhumain, il ramène en arrière la corde de son grand arc … Ce n’est pas de l’art aimable, c’est de l’art auguste, archaïque, mais vibrant, presque douloureux … Et cet Héraclès magnifique est digne de prendre rang parmi les plus belles œuvres de la statuaire française.”

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sculpture’s anatomy. This was in fact the subject of a satirical cartoon included in the

April 11, 1910 edition of Paris-Journal (Fig. 70). The cartoon includes two sculptures surrounded by Salon visitors. The sculpture on the left, clearly Bourdelle’s Herakles, is surrounded exclusively by women, while the sculpture on the right, a female nude, is viewed only by men. The sexual interpretation of Herakles the Archer is underlined with the cartoon caption that has the women proclaim, “Ah! A complete man, what a dream!

Bravo, Bourdelle!”190

The virility and musculature of Bourdelle’s sculpture can also be viewed in context of a rising militaristic and nationalist climate in France, notably in relation to the perceived health and strength of the French male soldier and his preparation for forthcoming conflict with Germany. It has been suggested that Bourdelle’s use of

Archaic features in the head was meant to disguise the identity of the model, Captain Paul

Doyen-Parigot, who wished to remain anonymous, although critics stated that the military man was the figural source of the work (Figs. 71 & 72).191 Doyen-Parigot became a friend of Bourdelle’s after the two met at one of Rodin’s salons. The captain was known in Paris as an accomplished soldier, as well as a strong proponent of athleticism in France. Both of those traits were held in high regard by the Parisian public

190 Paris-Journal, April 11, 1910. “Chœur des femmes: Ah! un homme complet: C’est le rêve! … Bravo, Bourdelle!”

191 Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 102. “La force de cette sculpture, son équilibre entre vide et tension du corps, la géométrisation des formes et le caractère idéalisé du visage - le modèle [Doyen-Parigot] souhaitait ne pas être reconnaissable - séduisent le public.” La Gazette de France, April 19, 1910. “Or, il paraît que le corps de Héraklès est pris sur nature. Héraklès aurait été posé par le capitaine Doyen Parigot, cousin du fameux chirurgien, et athlète superbe.”

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in 1910. As a member of several sporting societies in the metropolis, Doyen-Parigot was representative of a larger movement that promoted sports and athletics in the country, primarily to strengthen the French male body in preparation for future conflicts with

Germany.

The rise of athletics in France after the Franco-Prussian War prompt further discussion of Herakles the Archer.192 The Third Republic government and the French people were gravely concerned with the strength and health of young men after the humiliating defeat at the hands of the Prussians. In the decades following the war, republican politicians like Léon Gambetta and Jules Ferry called for a national initiative to set up gymnastic and military training clubs across the country and to include military exercises for boys in public education.193 The promotion of physical fitness in an organized setting had a twofold agenda: to promote unity and strengthen patriotism in participants, and to produce a new generation of healthy men, trained and ready for any future military conflicts.194 Gymnastics organizations spread beyond government

192 Information on the origins and development of military training, gymnastics, and sporting clubs in France can be found in Eugen Weber, “Gymnastics and Sports in Fin- de-Siècle France: Opium of the Classes?,” The American Historical Review 76, no. 1 (February 1971): 70-98. The article was groundbreaking in its discussion of the rise of athleticism in France, as well as analyzing the reception of and class differences between gymnastics and sport in the country. A deeper investigation into the nationalist and patriotic undertones of organized athleticism is presented in Pierre Arnaud, “Dividing and uniting: sports societies and nationalism, 1870-1914,” in Nationhood and Nationalism in France, 182-94.

193 Arnaud, “Dividing and uniting,” 182-3.

194 Interestingly, the French initiatives were directly inspired by the “Turnverein,” or gymnastics clubs, first organized by the Prussian educator Friedrich Ludwig Jahn in the early 1800s. The Napoleonic conquests of the German States inspired Jahn to create

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initiatives and private groups began setting up clubs across the country.195 While the athletic movement had its origins in republican ideals, many of these clubs took on a more militant nationalist tone through the 1870s and 1880s. As an example, the Union des Sociétés de Gymnastique de France became associated with the Ligue des Patriotes.

Emphasis was taken off the militant aspects of the clubs after the end of the Boulanger

Affair in 1889 and interest in gymnastics and military training organizations waned in the last decade of the 19th century.196 This decline did not, however, alter the overall popularity of sports in the 1890s. A growing fascination with English games, such as soccer and rugby, as well as the advent of the modern Olympics, led to international competition between countries.197

groups that would improve physical fitness in men, as well as promote the idea of German nationalism.

195 Weber, “Gymnastics and Sports,” 73.

196 The Boulanger Affair of 1889 involved the political aspirations of General Georges Boulanger, a military man who called for revenge against Germany for the taking of Alsace and Lorraine, as well as the restoration of the monarchy. Supported by the urban working classes, country folk, Catholics, and monarchists, Boulanger quickly rose to political power through his populist and nationalist messages and nearly succeeded in organizing a coup d’état in 1889. The Third Republic overcame the political crisis and subsequently tamped down any government programs or policies that overtly promoted militant nationalism, which was used by Boulanger to garner support.

197 The first modern Olympic Games were held in Athens in 1896. Pierre de Coubertin (1863-1937) created the modern Olympic movement as an international athletic competition. Like others, de Coubertin saw physical fitness as a crucial component of French longevity, but he always intended for the Olympics, and international sport in general, to be pacifist and apolitical in nature. De Coubertin’s statements on the subject include, “All my researches [sic] convinced me however; that at the close of the Century, that had seen its rise, Athletism [sic] run already great dangers to degenerate, and to be stopped in its progress, if some strong and energetic influence were not brought to bear upon it … If we did not wish to see Athletism degenerate and die out a second time, it

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The rise of sports in France was not intended to be part of a nationalist ideology.

However, political events that occurred in the early 20th century caused the French public to increasingly see international athletic competitions as an expression of national vitality and to consider the healthy male body as a source of pride. The year 1905 included displays of nationalist sentiment connected to both gymnastics and sports, which were exacerbated by mounting hostility between France and Germany. The beginnings of the

Moroccan Crisis in March 1905 stoked feelings of nationalism and jingoism across

France.198 A potential military conflict was resolved diplomatically in March 1906, but the events surrounding the crisis caused the Action française and other right-wing organizations to gain further popularity.199 Moreover, the prospect of renewed military conflict opened the old wounds of the loss of the Alsace and Lorraine territories, still under German rule but a vital component of the nation in the eyes of nationalists and

“revanchists.”

had to be purified and united,” and his expression of the hope that, “ … the revival of the Olympic Games will bring Athletism to a high state of perfection, and that they will infuse new elements of ambition in the lives of the rising generation: a love for concord and a respect for life!” See Pierre de Coubertin, “The Modern Olympic Games,” in Olympism: Selected Writings, ed. Norbert Müller (Lausanne, International Olympic Committee, 2000), 308-11.

198 The event started when Kaiser Wilhelm II visited Tangier and declared Germany’s support for Moroccan independence from French and Spanish rule. The French government took great offense at Germany’s meddling in their colonial affairs, and a subsequent series of statements and military maneuvers by both sides convinced many in France that war would erupt. For further details on the events of the Moroccan Crisis, and how allies of both Germany and France reacted to it, see Herrmann, The Arming of Europe, 37-58.

199 Eugen Weber, The Nationalist Revival in France, 1905-14 (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1968), 58.

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As an image of the modern soldier-athlete, Bourdelle’s sculpture takes on overtones of patriotism and French greatness. Critics specifically commented on the fitness and strength of the model, and many also expressed admiration for the determination of the figure. It is reasonable to view Herakles the Archer as an allegorical sibling to the defiant soldiers and their offspring who appeared in numerous Franco-

Prussian War memorials, presented as ready to fight Germany to the last. Heracles’s facial expression seems strikingly similar to the sword-carrying soldier and figure of

Marianne in Bourdelle’s earlier Monument to the Soldiers, both of whom continue to fight despite the odds (Figs. 73 & 74). The expressive and distorted proportions of the

Monument to the Soldiers’s cuirassier seem to carry over into the outstretched arm and leg of Herakles the Archer. A similar attention to musculature and the body in Heracles was present in the Great Warrior figure, also from the Monument to the Soldiers (Fig.

75).

In these examples of combat figures – the soldier, the Great Warrior, and

Heracles – Bourdelle displayed a willingness to explore distortion of form and disharmony. The same could be said of the Pallas figures: although the cylindrical body and the oval shape of the face provide strong geometry to the sculptures, the elongated neck alters the overall balance of form. Besides the lingering influence of Rodin, one explanation for Bourdelle’s formal decisions in his early-20th century work was his interest in Michelangelo. Bourdelle’s admiration for the Renaissance artist appeared in

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his art and correspondences throughout his life.200 Colin Lemoine has noted the influence of Michelangelo’s Ignudi figures from the Sistine Chapel on Bourdelle’s Adam (Fig.

76).201 Lemoine has also described the similarities in facial features between Bourdelle’s

1909 bust of Auguste Rodin and Michelangelo’s Moses at San Pietro in Vincoli in Rome

(Figs. 77 & 78).202 Bourdelle’s admiration for Michelangelo continued and when he visited Rome in September 1922, he wrote that Michelangelo was “the greatest of the

Italian Renaissance, he is alone and apart from the Italian frame, he exceeds, he is a prophet.”203 Such a respect for the work of the Renaissance artist partly explains

Bourdelle’s interest in the manipulation of the human form that appeared in the

Monument to the Soldiers. Even with these distortions, there was still praise for

200 Lambraki-Plaka, Bourdelle et la Grèce, 19-20. Lambraki-Plaka investigated Bourdelle’s early infatuation with the art of Michelangelo and how it influenced his later sculptures.

201 “La creature de Dieu est ici un Adam après la faute, hanté par son péché et par sa culpabilité. Pour suggérer l’irréparable commis dans le jardin d’Eden, l’artiste empurnte au repertoire opulent de Michel-Ange. De fait, la position recroquevillée et la nudité musculeuse du personage évoquent les Ignudi athlétiques qui ponctuent les scenes de la Création sur la voûte de la Sixtine.” Colin Lemoine, “Adam,” Musée Bourdelle, accessed February 24, 2020, http://www.bourdelle.paris.fr/fr/oeuvre/adam.

202 “Il s’agit bien d’un homage dans l’hommage puisque Bourdelle s’inspire, pour cette effigie de la terribilita, du célèbre Moise de Michel-Ange pour l’église Saint-Pierre-aux- liens de Rome.” Colin Lemoine, “Rodin,” Musée Bourdelle, accessed February 24, 2020, http://www.bourdelle.paris.fr/fr/oeuvre/rodin.

203 “Fresques de Michel-Ange à la Sixtine, très, très belles. Là il est le plus grand de la Renaissance italienne; il est solitaire, hors du cadre italien; il dépasse; c’est un prophète. Le peintre en lui protège le sculpteur et le poète de même. Michel-Ange est un très vaste homme.” Bourdelle, “Rome, 27 septembre 1922,” in Écrits sur l’art et sur la vie, 46.

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Bourdelle’s combat figures as examples of the healthy and robust male body, even if these definitions are sometimes relative.

A connection with the Monument to the Soldiers also establishes a link between the Herakles the Archer and the Franco-Prussian War. If we can read Heracles as an allegorical representation of the healthy French male body, then who is the soldier-athlete firing upon? Is it possible that the Stymphalian Bird, with its barbarism, iron feathers, and hunger for conflict, was seen by Parisians as a parallel to the German Eagle? It would be a fitting and patriotic expression for the Herakles/French soldier to drive the Stymphalian

Bird/German Eagle out of Arcadia, perhaps a parallel to the idyllic vision of France presented by Puvis de Chavannes and Charles Maurras. Connecting the French male to

Heracles would also be an excellent way of making ties between the country and the

Latin tradition.

Bourdelle’s incorporation of the sculpture into later projects also indicated his deliberate attempt to connect the Herakles to a militaristic spirit. For example, in 1925,

Bourdelle completed the Monument to Athletes in Toulouse. The sculpture was dedicated to Alfred Mayssonnié, a rugby player who had died in combat on September 6, 1914

(Fig. 79).204 The artist chose to use his Herakles as the centerpiece of the new monument,

204 Michel Merckel, “L’Héraklès Archer de Toulouse,” La Mission du Centenaire de la Première Guerre Mondiale, published November 8, 2016, http://centenaire.org/fr/en- france/midi-pyrenees/haute-garonne/lherakles-archer-de-toulouse. The article also states that Mayssonnié was the first professional rugby player to die in combat during the war.

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framing the Greek hero with a classical colonnade that alludes to a Greek temple.205

Previously seen as a sculpture of force and strength, the figure of Heracles took on new meaning when used for a World War I monument dedicated to a fallen French sportsman.

Heracles becomes a shorthand for the courageous, patriotic athlete-soldier who gave his life defending his country. The ancient Greek hero was transported to the present and was specifically linked to the real-life French athletes of the country in 1925.

Besides the Monument to Athletes, the image of Heracles appeared in a series of sketches that Bourdelle made in preparation for the 1924 Summer Olympics in Paris.

Bourdelle was asked to create posters for the event and nearly all the preparatory drawings featured Heracles in the same pose used in Herakles the Archer (Figs. 80 &

81). The Stymphalian Birds, some already wounded by the hero’s arrows, are present in these posters. Bourdelle also updated Heracles’s face to create a more classical-looking figure and added drapery to cover the genitals.206 The connection that Bourdelle made between his Heracles and both the Monument to Athletes and the Olympic Games in Paris indicate a connection between combat and athleticism for the artist. It equally speaks to the rise in sports and the tendency for people to make connections between international athletic competitions and nationalism in the early 20th century.207

205 The temple is spartan in appearance, constructed of undecorated concrete and featuring eight columns, with neither capital nor base, surrounding the sculpture in a rectangle.

206 The artist’s proposed poster, however, was never used for official publications.

207 Pierre de Coubertin envisioned the Olympic Games as also including competitions for literature and the visual arts. From the 1912 Games in Stockholm to the 1948 Games in London, art exhibitions were considered a fundamental component of the Olympics and

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The Auguste Quercy Memorial and Its Impact on Bourdelle

Auguste Quercy died in 1899. In 1911, Bourdelle created a bust of his childhood friend for Montauban. Its completion was marked with a dedication ceremony and events celebrating the region’s history and culture.208 Bourdelle was invited as a guest of honor.

The Tribune de Sud-Ouest noted the presence of numerous dignitaries representing

Félibrige chapters.209 There were, however, no officials from the French government on hand.210 The ceremony, banquet, and jeux floraux accompanying the statue’s dedication served as celebrations of southern French identity when the Félibrige movement was still popular.

promoted the international spirit of the event. Both Antoine Bourdelle and Aristide Maillol entered the sculpture competition for the 1924 Paris Games, but the first prize went to M. Dimitriadis, a Greek artist who trained and lived in Paris.

208 The two-day affair included a concert, which featured local songs and some of Quercy’s poems set to music. The dedication of the bust was on the second day, accompanied by dedications from M. Rigal, “capiscol” - or director - of the Montauban Escolo Carcinolo; M. Capéran, mayor of Montauban; M. Mathet, delegate from the Académie of the Tarn-et-Garonne; Antonin Perbosc; Antoine Bourdelle; Gabriel Laforgue, a Montalbanian historian; Marius Bonneville, a friend of the Quercy family; M. Sourreil, capiscol of the Toulouse Escolo Moundino; and Paul Prouho, capiscol of the Rabastens Laùzeto Rabastinholo. Jeux Floraux followed the dedication, and the celebration was finished by a banquet, as was expected from félibres.

209 Marius Bonneville, “Nos Fêtes Félibriéenes, Inauguration du Buste d’A. Quercy,” La Tribune du Sud-Ouest, October 22, 1911.” Besides the chapters mentioned in the previous footnote, members of the Claucado de Moissac were also present. These groups were all located in the Languedoc region of the Midi and there was no guest of honor who represented Provence. Frédéric Mistral did send a letter of congratulations to the ceremony, but his lack of attendance did not seem to be perceived as a slight.

210 Ibid.

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Bourdelle’s bust of Auguste Quercy is a minor work in the artist’s oeuvre (Fig.

82). Its importance lies, however, in its statement of Bourdelle’s unflagging loyalty to his regional roots and hometown. The years 1900 to 1910 were a period of intense work and self-promotion for Bourdelle and his efforts paid off with the success of Herakles the

Archer. The time between 1900 and 1914 showed a greater focus on Bourdelle’s development of a new manner closely related to both nationalism and the Classical revival. This is not to say that Bourdelle suddenly forgot his love for Montauban; his return to his hometown for the dedication of the Quercy bust is proof of his continued fondness. His trip back to the French south, in turn, influenced his future creative output.

At the dedication ceremony, the lack of government officials, apart from the mayor of Montauban, indicated that the event was not seen as a matter of national importance, although the activities of the Félibrige and other southern cultural organizations were becoming increasingly significant in defining French national identity in the years preceding World War I.211 If we compare the dedication of Bourdelle’s

Monument to the Soldiers in 1902 and the Quercy celebration in 1911 we may see why there was a lack of national attention.212 The two memorials and dedicatory events had

211 For background on the relationship between the Félibrige and the Third Republic, see Chapter 4, “New Horizons, and New Ideas: Languedoc, Catalonia, and Pan-Latinism,” and Chapter 5, “‘Choses de Vacances’: The Félibrige in Paris,” in Roza, “French Languages.”

212 “Inauguration du Monument des Combattants de 1870-71,” Le Républicain du Tarn- et-Garonne, September 16, 1902. As an indication of the contrast between the two dedication ceremonies, delegates in 1902 included two senators, three deputies, a brigadier general (who served as the representative for the Ministry of War), and the departmental prefect.

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separate agendas: one was a war memorial dedicated to the nation, while the other was a monument to an individual who focused on a region and its culture. Guests of honor in

1902 were representatives of the state and elected officials, including representatives from the War Ministry. The 1911 dedication primarily included individuals affiliated with the Félibrige, literary figures, and noted friends of Auguste Quercy. The most interesting aspect of the earlier ceremony was that the dignitaries of the dedication called for the unity of all regions of France in service of the state.213 This may have been an anxious acknowledgement about the nation’s fragility that had been present since the founding of the Third Republic. There was no discussion of any Occitan, or specifically regionalist, aspects in the 1902 ceremony. The overwhelming message was that the Tarn- et-Garonne region sacrificed for the country.

There was a noted swelling of pride for a Montauban hero and local culture in

1911. A toast by the “sous-capiscol,” or vice-president, of the Escolo Carsinolo, M.

Victor Lavitry, included these words:

By honoring Quercy, we honor all the Carcinol (residents of the Quercy province) hearts and throw across our valleys and plains this great breath of national pride and hope under which the souls of our fathers stirred. To Auguste Quercy! To the Occitan homeland!!! To Montauban!!!214

213 Ibid., Charles Capéran, the Mayor of Montauban and a deputy, stated in his speech, “N’oublions jamais qu’il faut servir la France avant tout et la placer au-dessus de tout; et donnons cette impression à l’étranger que les Français seront toujours prêts à marcher d’un même élan et d’un même cœur lorsqu’il s’agira de la défense du pays.”

214 Bonneville, “Nos Fêtes.” “En honorant Quercy, nous honorons tous les cœurs Carcinols, et jetons à travers nos vals et nos plaines ce grand souffle de fierté nationale et d’espérance sous lequel ont vibré les âmes de nos pères! A Auguste Quercy! à la patrie occitane! à Montauban!”

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Here we see a full promotion of regional identity. Bourdelle’s willingness to contribute by creating the statue and attending the festivities speaks to a continued interest in his homeland. A greater sense of what the celebrations meant to Bourdelle, as well as his contemporary thoughts on his relationship to the Midi, can be gathered from his dedicatory speech for the Auguste Quercy monument, as published in the Tribune du

Sud-Ouest.215 Like his earlier autobiographical essay, the dedication serves as an excellent indicator of Bourdelle’s sense of identity and his art. It also offers a look at

Bourdelle’s thoughts shortly after he became nationally famous from creating Herakles the Archer. Throughout this lengthy address, Bourdelle made references to those aspects of the Midi that both he and the Félibrige held dear - language, people, and the land. The address begins by describing the backbreaking labor of country folk, but then moves onto the plight of the poet as causing even greater pain. Bourdelle said that Quercy engaged in both the toils of a laborer and the pursuit of art, and it was his work as a poet that should be admired more:

Everywhere we struggle and the hammer, the plow, the black pickaxe, and piled-up things are heavy during the bleak, obligatory day. But what are the raised lands and their valleys and mountains, the plowings and harvests and all the workers’ toils compared to the innumerable hells that burn at the base of the mind? Oh, you convicts of the body who fight without end to conquer ashes! Ashes of pain, of the flesh and of wine and the shadow of rest, alas! With the vanity of the future, with the infinite hope of attaining a bit of unapproachable liberty! Oh, prisoners of the body, oh prisoners of circumstance just as are the thinkers you love and pity! And yet, the thinkers work a much harder field, there is no rock as tough to approach as shaping and knowing oneself.

215 Antoine Bourdelle, “Discours de M. Emile-Antoine Bourdelle, sculpteur,” La Tribune du Sud-Ouest, October 29, 1911.

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It is necessary to fight without truce and pursue across our successive deaths an ever-continuing ideal. Ah! This noble fight for matter and mind gnawed our poet. A voice said to him: slave away for your family. Another cried: sing with your country! Quercy toiled and wrote. Hard work done for his beautiful desire to make people laugh for a moment. All of this burned in our friend; it always seemed to resound in him like an incessant forge fire.216

Clearly, this speech shows that Bourdelle’s interest in poetry and literature continued. So did his belief in the symbolist and École romane belief of art being above the material world. The labor of the peasant may be backbreaking, but it is finite and physical. The true work, that of the poet, is eternal and unending, and it leaves metaphysical presence of the artist long after the body expires. Later in the eulogy,

Bourdelle acknowledged the presence of attending friends and colleagues of Quercy, all of whom have the same dedication to the preservation of Langue d’Oc as their deceased companion:

216 Ibid. “Partout on peine et le marteau et la charrue et le pic noir et les chiffres en tas sont lourds dans la morne journée forcée. Mais, qu’est-ce que les terres soulevées et leurs vallées et leurs montagnes, les labours, les moissons, puis tous les travaux ouvriers, auprès des enfers innombrables qui brûlent au fond de l’esprit? O vous forçats du corps qui combattez sans fin pour conquérir des cendres! Cendres du pain, de la chair et du vin et l’ombre du repos, hélas! avec la vanité des lendemains, avec l’espoir infini d’atteindre un peu l’inabordable liberté! O prisonniers du corps, ô prisonniers des faits, comme les penseurs vous aiment et vous plaignent! Et pourtant, le penseur laboure un champ plus dur, il n’y a pas de roc si roide à aborder que de se façonner, de connaître soi-même. Il faut se combattre sans trêve et poursuivre à travers nos successives morts un idéal qui se reprend toujours. Ah! ce noble combat pour la matière et pour l’esprit rongeait notre poète. Une voix lui disait: Trime pour ta famille, Une autre lui criait: Chante avec ton pays! Quercy trimait et écrivait. Un dur labeur faisait selon son beau désir rire un instant la face du peuple en sueur. Tout cela brûlait notre ami; il m’a toujours semblé entendre en lui comme un incessant feu de forge.”

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All you félibres who have guided me towards your chosen place, this garden truly is deep, secret, and attractive, similar to your dialect. Only a few passionate scholars know you. You are beautiful, closed fruits. Sometimes, those who know will come here to see the interior supporting the sculpted faces, like the lonely initiates coming to you félibres, who know how to taste you in the soul of the obscure letter. And I move towards you, dear Augustin Quercy, you the friend and you the poet! Do you remember yourself; do you remember yourself during the harsh vigils of struggle? You, my constant support in my initial troubles - You, who knew to lend me your faith in the poor and uncertain hours when everything unknown oppressed me? But, friend, you were no longer there when I dragged this wild war to Montauban, where all standing bronze fights on the granite, suffocating, sobbing, and crying on four sides. You had desired with all your heart and all your thought that I make this sculpture. You were no longer there when I brought it, panting. It had not wanted to stay – here in my country they cried out against it while - deadly irony! – it makes the stranger think. If you were present, great friend, they could have had more wisdom. With your scathing verses, you could have defended this heap of unhappiness against those who bite our heels throughout battle, and who shout “Vivat!” at us. We are still standing when the tumult ends.217

217 Ibid. “Vous tous, félibres qui m’avez guidé vers ce lieu que vous aviez choisi, ce jardin vraiment est profond, secret et attirant, il est pareil à votre dialecte. Seuls quelques lettrés passionnés vous connaissent. Vous êtes de beaux fruits scellés. Ici viendront parfois ceux qui savent voir le dedans supportant les faces sculpturales, comme viennent à vous félibres les seuls initiés qui vous savent goûter dans l'âme de la lettre obscure. Et j’avance vers toi, cher Augustin Quercy, toi, l’ami et toi le poète! Te souviens-tu, te souviens-tu des rudes veillées de combat? Toi, mon constant soutien dans mes premières peines - Toi qui sus me prêter ta foi à l’heure pauvre et incertaine où tout l’inconnu m’oppressait? Mais, ami, tu n’étais plus là quand je traînai à Montauban cette sauvage guerre, dont tout l’airain debout combat sur le granit qui suffoque et sanglotte et crie des quatre faces. Toi qui avais voulu de tout ton cœur, de toute ta pensée que je fasse cette œuvre, toi tu n’étais plus là, quand je l’apportai pantelante. Elle eût voulu ne pas rester, on a crié contre celle, ici, dans mon pays, alors que - ironie mortelle! - elle fait songer l’étranger. Toi présent, grand ami, on aurait eu plus de prudence. Tu aurais su avec tes vers cinglants défendre contre eux-mêmes ce tas de malheureux qui nous mord les talons au long de la bataille et qui nous crient, Vivat! quand le tumulte mort, nous sommes demeurés debout.”

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As Bourdelle saw it, the work of the félibres was like that of the hypothetical poet, only more exclusive and obscure. It is to those that speak the “deep, secret, and attractive” dialect of Langue d’Oc that the beautiful mysteries of both the Quercy memorial and the work of the Félibrige were revealed.

Bourdelle continued by musing on Quercy’s legacy and how to best decorate his memorial:

Through the long vigil of your youth, seeing your work decorated by the strong and measured [Antonin] Perbosc and carried to publication through the care of your Escolo peers, under everyone’s gaze your spirit is completely breathless in the ardor of your renaissance. Ah! I feel your spirit tremble in the space finally opened for you. Is it not Quercy who makes the leaves shiver so in the trees? October’s touching foliage slowly brightens the azure group of félibres gathered to celebrate you. It’s you, Quercy, who wants this; you remember that the gold of the woods is a poet’s wealth and you want to give that wealth to all those who make your verses flourish. You delivered from the ashes, I sense you there, I see you living, we sense your embracing spirit because your memory grasps our souls. Having returned to the country for you, I did not want to bring you anything but materials that we believe eternal, but the hardest bronze crumbles like our dust and love alone is immortal. Having come to you from strong, rustic lands - from the immobile and lonesome Roc d’Anglar - I do not bring you pure branches broken on rocks to adorn your pedestal. I do not bring you the heavy blue grapes - which fully darken in of their leaves - mixed with the half-wild brown figs of the harvests. I have taken all this into my soul over a long period, so that the grace of fruits with the grace of branches helps the work of [illegible], so that my sculpture could be a bit inspired by their simplicity. I made only a modest monument but it appears magnificent since it has an assembly of pure félibres around its base like a living crown.218

218 Ibid., “Par la longue veillée de ton cadet, en voyant ton œuvre surgir paré par le puissant et mesuré Perbosc, en le voyant porté au jour du livre, sous le regard de tous par les bons soius de tes pairs de l’Escolo, ton esprit est tout haletant dans l'élan de ta renaissance. Ah! je sens ton esprit frémir dans tout l’espace ouvert enfin pour toi. N’est- ce pas lui, Quercy qui fait tant frissonner les feuilles dans les arbres? La touchante

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Just as the original Félibrige committed itself to preserving the dying Provençal language and culture in the mid-19th century, so the Escolo Carcinolo worked to ensure that the memory and writings of Quercy would live on after his death.219 The discussion of the Roc d’Anglar and the fruits of the harvest reveal Bourdelle’s familiarity with the region, speak of his connection to it, and suggest the importance of “la terre” to

Bourdelle’s work. In his typical poetic fashion, the sculptor declared no need for any material evidence of the lands surrounding Montauban to decorate the memorial. Rather, the land itself was part of his soul, and by extension, his creative output. Anything he created would automatically be imbued with the energy of the Languedoc. The spirit of

Quercy pulled Bourdelle back to the south to speak on a project that was saturated with the identity of Montauban and the surrounding region. In turn, Bourdelle made the claim that he sculpted in a style of “simplicity” that reflected the landmarks, vegetation, and

feuillée d’octobre étoile lentement le groupe azuré des félibres venus pour te fêter. C’est toi, qui veux cela, Quercy; tu te souviens que l’or des bois, c’est la fortune des poètes et tu veux la donner à tous ceux-là qui font épanouir tes vers. Toi, délivré des cendres, je te sens-là, je te vois vivre, nous sentons ton esprit qui embrasse le nôtre, car tout ton souvenir étreint toute notre âme. Revenu au pays pour toi, je n’ai pas voulu t’apporter de ce monde rien que des matériaux que nous, nous croyons éternels, mais l’airain le plus dur meurt comme nos poussières et seul l’amour est immortel. Venu vers toi des fortes terres paysannes, de l’immobile roc d’Anglar, empli de solitude, je ne t’apporte pas des branches pures brisées dans la chair des rochers, pour en orner ton piédestal. Je ne t’apporte pas de pesants raisins bleus, qui s’assombrissent tout, dans la pénombre de leurs rames, mêlés aux figues brunes mi-sauvages des vendanges. J’avais pris tout cela, dès longtemps, dans mon âme afin que la grâce des fruits, avec la grâce des rameaux, secoure l’œuvre de [illegible], pour qu’ainsi mon travail de pierre puisse un peu s’inspirer de leur simplicité. Je n’ai tiré, du tout, qu’un monument modeste, mais il apparaît somptueux puisqu’il porte autour de sa base, comme une vivante couronne, de purs félibres assemblés.”

219 Bourdelle expressed gratitude in his speech to Antonin Perbosc, who led the effort to publish Quercy’s work into a collection of poetry.

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people of the rustic country around Montauban. Throughout his dedication, Bourdelle referenced the hidden and obscure qualities of Langue d’Oc and the beautiful, yet ephemeral aspect of Quercy’s literature. Bourdelle believed that the country artisan and the poet were both fundamental aspects of Quercy’s Languedoc identity, but the cerebral nature of language and poetry made them intangible. Perhaps the “simple” style of the sculpture attests to Quercy’s observable qualities, while Bourdelle believed the “living crown” of “pure félibres” was the only way one could visually note Quercy’s poetic legacy.

Near the end of his speech, Bourdelle mentioned Quercy’s immortality through art, in terms that also evoked his southern origins:

Take all this, Quercy, like a poor bouquet of badly joined branches with my flowers of memory and gratitude, a frail sheaf of admiration upon which many friends - some rushed francimans and your Escolo Carcinolo - have laid a full bundle of laurels. Who knows which person is trembling more in the small garden than those branches, or in the old park where the grass whispers at their feet. And now, Quercy, an unknown poet is going to crop up from your work. Your proud and good laugh hid the other part of your soul for a long time, you spent your life cheering up the poor a bit, [illegible]. But now it’s just your art that ascends. If you did nobly laugh long ago, now you will make [us] think. I leave you now; you are going to be there, alone, leaning towards our earth in your rigid bronze shirt - your proud work shirt. See this stubborn brow in this bronze that does not bend more than your faith ever sagged in the bloom of roman speech.220

220 Bourdelle, “Discours.” “Prends tout cela, Quercy, comme un pauvre bouquet de branches, très mal jointes, avec mes fleurs du souvenir et de la gratitude, frêle gerbe d’admiration à laquelle beaucoup d’amis, quelques francimans accourus et ton Escolo Carsinolo ont lié fortement tout faix de lauriers. On ne sait pas lequel est le plus frémissait du petit jardin qu’elles sont, ou de l’antique parc dont les gazons chuchotent à leurs pieds. Et maintenant, Quercy, un poète inconnu va surgir de ton œuvre. Ton rire, fier et bon, cacha longtemps l’autre part de ton âme, tu consumas ta vie pour égayer un peu les pauvres, [illegible]. Mais maintenant, c’est tout ton art qui monte et si tu fis jadis

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The term “franciman” was used by southerners to refer to residents of the north. It was sometimes used pejoratively, especially in an era of heightened regionalist feelings such as the turn of the 20th century. Mentioning that northerners came to a celebration of a southern cultural preservationist speaks to the spread of Quercy’s work and to the pride that Bourdelle and fellow southerners took in it. The usage of “franciman” and description of Langue d’Oc as a “roman” language underlined the separation between the

French of the north and the south, at least in Bourdelle’s opinion. Stating this in a public ceremony suggests that colleagues of the sculptor and félibres would have shared a similar opinion. Bourdelle also made mention of Quercy’s work shirt, thus evoking his tailoring profession alongside his pursuits as a poet. He did this originally in the 1884 print he created of his friend, and the bronze memorial closely resembles the print that

Bourdelle made nearly 30 years prior (Fig. 83). The only change between print and statue may be the position of the head and eyes, which are downcast in the later sculpture. This could have been Bourdelle’s display of Quercy’s introspection and thoughtfulness for his literary work.

Bourdelle’s dedication speech and status as a guest of honor at the Quercy ceremony testified to his ongoing relationship with Montauban and the “Terre d’Oc” in the mature phase of his artistic career. A year after the breakout success of Herakles the

Archer, Bourdelle showed his loyalty to Montauban and old companions by being

noblement rire, maintenant tu feras penser. Je puis à présent te laisser; tu vas être là, solitaire, penché vers notre sol, dans ta blouse d’airain rigide, ta fière blouse de travail. Vis ici, par ce front tenace, dans cet airain qui ne se ploie pas davantage que n’a fléchi jamais ta foi en les fleurs du parler roman.”

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involved with the creation and dedication of the Quercy statue, as well as being a guest of honor at the ceremonies.221 Antonin Perbosc was present at the event, as was a retinue of félibres from across the Languedoc who were showing fraternity between chapters.222 It is possible that the opportunity to converse at the events led to a re-establishment of correspondence between Perbosc and Bourdelle.

Like the examples of his poetry from Chapter One, Bourdelle’s dedicatory speech at the Quercy memorial was ornate, sometimes dense, and emotional. This may seem at odds with the artist’s self-presentation as a country sculptor with an artisanal background.

Looking at Bourdelle’s writing while also considering the Félibrige offers a reasonable explanation for his literary style. As discussed in Chapter One, the founders of the

Félibrige came from intellectual backgrounds and were interested in reviving Provençal as a poetic language. This was partly due to the historic connection that the Félibrige believed Provençal had to the romantic troubadours of the French middle ages. It was

221 Bourdelle’s presence at the ceremony was noted in the region, but not by Parisian journals; the only newspaper to offer a full account of the ceremony was the Tribune du Sud-Ouest, based in Montauban. Certainly, the Quercy memorial would not have been considered a matter of national importance, whereas the dedication of the Monument to the Soldiers - a statuary suite that addressed the contribution of the region to nationwide conflict - drew attention from the Parisian press.

222 Regional identity still played a considerable role in debates over French politics and culture, but they were increasingly focused on how the parts contributed to a national identity. La petite patrie and la grande patrie were platforms upon which the Félibrige stood, but southern identity and the preservation of méridional culture were always at the forefront of the movement in the latter half of the 19th century. The popularity of Barrèsian nationalism pushed each region into a closer alignment with the French whole and argued for the necessity of each province in the establishment of the nation. For further reading, see Cottington, Cubism in the Shadow of War and Silver, Esprit de Corps.

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also an attempt by the Félibrige to elevate their regional language above its perceived status as an uncultured “patois” by the French government. Bourdelle adopted the same flowery style that was used by Félibrige writers, and his use of ornate language makes sense when speaking at the Quercy memorial dedication to a crowd of félibres.

Furthermore, the shifting identity of Bourdelle as the rough, artisan sculptor, to Bourdelle the cultured poet, parallels the complexities that Auguste Quercy had in his life.

Even though Bourdelle’s sculpture of Quercy was not his best or creative work, it does illuminate Bourdelle’s position straddling two identities - national and regional - in

1911. In his speech, Bourdelle took a very diplomatic approach by paying considerable respect to the Félibrige but never claiming membership in the group. He indicated his love of Langue d’Oc poetry, but also emphasized that he is attending a memorial for a friend. He showed nostalgia for his home region and singled out northerners as “others,” but nevertheless delivered his eulogy in standard French and not in the native Langue d’Oc.223

What, then, does this say about Bourdelle and French sculpture in 1911? For his

Quercy portrait, Bourdelle referenced a model that dated from almost 30 years earlier.

Compared to works such as Herakles the Archer and Pallas, the Quercy bust has a surface treatment that is closer to Rodin’s than other works Bourdelle was doing in the early 20th century, but it does have a cylindrical and elongated torso that is slightly

223 The decision to speak in French may have reflected Bourdelle’s self-conscious inadequacy with the Occitan language. In several letters to Perbosc, Bourdelle expressed his perceived ineptitude in Langue d’Oc, particularly when compared to his friend. These letters will be discussed in Chapter Three.

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reminiscent of his Pallas sculptures. The Quercy sculpture seems to be somewhere between Bourdelle’s late-19th century works and his 1910s artistic mindset. But based on the artist’s dedication speech, his goal was to memorialize an old friend and promote

Quercy’s work rather than push his sculptural boundaries. The results of Bourdelle’s attendance of the Quercy memorial dedication were not immediately apparent and did not leave any marks on his public persona. The artist continued to create works that were primarily addressed to a national audience, albeit with suggestions of his southern upbringing and connection to Latin ancestry. After 1911, however, Bourdelle began to make statements and create drawings that further entrenched him in a Montalbanian mentality. We see this in correspondence with Antonin Perbosc. Also, Bourdelle’s lectures at the Académie de la Grande Chaumière expressed admiration for the vernacular style of the Tarn-et-Garonne and its folk customs. Bourdelle demonstrated a continued fascination with the order and symmetry of a surging classical movement. His classical manner and his regionalist affinities would eventually merge in his most ambitious project: the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées.

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FIGURES

ALL IMAGES REMOVED DUE TO COPYRIGHT

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Chapter 3

OLD GODS MADE NEW

During a lecture entitled “The Changing Face of Gods” at the Académie de la

Grande Chaumière, Bourdelle declared:

The new cathedral, the new temple where crowds will go, will be the theater when art is brought into it. Our crowds no longer besiege the old cathedrals and these divine worlds of stone, like trees of another order that saw an endless autumn that took from them all their purest symbols like so much dead foliage. The great basilicas, these proud, sculpted immortals and their poor relatives, of which many are abandoned, hold the celestial memory (December 7, 1911).224

In the early 1900s, Bourdelle was considering the changing nature of religious spaces in the history of Greco-Latin people and their descendants. While previous places of worship were created with an intended monumental harmony between architecture and sculpture, latter day cathedrals and basilicas - he argued - ignored the important presence of statues in older religious buildings. Instead, modern artists and artisans created a

“plethora of low, loud works; all of these crucifixions are smaller, then small, then

224 Antoine Bourdelle, “Le Visage changeant des Dieux,” in Cours et Leçons à l’Académie de la Grande Chaumière, Tome II, ed. Laure Dalon (Paris: Paris-Musées, 2007), 122. “La nouvelle cathédrale, le nouveau temple où ira la foule, ce sera le théâtre lorsqu’il réunira en lui tout l’art. Nos foules m'assiègent plus les antiques cathédrales et ces divins mondes de pierre, comme des arbres d’un autre ordre ont vu un incessant automne leur enlever comme autant de feuillage mort tous leurs symboles les plus purs. Les grandes basiliques, ces fières immortelles sculptées et leurs parents pauvres dont beaucoup sont abandonnés, gardent toujours le souvenir céleste.”

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tiny!”225 The relationship between architecture and sculpture had been fractured; the multitude of small sculptures did nothing to complement the soaring heights and impressive scale of cathedrals. There was no longer any dialogue between architecture and sculpture, causing both art forms to be diminished rather than being mutually enhanced.

Bourdelle did not have the opportunity to reunite architecture and sculpture on a large scale until he received a commission, in 1910, to design a new facade for the

Théâtre des Champs-Elysées (Fig. 84).226 Bourdelle’s solution was to create a contemporary theater that would combine architecture and sculpture on a large and impressive scale; a theater that would also function as a secular cathedral. The opportunity to apply sculpture to a major work of architecture also fulfilled his longtime goal of designing a monumental structure in the heart of Paris.227 Located on the avenue

225 Ibid., 123. “Quelle moisson de basses œuvres fortes tous ces crucifiés moins grands puis petits puis tout petits!”

226 Previous works like Pallas and Herakles the Archer were, however, investigating the ideas of a returned monumental form in public sculpture. The parallels between geometric form and architectural components in each of these works was intentional by Bourdelle. For more information, see Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 92.

227 Construction of the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées occurred during 1912 and 1913, with the inaugural gala taking place on March 30, 1913. The interior decoration was not done until 1914 when Bourdelle finished his frescoes in February and Vuillard completed his decorative panels in May. See Claude Loupiac, “Le ballet des architectes,” in 1913: Le Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, ed. Jean-Michel Nectoux (Paris: Éditions de la Réunion des Musées Nationaux, 1987), 22-54 for a complete history of the theater’s development and construction. The commission was even more eventful, because a sculptural project of this scale was highly unusual at this time in Paris. A variety of moratoriums were considered by the municipal council on the construction of new monumental sculpture in the period just before World War I. There was also some outcry from the public about the alarming rate at which statues were being erected in Paris, and requests to preserve green

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Montaigne in Paris’ Eighth Arrondissement, the theater was to become a prime venue for the performing arts. Much like the performances on stage, the murals within and sculpture outside the theater would reflect modern aesthetics and theories. The finished building was to become a showcase for the early-20th century classical revival in French art.

In the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, Bourdelle saw an opportunity to fully explore his vision of sculpture as a monumental art, as he described in his Grande Chaumière lecture on December 7, 1911 (Appendix C). Order, logic, mastery, and a respect for the practices of the past would move sculpture forward once again, underscoring Bourdelle’s grand statement about the course of the visual arts. Indeed, the unification of architecture and sculpture that Bourdelle had been trying to achieve since the creation of his Pallas

Torso would be accomplished in the theater.

This chapter will continue to explore Bourdelle’s identity and self-perception through two major works later in his career. Specifically, the chapter will focus on his southern identity and its influence on the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, completed in

1913, and the Dying Centaur of 1914. Exploring the decorative elements of the theater reveals Bourdelle’s growing interest in centaurs as an artistic theme. After the theater’s completion, Bourdelle continued to explore the centaur as a subject through numerous drawings and creating his monumental Dying Centaur (Fig. 85). The end of this chapter

space, much like what happened in selecting a location for the site of the theater. For more information on “statuemania” and the Parisian reaction to it at the beginning of the 20th century, see Curtis, “E.A. Bourdelle and Monumental Sculpture,” 32-43.

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will explore the centaur as a thematic element in the artist’s work and determine what symbolic meanings the mythical creature held for Bourdelle.

Théâtre des Champs-Elysées: History and Description

The development of the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées was a complex undertaking that involved location changes and a succession of architects. All these architects contributed to the final design of the building and shaped the ideas of decoration ultimately completed by Bourdelle. He was first approached for the project in 1910 by

Gabriel Thomas (1854-1932), a Parisian philanthropist and patron of the arts who commissioned Herakles the Archer.228 By this point, the theater had been in the planning stages for roughly six years.229 The theater was originally the vision of publisher and

228 Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 102-3. The original agreement between Thomas and Bourdelle was for Thomas to receive the sole casting of the Héraklès Archer. As Cantarutti explained, after the success of the Salon and “Seeing the infatuation that the sculpture aroused in collectors, Bourdelle regretted this imprudent commitment that was too binding. In 1915, after bitter talks, Thomas consented to returning the Héraklès and his exclusivity rights to the artist. Bitter, Thomas surrendered to Bourdelle’s arguments and unbound him from their agreement: ‘I couldn’t hear without emotion about the commission of this work that set you on the path to glory, and your loss of 90,000 francs in refused commissions because of the commitment to me to not reproduce it’.” (Devant l’engouement qu’elle [the sculpture] suscite auprès des collectionneurs, Bourdelle regrette cet engagement imprudent qui le lie par trop. En 1915, après d’âpres pourparlers, Thomas consent à restituer l’Héraklès et son droit d’édition à l’artiste. Amer, il se rend à ses arguments et le délie de son engagement: «Je n’ai pu entendre sans émotion que le fait de vous avoir commandé cette œuvre qui vous a mis sur le chemin de la gloire vous ait fait perdre 90000 francs de commandes refusées en raison de l’engagement pris envers moi de ne pas la reproduire.»)

229 Plans for the construction of the theater began on May 2, 1904, when Gabriel Astruc created the Société Musicale to acquire capital and explore possibilities for the creation of a new musical theater. In 1907, the Sociéte Musicale was superseded by the creation of the Société du Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, which was organized as a société anonyme and included prominent wealthy supporters like the Camondo family, the Rothschild

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socialite, Gabriel Astruc (1864-1938), who proposed a site adjacent to the rond-point des

Champs-Elysées. Astruc first chose Henri Fivaz (1856-1933) and Roger Bouvard (1875-

1961) as the project architects.230 Fivaz was more practically minded than Bouvard in his approach to the building, focusing on issues of infrastructure, acoustics, and accessibility at the expense of an overall decorative scheme. Bouvard, reacting to the perceived excesses of Art Nouveau, proposed a Louis XVI style for the project (Figs. 86 & 87).

Serious opposition to the rond-point site came in 1909 from organizations that saw

family, and Pierpont Morgan. See Jean-Michel Nectoux, “Chronologie de la construction du Théâtre,” in 1913: Le Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, 16 and Loupiac, “Le ballet des architectes,” in 1913: Le Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, 24-5.

230 Loupiac, “Le ballet des architectes,” 22-3. Gabriel Astruc was the son of a rabbi and descended from an old Jewish family from Bordeaux. His father’s position allowed him to make early connections with prominent Jewish families in Paris, including the Camondos, the Deutschs, and the Meurthes. Astruc began his career in literary publishing, but then moved to journalism and criticism in 1885. He returned to publishing in 1894 but focused on music publishing at this point. Astruc used his family connections and his association with musicians to develop an active social life and became acquainted with the Parisian elite at the end of the 19th century. The reasons for Astruc’s desire to build a theater, as Loupiac stated on page 23, “had their origin in his social environment and his personal ambition, but furthermore in his desire to renew a domain where the standstill of stage directors or music ensembles was harshly felt and in his discussions at Enoch [the publishing house for which Astruc worked] with modern musicians who complained about unchanging programs and their difficulty in being heard. Moreover, France had growing economic prosperity since 1895. An after-effect of this was a distinct renewal of theatrical activity – the circumstances seemed favorable to such an enterprise.” (Trouvent leur origine dans son environnement social et ses ambitions personnelles, mais encore plus dans son désir de rénover un domaine où l’immobilisme des directeurs de salles ou d’ensembles musicaux se faisait durement sentir, et dans ses discussions chez Enoch avec des musiciens modernes qui se plaignaient des programmations sclérosées et de leurs difficultés à se faire entendre. Comme par ailleurs la France avait retrouvé, depuis 1895, une prospérité économique engendrant, par contrecoup, une nette relance de l'activité théâtrale, la conjoncture semblait favorable à une telle entreprise.) Roger Bouvard’s involvement in the building project was a political move by Astruc, as Bouvard’s father was the director of the Services de l’Architecture for Paris.

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construction in the Jardin des Champs-Elysées as a threat to the limited green space in the city, as well as preservation societies that wanted to protect the architectural aesthetic of the neighborhood (Fig. 88). Additionally, the political far right, including anti-Dreyfusard proponents, protested against a project led by Astruc, the son of a rabbi descended from a family of Bordeaux Jews.231 The combined protests against Astruc and the loss of park space caused the municipal council and the city’s architectural committee to reject Fivaz and Bouvard’s plans for the theater in July 1909. These setbacks prompted changes in the project committee and the theater site. Astruc was demoted from his position as project director and Gabriel Thomas was chosen as the new administrator of the reorganized theater committee. It was Thomas’s decision to move the building’s location from the rond-point of the Champs-Elysées to its final site at 15 avenue Montaigne.

The theater was finally built under Thomas’s guidance and reflected his artistic tastes and personality. Besides his interest in contemporary painting and sculpture -

Thomas commissioned Bourdelle to create both Herakles the Archer in 1909 and bas- reliefs for the facade of the Musée Grévin in Paris in 1900 - Thomas’s Catholic faith and love of may have also spurred him to hire former Nabi painters Maurice

Denis, Ker-Xavier Roussel, and Édouard Vuillard to complete the theater’s interior decoration.232 Denis also suggested that Thomas hire the famous Belgian architect Henry

231 Ibid., 25-6. Loupiac stated that the far right, rejuvenated in 1906 by the full pardon of Dreyfus and the internment of Zola’s remains in the Panthéon, tried to prevent the construction of the theater due to Astruc’s involvement. Leading the protests was Gaston Méry, editor-in-chief of the anti-semitic Libre Parole newspaper.

232 Loupiac, “Le ballet des architectes,” 26 and Nectoux, “Chronologie de la construction du Théâtre,” 17, 20. Loupiac called Thomas the opposite of Astruc in several ways.

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Van de Velde (1863-1957).233 Aware of the Belgian’s high reputation, Thomas met with

Van de Velde in 1910 and asked him to examine Fivaz and Bouvard’s plans and submit a new proposal.

Van de Velde largely overhauled Fivaz and Bouvard’s plans. He rejected the

Louis XVI style in favor of one that showcased the building materials of the structure. He reduced the sculptural decor of the facade, focusing on a sober linear design as its defining aesthetic feature (Figs. 89 & 90). The curvilinear manner of Van de Velde’s plans indeed resemble those in his house in Uccles, Belgium and in his theater model for the 1914 Werkbund Exhibition (Figs. 91 & 92). In comparison to the architect’s previous

Art Nouveau work, his Théâtre des Champs-Elysées designs reflected the restrained classicism that was becoming popular in Paris in the 1910s. Although Denis and Thomas supported him, Van de Velde did not remain the architect for the project, partly because he proposed an all-stone construction too heavy for the soft soil of the avenue Montaigne.

While not overtly stated, Thomas’s Catholicism was probably influential in his appointment as the theater project’s new director of the theater project, particularly to deflect criticism from anti-Dreyfusards after their attacks on Astruc. It should also be noted that Thomas and Maurice Denis were friends, with the former commissioning the latter to create ten painted panels for his dining room in 1908. The series of panels, called L’Éternel Printemps focuses on idyllic and religious imagery, painted in a classical style that is reminiscent of Denis’s earlier work and the murals of Puvis de Chavannes. Thomas commissioned Maurice Denis in 1910, the same year Van de Velde and Bourdelle were asked to work on the building. Both Ker-Xavier Roussel and Édouard Vuillard were commissioned to decorate the theater’s interior in 1912.

233 Already well known for his development of Art Nouveau, Van de Velde spent the first decade of the twentieth century in Weimar, where he helped establish that city’s art school. He was also an integral figure in the early years of the Deutscher Werkbund (established in 1907 in Munich), an organization that was highly influential in the creation of , decorative arts, and design.

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Even so, the theater’s final appearance is still reminiscent of Van de Velde’s designs, especially in its use of classical forms based on basic geometric shapes. This included the main frieze and metopes sculpted by Bourdelle after Van de Velde’s designs (Fig. 93).

Keen on completing Van de Velde’s vision, Thomas also sought the advice of modernist architects Auguste Perret (1874-1954) and Gustave Perret (1876-1952) beginning in

February 1911.234

Like Bourdelle, the Perret brothers came from an artisanal family. Their father was a stonemason who had established a successful construction business in Paris. Both

Auguste and Gustave were accepted at the École des Beaux-Arts, where they entered the studio of Julian Guadet (1834-1908), who had a profound impact on them.235 A well- known architect and theorist, Guadet advocated a fusion of historical styles with a modernist conception and function of buildings.236 He nurtured a profound respect for

234 Loupiac, “Le ballet des architectes,” 42-3. Before the theater project, Thomas was the administrator of the Société d’exploitation de la Tour Eiffel and his experiences there made him a supporter of metal framing for the new building and open to different types of construction to overcome the challenges associated with the site. The Perret brothers were experimenting with reinforced concrete through their family’s business and a conversation between Thomas and Gustave Perret convinced the former to have the Perrets work on the theater project.

235 Joseph Abram, “Perret family,” in Grove Art Online, published 2003, https://doi.org/10.1093/gao/9781884446054.article.T066529. Although they entered the École, neither Auguste nor Gustave Perret finished their studies. This did not seem to be due to frustration or dissatisfaction with the school - both were talented students, with Auguste winning the Prix des Reconnaissance des Architectes Américains in 1895 - but rather that they became increasingly involved with their family’s business.

236 Although Guadet was interested in the historic consideration of buildings, he was skeptical of the historical accuracy of Eugène Viollet-le-Duc’s restoration practices. Viollet-le-Duc (1814-1879) was an architect and architectural theorist closely associated with the 19th century Gothic revival in France. He based his work on what he perceived

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tradition in his students and asserted that the development of European architecture relied upon the lessons of the past. As he wrote:

Progress is a slow thing, and needs to be a sure thing … Do you know what is very strong and truly original? It’s to do very well what others did merely well. The most beautiful art epochs are those where tradition was most respected, where progress was continued improvement, evolution and not revolution. There is not, there was never spontaneous generation in art: between the Parthenon and the temples that preceded it is only nuance.237

In Guadet’s view, reverence must be paid to tradition, but those lessons must also be synthesized with the demands of the present. His phrase “evolution and not revolution” is particularly fitting to that purpose. The same can be said of the Perrets’s

Théâtre des Champs-Elysées proposed designs.238

to be an archaeologically correct vision of past buildings. He was also a pioneer in architectural restoration, having received commissions to preserve and restore such historic structures as the Church of La Madeleine at Vézelay, Sainte-Chapelle in Paris, and Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris. Guadet, however, believed a faithfulness to the styles and necessities of older epochs would be ill suited to what was required of contemporary architecture. See Alice Thomine-Berrada, “Julien Guadet,” in Dictionnaire Critique des Historiens de l’Art, Institut national d’histoire de l’art, last modified February 25, 2013, https://www.inha.fr/fr/ressources/publications/publications-numeriques/dictionnaire- critique-des-historiens-de-l-art/guadet-julien.html.

237 Ibid. “Le progrès est chose lente et doit être chose sûre [...] Savez-vous ce qui est très fort et très original? C’est de faire très bien ce que d’autres ont fait simplement bien. Les plus belles époques d’art sont celles où la tradition était la plus respectée, où le progrès était le perfectionnement continu, l'évolution et non la révolution. Il n’y a pas, il n’y a jamais eu de génération spontanée en art: entre le Parthénon et les temples qui l’ont précédé, il n’y a que des nuances.”

238 The phrase “evolution and not revolution” would certainly be fitting for Antoine Bourdelle and a considerable majority of the participants in the early-20th century French classical revival. Bourdelle, Maillol, Denis, Cézanne, and others have all stated throughout their careers the need to remain faithful to the lessons of past art and

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The Perrets’s project for the elevation of the theater looks remarkably similar to

Van de Velde’s plans (Fig. 94). Nevertheless, it is more classical in inspiration. The

Perret brothers removed many of the curves and organic shapes, and included a heavy cornice, architraves over the sides of the facade, and all-rectangular windows.

Additionally, they added more details to Van de Velde’s minimalist pilasters, including a series of double pilasters across the center of the main facade. These changes further emphasized the rising classical trend of the time.

Even so, the overlap between Van de Velde’s and the Perret brothers’ tenure as architects caused considerable tension. Van de Velde was unyielding when asked to change his plans, especially as requested by the Perrets whose aim was to eliminate him from the project.239 In an era when Belgian contributions to French art were met with suspicion, and all things German were condemned, Van de Velde stood at a disadvantage.

His Belgian heritage and his involvement with German decorative arts made him an easy target for attacks from the Perrets and several critics. Thomas eventually gave the Perrets more responsibility, and Van de Velde was relegated to the role of a “scapegoat,” harshly criticized by the period’s conservative reviewers about all imperfections and

architecture, but to move beyond mere historicism for the sake of the contemporary world.

239 Georges Vigne, “La polémique Perret-Van de Velde: Un combat de géants,” in 1913: Le Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, 52-4.

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wrongdoing.240 The Belgian architect ultimately resigned in frustration in July 1911.

Upon the theater’s inauguration, all credit went to the Perrets.

During the transition from Van de Velde to the Perrets, Gabriel Thomas asked

Bourdelle to submit updated facade drafts that included bas-reliefs. Bourdelle used the

May 1911 designs by Van de Velde for his drafts (Fig. 95). Two crucial developments appear in these drawings: the first was a change of the sculptures’ subject matter. Both the theme of the metopes and the main frieze changed from 1911 to 1913. They included a wider variety of performing arts in the metopes, and a prominently positioned figure of the god of music and art, Apollo, in the center panel of the frieze. Bourdelle’s second change was the reintroduction of classical elements in the facade’s decorative design.

Indeed, in his own work, Bourdelle was already beginning to move back towards classicism before the Perret brothers emphasized their own vision for the building.

The completed building is firmly in a twentieth-century aesthetic, and the marble- paneled facade has been described as a predecessor to with its “austere rigor and geometricism”.241 Horizontal bands run throughout the facade, but its emphasis is on

240 Ibid., 53. “In spite of some promises by Gabriel Thomas for statements supporting him, Van de Velde saw his role reduced to a scapegoat for all the critics’ reproaches.” (Malgré quelques promesses de mise au point émises en sa faveur par Gabriel Thomas, Van de Velde voit son rôle réduit à celui de bouc émissaire pour tous les reproches des critiques.)

241 Jean-Michel Nectoux, “Le Théâtre des Champs-Elysées chef-d’œuvre postmoderne?” in 1913: Le Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, 5. Art Deco was a French decorative arts style that was popular in the 1920s and 30s. Characteristics of Art Deco include inspiration from the natural world, emphasis on luxury, focus on geometric form, and themes from Classical mythology. In comparison to the previous Art Nouveau style, there was also restraint in surface decoration of objects and buildings. The name “Art Deco” is an abbreviation of the 1925 Exposition internationale des arts décoratifs et industriels

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verticality. The front is comprised of eight bays, all separated by pilasters, with the main entrance framed by two grand pilasters and capped by an entablature featuring

Bourdelle’s main frieze and a cornice. The five accompanying metopes are closer to ground level, directly above five smaller entrances to the theater.

The subjects of Bourdelle’s friezes were inspired by the Théâtre des Champs-

Elysées’s role as a tragedy and comedy theater that also housed art galleries. His intention was to express all of the theater’s functions to the outside viewer through his sculptures.242 Bourdelle’s choice of figures indicated an awareness of contemporary actors and plays and highlighted the theater’s mission to be a home for new and modern performances. The main frieze shows the Nine Muses rushing from both sides to greet a seated Apollo, who is holding a lyre and is accompanied by a winged Glory (Figs. 96, 97

& 98). Bourdelle explained to his students at the Grande Chaumière that the winged

Glory is a tangible expression of Apollo’s meditations. The Muses’ hastening stems from their desire to be close to the god’s thoughts. Their movements and gestures on the frieze

modernes, held in Paris. Although the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées does not fall into the period of Art Deco, its decorative features and construction share aspects of the later style.

242 “Les sujets dont traitent les bas-reliefs sont imposés par l’organisme de ce double théâtre, un théâtre épique et lyrique et un théâtre de comédie. Il y a en plus une ou plusieurs salles d’exposition d’art. J’avais donc à rappeler, à inscrire tout cela sur la façade et j’ai chargé les cinq bas-reliefs qui surmonteront les entrées des bas-côtés d’ouvrir au public comme un petit livre de marbre expliquant l’âme intérieure par ces six figures sculptées.” Antoine Bourdelle, “Les Lois du Bas-Relief/Apollon Pensif et Les Muses,” in Cours & Leçons, Tome II, ed. Laure Dalon (Paris: Paris-Musées, 2007), 201.

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were inspired by the American dancer (1877-1927).243 The sculptures are contained within their frames through the contortion of the figures. Although Apollo’s massive body is twisted and skewed to the right, his head is placed at the center of the frieze, serving as the figurative source of the world’s artistic thought and creativity. Five metopes are below the main frieze, with four themed to the performing arts.244 Music features two figures holding instruments symbolic of modern (a violin) and ancient (a syrinx) musical performances (Fig. 99). Tragedy represents the characters Agamemnon and Iphigenia, as Bourdelle was inspired by his friend Jean Moréas’s 1903 play Iphégenie

à Aulide (Fig. 100). In Comedy, two women exchange smiling masks with the woman on the right wearing the winged helmet of Hermes (Figs. 101). Like the Muses from the main frieze, the female figure in Dance was also based on Isadora Duncan while the male figure was Bourdelle’s interpretation of the avant-garde dancer (Fig.

102). The far left metope, Architecture and Sculpture, features personifications of the two fields that Bourdelle thought must work in unity to create great monumental art (Fig.

103). Bourdelle used his wife, Cléopâtre, as the model for the personification of sculpture on the right side of the metope. Like the main frieze, the metope figures are also

243 “Et cette image grande dont le visage touche, avoisine le front du dieu, c’est ce qu’il voit dans sa pensée, c’est l’idée d’Apollon extériorisée dans la forme … Et les Muses sont là … Mais elles voient penser le dieu!” Ibid., 202-3.

244 See Antoinette Le Normand-Romain, “Bourdelle au Théâtre des Champs-Elysées,” in 1913: Le Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, 54-72 and “Bas reliefs du théâtre des champs Elysées,” Musées Occitanie, accessed May 4, 2020, https://musees- occitanie.fr/musees/musee-ingres-bourdelle/collections/la-sculpture-du-xixe-siecle/emile- antoine-bourdelle/bas-reliefs-du-theatre-des-champs-elysees/ for more information on the inspiration for the theater metopes.

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compressed so that their bodies fit within their architectural frame. Although Bourdelle’s interest in Greek sculpture prevailed, as evident from the subject matter and the layout of the theater facade, there were also influences from French Romanesque architecture

(Figs. 104 & 105).245 The focus of attention is a grandiose central figure evocative of the pediments of ancient Greek temples but also of the tympana of Romanesque churches, such as at Moissac or Vézelay.

The main frieze is a prime example of how Bourdelle envisioned the relationship between architecture and sculpture. Auguste Perret and Bourdelle both believed that sculpture should not break the flat wall surfaces but should be installed only where it would not distract from the architecture. As Bourdelle explained, “stone only flourishes in places where it rests! When it expands, it pulls away all the beauty of its harmonious effort.”246 The art historian Antoinette Le Normand-Romain observed that the building retained its aesthetic appeal even without the frieze.247 However, the sculpture’s addition added to the beauty and monumentality of the theater, complementing the geometric

245 Cannon-Brookes, Emile Antoine Bourdelle, 70. “Taking as his cue the great Romanesque tympana on the churches at Autun and Vézelay, Bourdelle designed Apollo as vastly larger in scale than the Muses …”

246 “[L]a pierre ne rêve ou ne fleurit qu’aux endroits où elle se repose! Quand elle agit, elle tire toute sa beauté de son effort harmonieux et de la pureté de ses profils.” Le Normand-Romain, “Bourdelle au Théâtre des Champs-Elysées,” 71.

247 Ibid., 71. “The refusal of depth that could dig the mural wall goes along with a composition both skillful and simple: [the composition] fills the available field so that, were it removed, the surroundings would recover themselves …” (Le refus d’une profondeur qui creuserait la paroi murale va de pair avec une composition à la fois habile et simple: elle remplit tout le champ disponible de façon à ce que, fut-il enlevé, le cadre se rétablisse de lui-même … ).

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forms and creating a visual harmony between architecture and sculpture that heightened both media. Through a syncretic evoking of pagan Greek and Christian divine figures,

Bourdelle marked the theater as a special, even sacred, place.248 When all of this is considered, Bourdelle’s inclusion of a metope depicting Sculpture and Architecture assumes a symbolic value.

The creation of the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées occurred at a transformative moment for theater arts in Paris, and the decisions made by Astruc, Thomas, and

Bourdelle reflect debates about how to present stage performances to new audiences.

Sally Debra Charnow’s Theatre, Politics, and Markets in Fin-de-Siècle Paris takes a thorough look at the development of modernist theater in the late-nineteenth and early- twentieth centuries.249 Charnow detailed the cultural and political changes that paved the way for modernist theater in Paris. These included influences from the realist and symbolist movements in music and art that inspired directors and actors, the push to end government censorship of public theatrical productions, and the growth of the middle class in the city. The rise of the bourgeoisie enabled directors and performers to experiment with subjects and artistic themes that would suit a new audience. Besides choices in the staging of the show and concepts derived from modernism, directors also took, as Charnow states, an “eclectic” approach to theater. This meant blending classical and farcical theatrical styles into new performances, thereby breaking down the

248 This aligns with Bourdelle’s vision of theaters as new temples, as stated in his December 7, 1911 lecture at the Grande Chaumière.

249 Sally Debra Charnow, Theatre, Politics, and Markets in Fin-de-Siècle Paris: Staging Modernity (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005).

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distinction between performances at “high” state-sponsored theaters and “low” popular venues. Many of the innovations introduced by theatrical directors in the 19th century took place in small, private venues, as larger public theaters were still subject to government censorship. Laws on censorship were finally abolished in 1906, which opened the possibility of new, large-scale theaters being constructed in Paris. Astruc saw the opportunity available, with an excited bourgeoisie that was eager to see new, experimental performances.250

Bourdelle welcomed the development of modernist theater in Paris and he was an ardent supporter of the modern dancer Isadora Duncan, using her as inspiration for the figures on the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées’s facade.251 Duncan’s movements were a revelation to Bourdelle as a means of conceiving the human body in space, and she was known for studying ancient Greek vases and reliefs to create a classically-inspired style that explored natural movement. Bourdelle saw Duncan perform on several occasions before the construction of the theater and made numerous sketches of her dancing; some of these drawings were incorporated into the muses and allegorical figures on the theater

250 It should be noted that Astruc was not strictly an opportunist. Rather, his background in music, interest in modernist performance, and contributions to earlier productions show that he was passionate about developing new theater. In his essay “La saison Astruc,” Nectoux stated that Astruc was instrumental in developing a French version of Richard Strauss’s Salome, which premiered at the Théâtre du Châtelet in May 1907. He also financed Gabriele D’Annunzio and Claude Debussy’s Martyre de St-Sébastien in 1911. Perhaps most importantly, Astruc brought ’s to Paris in 1909 and secured their residency at the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées for the 1913 inaugural season.

251 Texts that mention this inspiration include Lambraki-Plaka, Bourdelle et la Grèce, 117-20; Le Normand-Romain, “Bourdelle au Théâtre;” and Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 114- 16.

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facade (Figs. 106 & 107). The sculptures of Duncan were fitting for a theater that aspired to be a center of contemporary performing arts in the city.

Besides the inspiration from Duncan, Bourdelle included two figures - a satyr in the Music metope and the left figure in the Dance metope - representing the Russian dancer Vaslav Nijinsky of the Ballets Russes. Nijinsky famously pioneered new styles of dancing that took inspiration from Greek and Etruscan vase painting. His performances, which included the lead role in and the role of a faun in Claude

Debussy’s Afternoon of a Faun, were controversial due to their unorthodox choreography and sexual gestures.252 Bourdelle saw both Duncan and Nijinsky dance, and stated that

“Miss Duncan is like an eternal priestess - she evokes all the masterpieces of most noble and high antiquity … Nijinsky seems to have fallen from a wild indigo sky … Within him, he has the fire of vividly painted flora.”253 Order and chaos are the two poles, according to Bourdelle, inhabited by Duncan and Nijinsky, respectively.254

252 The Rite of Spring, which premiered on May 29, 1913 in the recently opened Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, had one of the most infamous first performances in modern European history. Both the music by Igor Stravinsky and the choreography by Nijinsky reportedly caused a terrific uproar in the audience. Because the story of the performance is based upon subjective accounts, it is difficult to tell just how boisterous the audience was during the ballet. Milder accounts stated that loud jeering and heckling was hurled at the orchestra and performers by the outraged audience, while more extreme stories mentioned acts of physical violence among those seated and the removal of the rowdiest theatergoers by police.

253 Antoine Bourdelle, “Afternoon of a Faun, Nijinsky,” in Écrits sur l’art et sur la vie, 92. “Miss Duncan est comme une prêtresse éternelle – elle évoque tous les chefs-d’œuvre de la plus noble et haute antiquité … Nijinsky, lui, semble issu, tombé des ciels d’un indigo sauvage … Il a en lui le feu des flores éclatantes peintes.”

254 This dichotomy between order and chaos, or the “Apollonian” and “Dionysiac” components in the arts and the humanities had been the subject of debates well before

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In addition to those connected to the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, other Parisian artists were, by 1910, responding to the resurrection of the Classical past. The next section details the changes that took place in the Paris art world around the time of the theater’s construction in order to provide an understanding of the influences, particularly classical ones, that surrounded Bourdelle.

The State of the Arts in 1910s Paris

The years immediately preceding the war were an era of high experimentation and international collaboration for the visual arts in France. By 1910, artists like Picasso, Juan

Gris, Sonia Delaunay, František Kupka, Gino Severini, Amedeo Modigliani, and

Brâncuşi had settled in Paris. Forward-thinking individuals such as these came from across the continent and mixed with young French artists to begin creating what would subsequently be called the avant-garde. Although these artists are lauded now for the development of modernism in 1910, such praise was not universal. A vocal minority of conservative art critics and intellectuals decried the progressive aesthetics championed by this avant-garde. The reactionary voices gained support as France moved closer to World

War I. After the outbreak of conflict, a conservative spirit came to dominate the direction of the visual arts during the interwar years.

A series of international incidents with the German Empire and the contentious resolution of the Dreyfus Affair rapidly caused beliefs that were once only associated

1913, as evident in Friedrich Nietzsche’s (1844-1900) book The Birth of Tragedy, published in 1872. Also, Sigmund Freud’s fondness for archaeology and ancient mythology underlined his metaphorical evocation of the conflicted human mind as torn between an Apollonian (order) and a Dionysiac (chaos) principle.

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with monarchists and xenophobic nationalists to become mainstream opinion.255 Given the cosmopolitan nature of the Parisian art world at the beginning of the twentieth century, conservative theorists and critics would often link new practices in contemporary art with foreign influences and non-French artists and intellectuals. The cosmopolitanism of Third Republic Paris was increasingly being constricted as the threat of war loomed on the horizon, and new approaches to art were coming under increased scrutiny and suspicion. Among others, conservative critics saw Cubism as an indicator of the decadence and nonsensical nature that arose when French artists allowed themselves to be placed under the sway of foreign painters and sculptors.256 Cubism was not the only movement that had recently been criticized as un-French. The Art Nouveau movement was also met with the same complaints earlier on. While Art Nouveau was sometimes derided for its Belgian origin (one of the criticisms of Van de Velde during his work on the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées), modernism was often negatively connected to the

German Empire, which was accused of propagating its culture throughout Europe,

255 The incidents were highlighted by the Moroccan Crises of 1905 and 1911, both of which caused many in France to see the inevitability of a renewed conflict with Germany. The Dreyfus Affair was resolved in the French judicial system by 1906, when Captain Dreyfus was fully exonerated and reinstated in the military. The way the ruling was administered was legally questionable in the eyes of Action française members and their associates, leading to public challenges of the French judicial system. On top of this, the transferring of Emile Zola’s remains to the Parthénon in 1908 was a public fiasco, with protesters descending on the official procession and an assassination attempt on Captain Dreyfus, who was a member of the Zola procession.

256 Many critics and writers claimed that Cubism was a non-French movement, but some correctly realized the artistic style as originating in France. Even if this was recognized, critics still voiced concerns about the misleading influence of foreign artists coming to the capital and promoting an agenda that moved French art away from its storied Classical past. For more information, see Silver, Esprit de Corps, 8-13.

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especially in post Franco-Prussian War France. Indeed, for some, the rise of modernism itself was the indicator of German cultural infiltration.257 Such a climate led to a number of politicized actions regarding the construction of the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, including the removal of Gabriel Astruc as project head and the resignation of the

Belgian-born Van de Velde.258

According to conservative critics, aesthetic excellence was predicated on artists’ adherence to the classical tradition, reformulated to evoke a specifically French manner in painting, sculpture, and architecture. French classical revival was modelled on celebrated past French artists such as Nicolas Poussin, Charles Le Brun, and Jacques-

Louis David. The work of more recent neoclassical artists, particularly Jean-Auguste

Ingres, had a resurgence of popularity in the 1910s.259 These painters were regarded as applying the principles of symmetry, geometry, rationality, and order which were at the core of the French vision of beauty. The political and cultural right felt present-day

257 Silver, Esprit de Corps, 8-27, and Troy, Modernism and the Decorative Arts in France, 52-103, outlined the French fears of rising industry and technology in Germany, and the comparatively weak response from France to such issues.

258 Georges Vigne, “La polémique Perret-Van de Velde,” 53. Regarding the favoring of Perret over Van de Velde for the theater, “At the theater’s inauguration, it was Perret who carried it. This was supported by a powerful anti-Germanic current.” (Au moment de l’inauguration du théâtre, c’est Perret qui l’emporte. Il est soutenu par tout un puissant courant antigermanique.) The anti-German sentiment that came both from the fallout of the Franco-Prussian War and the threat of renewed conflict explain why anything associated with Germany would be viewed with suspicion in France. It is important to emphasize that there was still rampant anti-Semitism in the country after the Dreyfus Affair and that members of the French-Jewish community, like Astruc, were regarded as foreign by monarchists, militant Catholics, and other far-right organizations.

259 Texts which discuss the revival of interest in Ingres include Cowling and Mundy, On Classic Ground, and Modern Antiquity, eds. Green and Daehner.

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French society lacked these qualities, unlike when an absolute monarchy patronized such values in the arts as essential to the nation. Additionally, there was a surge of interest in architecture and architectural theory in the years around World War I. The political upheavals of the 1890s and 1900s, as well as the threat of war in the 1910s, may be some of the reasons why there was a revival of artistic media and movements that focused on order and stability.260

Besides Ingres, Paul Cézanne, recently deceased in 1906, was an artist whose legacy was increasingly valued. Large-scale retrospectives of Cézanne’s work in the last decade of his life only added to the widespread appreciation of the artist, and his contribution to modern art was claimed by a variety of groups.261 For the conservative wing of the Parisian art and cultural world, Cézanne was seen as an artist dedicated to restoring classical values to French painting at the end of the 19th century. As they believed, Cézanne had revised the Impressionist experiments and refuted the excesses of

Symbolism in order to restore fundamental and classical artistic qualities. Structure, geometric form, studies in color and perspective were some of Cézanne’s concerns that

260 Silver, Esprit de Corps, 206-8. Silver mentioned several individuals who lauded architecture as the supreme form of the visual arts, mainly for its stabilizing and orderly nature. Such critics included André Michel, Adolphe Dervaux, and Charles Maurras.

261 Kallmyer, Cézanne and Provence, 233-35. The art dealer Ambroise Vollard staged large-scale shows of Cézanne’s work in 1895, 1898, and 1899, each of which caused interest in the artist to rise dramatically, especially considering his relatively unknown status before the 1895 exhibition. Further exhibitions in Paris made young artists more aware of, and influenced by, Cézanne’s work, including the 1899 Salon des Indépendants and the 1904 Salon d’Automne (which included an entire room dedicated to the painter). The 1907 Salon d’Automne featured a retrospective of Cézanne’s work that was highly influential in shaping the artist’s legacy and association with the avant garde.

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were meant to transcend the ephemeral tenor of Impressionism and instill a timeless quality in painting like that found in Poussin. At least, this was the interpretation given to

Cézanne’s work by Maurice Denis, a painter previously affiliated with Symbolism and the Nabis, who collaborated with Bourdelle on the decorations for the Théâtre des

Champs-Elysées.262 Denis was a staunch Catholic, an early member of the Action française, and an influential art theorist who saw the revival of classical values in French painting and sculpture as a return to Latin traditions.263 Bourdelle was on the path to

Classicism prior to his collaboration with Denis on the theater. A closer look at

Bourdelle’s contemporaries provides valuable insight to the influences on Bourdelle’s own work.

Impact of Bourdelle’s Colleagues and Fellow Artists

Bourdelle felt the influence of several artists, with Puvis de Chavannes being a prominent example. At the theater, Bourdelle’s focus on simplicity, reduction of details, and the pursuit of harmony with the built environment all harkened to Puvis de

Chavannes’s aesthetic model. A perceived logic and ideal permeated his work, which is

262 These are the values that Denis described in his 1907 essay, “Cézanne,” which will be analyzed in the next section of the chapter.

263 Maurice Denis did join the Action française at the beginning of the 20th century but left the organization in 1927 when it was formally condemned by Pope Pius XI. Denis’s life coincided with the strongest period of anticlericalism in the history of republican France. “Laïcité,” the official separation of church and state in France, was legalized on December 9, 1905. As could be expected, the Church and its followers saw this action as an attack and many in the faith turned to organizations that promoted a return to state- sponsored Catholicism. Action française was not the largest of such organizations at the start of the 20th century, but it was the most vocal and incendiary.

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what most appealed to a generation of modern artists - including Picasso, Matisse,

Maillol, Denis, Seurat, Cézanne, Gauguin, and Bourdelle - all of who claimed him as a significant influence.

Catherine Chevillot and Véronique Gautherin have both argued that Puvis de

Chavannes was one of the most important influences for Bourdelle.264 They also claimed that Bourdelle best translated Puvis de Chavannes’s ideas into sculpture. As evidenced by the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, Bourdelle paid significant attention to how his work interacted with its surrounding environment, more than many other contemporary French sculptors.265

The choice of Denis, Roussel, Bourdelle, Vuillard, and the Perret brothers by the

Théâtre des Champs-Elysées committee indicated a preference for professionals who were respected by their artistic peers, embraced a classical aesthetic, and who created art that was inspired by the ancient Mediterranean world.266 It was during the construction of the theater that Bourdelle became close friends with both Auguste Perret and Maurice

Denis, and there is little doubt that the sculptor’s association with the two artists significantly contributed to the development of the sculpted facade.

264 Catherine Chevillot, “Was Puvis de Chavannes a Painter?,” in Toward Modern Art: From Puvis de Chavannes to Matisse and Picasso, ed. Serge Lemoine (New York: Rizzoli, 2002), 175-87. Also Gautherin, “Antoine Bourdelle,” 189-95.

265 Aristide Maillol was also mindful of his work’s relationship with the built environment, the outdoors, and the nature of monumentality in sculpture. See Lorquin, Maillol, 80.

266 Ultimately, it seems that the choices of Bourdelle, Denis, Roussel, and Vuillard were guided by the aesthetic preferences of Gabriel Thomas. While we can see this as a project director’s final choice, Thomas’s tastes were reflective of current trends in the visual arts.

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Maurice Denis helped shape Bourdelle’s approach to the Théâtre des Champs-

Elysées. The two developed a close friendship while they worked on the theater, and

Bourdelle included the painter in humorous caricatures he made that showed the building’s progress (Fig. 108). Denis’s views on the Classical tradition’s influence in

French art shared similarities with Bourdelle’s thoughts about the sculpted facade of the theater. Denis was a noted art critic and theorist, known equally for his writing and his painting. Prior to his involvement in the theater project, Denis had spelled out his aesthetic theories in two influential essays, “Cézanne” (1907) and “From Gauguin and

Van Gogh to Neo-Classicism” (1909). Since his thoughts had a significant impact on

Bourdelle’s, both during his Théâtre des Champs-Elysées period and in his later career, they should be briefly outlined here.

Both of Denis’s essays addressed the return of classical values in French art. They also attempted to synthesize Romantic principles such as subjectivity and sensations with the classical tradition inherited from antiquity and the French grand siècle. Denis devoted the earlier of his two essays to Cézanne because he believed that the painter set the standard for the era of modern classicism in which they lived.267 In “From Gauguin and

Van Gogh,” Denis highlighted qualities that would be fundamental in developing the neoclassicism that the Symbolists ushered in at the beginning of the 20th century. He also criticized the Impressionists - seen as the definitive painting movement that sprang from naturalist and materialist philosophies - for using observation of the natural world and the

267 Maurice Denis, “Cézanne,” trans. Roger Fry, in Art in Theory 1900-2000, eds. Charles Harrison and Paul Wood (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2003), 39-46.

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recordings of the human eye to recreate the sensations that the artist felt. Such an approach distracted from the true goal of art, which was the material rendition of emotions and the human spirit. He also saw Symbolist artists both exploring individual sensibility and looking back to tradition. Such a notion was previously dismissed by

Romantics and Naturalists, who relied purely on instinct and spontaneity to create works guided only by feeling.

Denis defined Gauguin and Van Gogh as developers of Symbolism, but thought

Cézanne stood as the master of a new classical art movement.268 The great gift of

Cézanne, according to Denis, was his ability to synthesize his artistic naiveté and spontaneous actions with fundamental - that is to say, classical - rules for the creation of art.269 This approach of modern classicism - to take the romantic urges and corral them

268 Ibid., 48. “Without the destructive and contradictory anarchism of Gauguin and van Gogh, the example of Cézanne, with everything that it brings with it from tradition, measure, and order, would not have been understood. The revolutionary elements of their works were the vehicle for the constructive elements.”

269 Richard Shiff, Cézanne and the End of Impressionism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984) expands the understanding of how Denis’s theories shaped contemporary receptions of Cézanne’s paintings, and how Denis later changed his mind on Cézanne’s ability to truly define a modern classicism. From page 133-40, Shiff noted how Denis’s theory of an ideal art, in which the classical tradition was found in nature, and example of an ideal artist (one who could instinctively sense classicism and universal expression in the observed world and interpret a stylistic equivalent through their paintings) were best exemplified by the art of Cézanne. Shiff’s critical reading of Denis showed how Denis made certain leaps of faith in trying to have his theory of an ideal art fit into the actual artistic production of Cézanne, and how Denis took liberties to present his correspondence with Cézanne as affirming his views on art. When Bourdelle met Denis in 1912 during the construction of the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, Denis still would have advocated for Cézanne as a producer of modern, and spontaneous, classical art.

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into a classical mode of artistic production - was Denis’s ideal art for the 20th century.270

Analysis and synthesis, those two great pillars of Bourdelle’s artistic theory, are a fit for

Denis’s conception of 20th century classicism. The artists’ participation on the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées undoubtedly brought them closer, but they were already linked spiritually and aesthetically.271 Bourdelle’s Symbolist beginnings in Paris would have certainly attuned him to the classical shift in the early 20th century.

A comment that Denis made about Barrès and the Action française in “From

Gauguin and Van Gogh” is particularly significant in understanding how classicism and conservative thought were developing at the beginning of the 1900s:

Truly, the moment has come where it is necessary to choose, as Barrès has said, between traditionalism and the intellectual point of view. Trade unionists, or monarchists of the Action Française, have equally come down to earth from their liberal or libertine clouds, and endeavour [sic] to remain within the logic of facts, to reason only with realities; but the monarchist theory, total nationalism, has amongst other advantages, that of keeping alive the successful experiences of the past. We, the other

270 Catherine Chevillot, “Was Puvis de Chavannes a Painter?,” 175-87. Chevillot’s discussion of Puvis de Chavannes’s influence on the post-Rodin sculptors provides another excellent way of seeing this combination. The confinement of the ideal to classical form allowed artists to trim away all excess and unimportant parts of the artistic vision. Puvis de Chavannes’s canvases were often criticized for being reductive and simplistic in detail, but symbolists saw this as the point.

271 “Finally, there was Chavannes who I admired a lot. None of these artists were close to me, I felt strange to them. Cézanne is the one who touches me most, along with the French primitives, along with our archaic byzantines, romanesques, gothics.” (Enfin ce fut Chavannes que j’admirais beaucoup. Aucun de ces artistes n’était proche de moi, je me sentais à eux étranger. Cézanne est celui qui me touche le plus, avec les primitifs français, avec nos archaïques byzantins, romans, gothiques.) Bourdelle, “Letter to Madame A …,” 20. Bourdelle expressed a similar level of admiration for Cézanne here that Denis did in his writings.

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painters, have developed towards classicism because we have had the joy of posing the double aesthetic and psychological problem of art.272

Denis’s admiration of monarchic nationalism for its adherence to the “experiences of the past” indicated that the Symbolist movement, as he saw it, endorsed the approach of traditionalism. Following the lessons of the past was a fundamental component of this modern classicism.

Similar to Denis, the philosopher Henri Bergson (1859-1941) developed his own ideas on the progression of French art and aesthetics at the turn of the century.273

Bourdelle and Bergson were close friends who seemed to share similar ideas about art.

Bergson’s daughter, Jeanne, was a student at the Grande Chaumière and it was through her that the two men first met at the end of 1910.274 Bergson’s first visit to Bourdelle’s studio involved philosophical conversation in which both men shared similar views on art and the act of creation. Bourdelle’s wife, Cléopâtre, recalled:

272 Denis, “From Gauguin and Van Gogh to Neo-Classicism,” in Art in Theory 1900- 2000, eds. Harrison and Wood, 48.

273 Henri Bergson, Creative Evolution, trans. Arthur Mitchell (New York: The Modern Library, 1944), 194-6.

274 Cléopâtre related that Jeanne was “a young, deaf, mute woman who had talent. Bourdelle, who spoke quickly and did not articulate very well perceived that the poor girl did not understand him. Thus, he wrote on paper what he wanted to explain to her. One day, the young woman said to Bourdelle, ‘I showed your notes to my father, who said that you were a philosopher-sculptor. He would like to come see you in your studio’.” (une jeune femme sourde et muette, qui avait du talent. Bourdelle qui parlait rapidement et n’articulait pas très nettement s'aperçut que la pauvre fille n’arrivait pas à le comprendre. Alors il lui écrivit sur du papier ce qu’il voulait lui expliquer. Un jour, la jeune femme lui dit: « J’ai montré vos indications à mon père qui a dit que vous étiez un sculpteur philosophe. Il aimerait aller vous voir dans vos ateliers. ») Bourdelle Sevastos, Ma Vie avec Bourdelle, 95.

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Bourdelle showed [Bergson] his works; he had already completed his large Héraklès. Bergson said to him, “What strikes me above all in your work is that the part contains the whole. So that if your Héraklès, for example, shattered and only a part of it remained, only one foot, you could almost reconstruct the whole. Bourdelle responded, “I do not know if I have succeeded but that’s what I’ve searched for my whole life.” The two men were pleased with one another. Bergson said: “I would like to ask you a question that I asked of Rodin, and his response did not satisfy me. How is it that when you make a man’s bust you represent him more beautifully than he actually is?” Bourdelle explained to him how he worked. He sought to penetrate the spirit of his model, and then searched for the deep structures that support him inside and out. He eliminated all details and ephemeral accidents and only kept what seemed to him eternal in the structure of the model’s head. “I understand,” said Bergson, “you make it such as it should have been and what life’s adventures prevented from becoming.”275

Bergson’s aesthetic theory indicates that he had a similar approach as Denis and

Bourdelle through his concepts of duration and “élan vital,” or vital spirit. In summary,

Bergson stated that there are two opposing mental concepts in humans that pull them in different directions: intelligence and instinct. Intellect is the thinking aspect of humans and the use of reason to understand the world around them through scientific observation.

Instinct is the animalistic, or more primal function of humans - their actions that relate to

275 Ibid., 95-6. “Bourdelle lui montra ses œuvres; il avait déjà exécuté son grand Héraklès. Bergson lui dit: « Ce qui me frappe surtout dans votre œuvre c’est que la partie contient le tout. Au point que si votre Héraklès par exemple se brisait et qu’il n’en restait qu’une partie, seul même le pied, on pourrait presque reconstituer le tout. » Bourdelle répondit: « Je ne sais si je l’ai réussi mais c’est ce que j’ai cherché toute ma vie. » Les deux hommes se sont plu. Bergson dit: « J’aimerais vous poser une question que j’ai posée à Rodin et sa réponse ne m’a pas satisfait. Comment se fait-il que lorsque vous faites le buste d’un homme vous le représentiez toujours plus beau qu’il n’est en réalité. » Bourdelle alors lui expliqua comment il travaillait. Il cherchait à pénétrer l’esprit de son modèle puis cherchait ses structures profondes qui se tenaient du dedans au dehors. Il éliminait tout détail et accidents éphémères et ne conservait que ce qui lui paraissait éternel dans la structure de sa tête. « Je comprends, dit Bergson, vous le faites tel qu’il aurait dû être et que les péripéties de la vie l’ont empêché de devenir. ».”

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either self-preservation or inherited internal drives. Instinct is focused on the interior, while intellect is focused on the exterior, the surrounding environment of humans.

Bergson proposed a synthesis of these two opposing actions in his use of

“intuition.” This requires the use of intellect to reflect upon the instinctual actions of the interior, a means of introspection to, presumably, uncover the élan vital and the state of becoming that Bergson believed is inherent in all humans. It is only through intuition that humanity will be able to understand the developmental, creative, and aesthetic process of humans, in their perpetual state of becoming. Intuition is a use of both instinct and intellect, but it can inform both actions, as an understanding of interior drives will allow humans to better assess their world and how they react. Then again, Bergson made the case that the fundamental truth of the élan vital is the most important endeavor of the human mind in understanding life, so the synthesis here is the goal.

Both Bergson’s and Denis’s theories had a considerable impact on Bourdelle’s art. Denis argued for a combination of modern aesthetics with the classical tradition. This understanding of tradition was seen as an intrinsic aspect of Western artists - a base upon which they could rely and a means to understanding the rules of plastic creativity. To err too far to either side would be disastrous: lean upon the intellectual pursuit of the

Impressionists and the strict outward observation of the naturalists and you create an anti- art. Relying only on instinct and recreating what has come from the past is anachronistic and mere copying and does nothing to move art forward. It is only through the merger of the two, like Bergson, that the truth is revealed and art is created.

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The Grande Chaumière Lectures: Montauban, vernacular architecture, and the

Latin past in the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées

Bourdelle began teaching at the Académie de la Grande Chaumière in 1909. By most accounts, he was a gifted teacher who showed genuine concern for his students and encouraged them to explore ideas that would have been discouraged by the École des

Beaux-Arts’s curriculum.276 The copious notes he kept from his lectures outline his thoughts and artistic process. Several of his lectures, included in the appendix, provide the plans and manifestoes for Bourdelle’s artistic vision. These lectures also provide a greater context for his idea of a fundamental architecture that has a dialogue with sculpture.

One of Bourdelle’s earliest lectures (Appendix C) provides a thorough and detailed outlook for the theater, and it could be considered a blueprint for his artistic philosophy.277 Bourdelle divided his lecture into multiple chapters, each of which expanded upon a certain element of architectural history and the relationship between architecture and sculpture.

In his first three chapters, Bourdelle stated that architecture and sculpture in

Europe have been in decline since the Gothic era, resulting in miniscule sculpted figures in churches that distracted from the structure. For Bourdelle, the expression of divine

276 Based in Montparnasse, the Académie de la Grande Chaumière opened in 1904 and was envisioned as a more affordable and experimental art school than the École, much like the Académie Julian (although the Grande Chaumière was cheaper to attend than Julian).

277 The lecture took place on December 7, 1911.

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power and grandeur are essential components of monumental architectural sculpture. It is in examples from the past, such as the Olympian Zeus or Byzantine Christ, that Bourdelle sees sculptors expressing an eternal or universal truth in art. The drive to present such a concept is like what Denis claimed to do, what Denis theorized Cézanne was doing, and what Bourdelle believed would connect him to past artistic practice.

In chapter four of his lecture, Bourdelle asked what an artist can do in an age of

“anti-sculpture”.278 The solution he offered was to throw out virtually all of the work done in the previous century.279 The next step would be to believe in a small band of artists who would choose to go against the grain and keep the lessons of the past alive.

This could take on multiple forms, as Bourdelle explained, and it could be through literature, music, or the visual arts. He conceded that the visual arts are often the last media in which such changes take place and it is important that music and literature lay

278 Bourdelle was highly dismissive of most European sculpture from the last 100 years. The similarity between Bourdelle’s view of Romantic art and Maurras’s are striking, and both advocate for a reconnection to a monumental and Classical past.

279 Except for Antoine-Louis Barye, who Bourdelle considered one of the greatest French sculptors. Bourdelle, “Letter to Madame A …,” 20. “There is only one immense brain, a true statuaire, and that is Barye, tamer of human figures. Theseus Fighting the Centaur: here is the great work of his century. I studied it little, and I slowly came to his statue through my slow cultivation and reason united with the love of life, quivering and moved. Barye is great than certain ancient [sculptors].” (Il y a un seul immense cerveau, un vrai statuaire, et celui-là c’est le Barye dresseur de figures humaines. Le Thésée combattant le centaure, voilà la grande œuvre de son siècle (XIXe). Je l’ai peu étudiée, c’est lentement que j’arrive à sa statue par ma lente culture, par la raison unie à l’amour de la vie frémissante et émue. Barye est plus grand que certains antiques.) We should note that Bourdelle was expressing great fondness for Barye’s Theseus Slaying the Centaur Bianor, a work that influenced Bourdelle’s Dying Centaur.

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the foundation for the creation in sculpted form.280 That is, with the foundational work in other media, there would be a “building up” or a blueprint from which an artist could read fundamental lessons to translate into a physically constructed format. For instance,

Bourdelle specifically recognized the orderliness and harmony inherent in music and stated his aspirations to make such order visually present in sculpture.281 Bourdelle went on to acknowledge, however, the difficulty in translating the human spirit into sculpture, using Bergson’s term “élan” - in the sense of either “spirit” or “impulse.” Based on

Bourdelle’s use of the word throughout his lectures leading up to the theater’s construction, this seems to be a conscious choice by the artist and a nod to Bergson’s philosophy.

The fourth chapter of the lecture ends with Bourdelle questioning where artists can look for an understanding or idea of how to take the human spirit and “principal élan”

- that human life force - and channel it into the architectural form. “Beauty is in the past,”

280 The acceptance that literature and music would lead the way in changing the visual arts makes sense, especially if we consider Bourdelle’s affiliation with Symbolism. That movement manifested itself first and strongest in the field of literature, with its expression in the visual arts coming several years later and being much less defined.

281 Antoine Bourdelle, “Le visage changeant des Dieux,” 124. “The book restarts in spirit. Built and sculpted stone begins again to make concrete this spirit and the song, the immense music tries with Bachs, Beethovens to make anew the calculating sense reverberating in everything, the sublime hymn that births the right proportions because music is the science of numbers … It’s always from attempts to return to other temples, through the book, through form, through song and perhaps also through laws.” (Le livre recommence à l’esprit. La pierre bâtie et sculptée recommence à rendre concret cet esprit et le chant, la musique immense s’essaye avec les Bach, les Beethoven à faire de nouveau retentir en tous le sens calculateur, l’hymne sublime qui naît des justes proportions car la musique est la science des nombres … C’est donc toujours des tentatives vers le retour à d’autres temples, par le livre, par la forme, par le chant et peut-être aussi par les lois.)

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was the answer that Bourdelle offered to his students, and by this, he was asking his audience to look to examples from before the 19th century.282 This declaration leads to the fifth chapter of the lecture, which contains a discussion of the Parthenon as the prime example of harmonious alliance between architecture and sculpture. Bourdelle made the claim that the Parthenon is the ultimate expression of beauty and balance, as every part is united with the whole and each aspect speaks to the overarching goal, vision, and message of artistic truth.283 Moreover, understanding the lessons of the Parthenon and applying them to the theater required Bourdelle to study the theater’s architecture and

282 “Mais, quant au monument lui-même qui abrite le tout et qui doit lui donner l’image de ses dieux, a-t-il au moins de la beauté? Là aussi, la beauté est dans le passé.” Ibid., 125.

283 “An Athenian woman told me: ‘Certainly, in the London museums, Egyptians and Assyrians appeared more grandiose through their sculptures than certain Parthenon friezes. They had a savage force, like an irresistible impulse, and admirable simplifications. But once the frieze of Cavaliers from the Parthenon is seen in place, under its interior wall and the metopes above their capitals and gods and heroes on their pediments, then the totality of this temple appears unequaled by any.’ The proportions of everything, its wisdom, the calm rhythm of the ensemble takes thought beyond sculptures, beyond architecture. It’s this, the Parthenon, the entire field of marble columns that suddenly dominates our spirit. But it reigns so thoroughly that it permeates you, it seems such a beauty that you feel touched by tears. By art’s measure, it seems to be the ultimate moral temple.” (Une femme, une Athénienne [Cléopâtre] me disait: « Certes, dans les musées de Londres, les Égyptiens, les Assyriens apparaissent par leurs sculptures plus grandioses que certaines frises du Parthénon. Ils ont une force barbare comme un irrésistible élan et des simplifications admirables. Mais, dès que la frise des Cavaliers du Parthénon est vue en place, sur son mur intérieur et les métopes au-dessus de leurs chapiteaux et les dieux et les héros sur leurs frontons, alors la totalité de ce temple apparaît inégalée par aucun. » Les proportions du tout, sa sagesse, le rythme calme de l’ensemble, emportent la pensée au-delà des sculptures, au-delà de l’architecture. C’est lui, le Parthénon, le champ entier des colonnes de marbre qui tout à coup domine notre esprit. Mais il règne si doublement qu’il vous pénètre, il semble d’une telle beauté que l’on se sent touché aux larmes. Il semble être par la mesure d’art, le temple par excellence moral.) Ibid., 125.

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consider how individual components contribute to the whole before working on the sculptures.284 Like Bergson and Denis, we are observing the outside world, bringing these ideas and methods of observation inward to study the human spirit, balancing this with lessons from the past - that is to say, the Parthenon - to create a new interpretation of fundamental concepts in the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées. This focus on the project’s whole design allowed Bourdelle to approach the theater in the same way he believed the

Parthenon was constructed, that is, to have each individual part reflect the total work. It is also through this line of reasoning that Bourdelle stated he only wanted to work in sculpture that is wed to architecture, a return to the monumental harmony discussed in this chapter’s introduction.

Bourdelle concluded his important lecture by affirming the greatest model to which monumental sculptors should aspire: the design of nature, or the design of God.

This representation of unified form, shaped by natural forces, expresses the vision of unity that Bourdelle saw in the construction of grand temples and Gothic cathedrals. In these examples is the presence of the divine and the order of the universe. At the end of

284 “Meditating on all this, for my contribution as a monumental sculptor to the theater under construction, this is why I often make a tour of the total blueprint. I often go to inspect the appearance of masses and the whole block before lightly undertaking even one single head from the bas-reliefs of the facade. It’s with conscious will that I often make the voyage into the theatre for the work of [Auguste] Perret, the architect, and also [the voyage] inside me in order to put me in agreement with the whole of this firm architecture.” (Voilà pourquoi, méditant tout cela, pour mon apport de statuaire au théâtre qui se construit, je fais souvent le tour du plan total, je vais souvent toiser l’aspect des masses et le bloc tout entier avant d’entreprendre à la légère même une seule des têtes des bas-reliefs de la façade. C’est avec une volonté consciente que je fais souvent le voyage dans le théâtre pour les travaux de Perret, l’architecte et aussi au-dedans de moi pour me mettre en rapport avec l’entour de cette ferme architecture.) Ibid., 125.

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this talk Bourdelle mentioned shepherds and their flocks below an iconic mountain - a structure to which architectural sculptors should aspire. I believe this is a deliberate reference to the Roc d’Anglar, one of the most noted elevations in the Valley of Aveyron near Montauban, and it demonstrates a willingness by Bourdelle to connect his pastoral upbringing to his artistic philosophy, as well as his belief in the importance of “le pays” in understanding universal order.285 This led into a subsequent lecture at the Grande

Chaumière that delves further into the impact that Bourdelle’s native land had in his oeuvre.

Bourdelle’s Grande Chaumière lecture of December 29, 1911 focused on the timelessness of an architecture of order and simplicity (Appendix D). Titled “Shelter for the Flock at the Roc d’Anglar,” the lecture detailed a trip made by Bourdelle to the village of Saint-Antonin-Noble-Val, located east of Montauban, and his ascent up the

Roc d’Anglar (Fig. 109). He described Saint-Antonin as a “Roman and Gothic city” that has been virtually unchanged since the medieval era (Fig. 110). The majority of his praise was heaped upon the town’s maison commune, or city hall, identified by Bourdelle as

“pure Byzantine Roman, everything there is measured in boldness” (Fig. 111).286 The most glowing compliments were given to the “salle des meurtrières,” or “room of arrow

285 “You can desire nothing purer than to be similar to the sculpted architectures that sometimes rise into the sky among the shepherds and goats: certain peaceful mountains.” (On ne peut rien désirer de plus pur que de s’apparenter aux architectures sculptées que dressent parfois dans le ciel parmi les pâtres et les chèvres certaines montagnes paisibles.) Ibid., 127.

286 Antoine Bourdelle, “L’Abri pour le troupeaux,” in Cours et Leçons, Tome II, 140. “C’est du roman byzantin le plus pur, tout y est mesuré dans l’audace.”

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slits,” a room located on the top of the maison commune’s tower. Bourdelle’s understanding of its success is based upon the salle des meurtrières’s strict adherence to foundational laws of construction and architecture. As he stated:

The measure is so exact - the spacing between the arrow slits, the simple pillars framing the arrow slits, and the lintel supported by these pillars - all this is so plain with such cohesion that it feels impossible that the warriors - the armed men placed there - in their armor framed by these strong, ordered pillars would not be heroes. Power of holy justice, this stone resists time; it seems to understand that it holds the law of numbers, which are the light of the mind, in its solid, belfry-beating heart.287

The severity of the room lends it a monumentality, with the lack of decoration revealing the stones that were presumably pulled from the Roc d’Anglar to create the building. A work of architecture that “resists time,” the room serves as an example of order, measure, and architectural unity. Bourdelle spoke of laws that should not be altered for the sake of decoration but should be followed to reach the pinnacle of architectural and sculptural form.

Discussion of the country stone used to create the maison commune leads to the second half of the lecture, in which Bourdelle described himself as he climbed the slopes of the Roc d’Anglar. It is there that he found a “cabane,” a simple dry-stone used by

287 Ibid., 140-41. “La mesure est si juste, l’ordre entre les meurtrières, les piliers simples les enchâssant et le linteau supporté par ces piliers, tout cela est si nu, d’une cohésion telle qu’on sent impossible que les guerriers, que les hommes d’armes incrustés là-dedans dans leurs armures encadrées de ces durs piliers de raison ne soient pas des héros. Puissances des justesses saintes, cette pierre résiste au temps; elle semble comprendre qu’elle garde en son cœur solide qui ne bat qu’avec son beffroi, qu’elle garde la loi des nombres qui sont le soleil de l’esprit.”

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shepherds to house their flock (Fig. 112).288 Bourdelle’s account of his exploration of the cabane has the feeling of a religious epiphany. After entering the abandoned structure, he relates his impressions to his students:

But suddenly, I saw too much, or I saw nothing. My eyes were veiled with tears. Oh, miracle of proportions! Apollo, where are your herds, where is your lonely-peasant lyre? What has become of your voice? The interior was such a beautiful rectangle, the walls were so soft, so wide, and so straight, their length by their height, the door opening was their measure. Throughout the whole interior, the base of the walls had a circular bench, the walls were filled with arrow slits, narrowing towards the outside. All the stone is dry, all the stone is set on other stones, without anything other than itself to support it, it’s set there as if it has just the right amount. It’s the spirit of the space that will bind the stones. It’s sublime usefulness. It’s the monument both inconspicuous and immortal. It’s the splendor of reason.289

The beauty of the cabane for Bourdelle resides in its simplicity, its functional structure, and its adherence to basic geometric forms. It is in this simple and rational structure, seemingly constructed by a shepherd whose only architectural training would be through folk practices, that the sculptor sees the greatest expression of art. The

288 Cabanes are sometimes called “bories” or “capitelles,” depending on differences in regional terminology.

289 Bourdelle, “L’Abri pour le troupeaux,” 143. “Mais, tout à coup, je vis trop ou je ne vis rien. J’avais mes yeux voilés de larmes. Ô miracle des proportions! Apollon, où sont tes troupeaux, où est ta lyre de paysan solitaire? Qu’est devenue ta voix? L’intérieur était un rectangle si beau, les murs étaient si doux, si amples et si justes, leur longueur pour leur hauteur, la porte était si bien ouverte pour leur quantité. Tout à l’entour intérieur, la base des murailles était en banc circulaire, les murailles étaient trouées de meurtrières, s’étrécissant vers le dehors. Toute la pierre est sèche, toute la pierre est posée sur les autres pierres, sans rien qu’elle-même pour la tenir, elle est posée là, comme un nombre juste est là pour le total précis. C’est l’esprit de l’espace qui resserrera ainsi les pierres. C’est l’utile sublime. C’est le monument, à la fois furtif et immortel. C’est la splendeur de la raison.”

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discussion of “meurtrières,” placement of stone, and simple furnishings of the interior link Bourdelle’s discussion of the folk building to his earlier analysis of the Saint-

Antonin maison commune. Although separated by style, function, and era, both structures adhere to mathematical order that - based upon Bourdelle’s invocation of Apollo - reaches back to the ancient past. The cabane and the maison commune are linked not only by common location and materials, but also by the reason and logic employed by the constructors of each building. Furthermore, Bourdelle’s enthusiasm for the architecture of the cabane - and a beauty considered comparable to the Byzantine maison commune in

Saint-Antonin - suggests his fondness for a form of vernacular architecture that was a feature of the Languedoc.290

290 “Cabane” was the word used in the 19th century to describe the dry-stone found in several sites across Languedoc and Provence. The term itself is from the Occitan “.” As Bourdelle explained, the cabanes were examples of native folk architecture in southern France. Cabanes were used for the storage of crops and grains, and as shelter for both livestock and people. The first substantive recording and documentation of cabanes in the south was part of the Napoleonic land registry, or “Cadastre,” of France that was undertaken between 1803 - 1808. The cabanes were considered a distinctive feature of the south in the 19th and early 20th centuries - much like the menhirs of Brittany - and Bourdelle’s mention of them on the Roc d’Anglar added to the “place making” that he attempted in his lecture on Saint-Antonin and the Aveyron Valley. The style that Bourdelle was describing - single-room, dry stone huts with corbelled vaulting - is particularly famous in the contemporary era from two sites: the “” in Saint-André-d’Allas, Dordogne and the “Village des Bories” in Gordes, Vaucluse. Specific dates of many of these structures were unknown at the time of Bourdelle’s lectures but it was believed that some structures - especially at those like the Cabanes du Breuil and Village des Bories - had existed for several centuries. They were, however, not as ancient as Bourdelle thought. The perpetuation of rumors and myths led many to believe that such architecture went back to the medieval period, but in the case of the Cabanes du Breuil, evidence suggests that the structures there are from the mid-18th century, at the earliest. This should not diminish the ingenuity of such structures but serves as a reminder of the way the “timelessness” of the Languedoc was often distorted. For further information on the cabanes, see Christian Lassure and Jean Le Gall, “Les cabanes de Calpalmas, alias « Les cabanes du Breuil », à Saint-André-d’Allas

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Bourdelle’s March 15, 1912 lecture contains some of the best descriptions of the artist’s vision regarding the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, and what he felt such a vision signified (Appendix E). This lecture, divided into three parts, began with a dismissal of

19th and early-20th century sculpture, calling it unsatisfactory and a betrayal of the harmonious relation between architecture and sculpture.291 Part two covered the planned metopes of the theater, while the final part addressed the top frieze band. Bourdelle commented on each of the metopes, and while he concluded that Tragedy took the most effort to create, his musings on Sculpture and Architecture indicate that he felt a desire to ensure the harmony of those works with the flat surface of the wall.292 The discussion of the frieze band emphasizes his admiration for Apollo as a deity of order and harmony, and his belief that his act of sculptural creation was akin to the practices of the Greek sun god.

(Dordogne),” L’Architecture Vernaculaire Tome 38-39 (2014-2015), http://www.pierreseche.com/AV_2014_lassure_le_gall.htm. The simple country hut took on other forms in the Midi besides the cabanes described by Bourdelle. In Provence, the “cabanon” was also considered a distinct aspect of the local culture. For more information on the cabanon, see Kallmyer, Cézanne and Provence, 131-34.

291 This seems to be a disapproval of Rodin’s approach to sculpture as well.

292 Antoine Bourdelle, “Les Lois du Bas-Relief/Apollon Pensif et Les Muses,” in Cours & Leçons, Tome II, 201-2. “Architecture, Sculpture, these two figures seem found fully drawn by blocks. The quarrymen picked them up, they say the depth of their destiny with marble, [destiny] which is the order of the mountain and the all-blond earth. Here the movements and the planes, all is interlaced; they are very soft in the marble, they are its older girls.” (L’Architecture, La Sculpture, ces deux figures semblent trouvées toutes dessinées par les blocs. Les carriers les ont ramassées, elles font dire au marbre le profond de sa destinée qui est l’ordre de la montagne et de la terre toute blonde. Ici, les mouvements, les plans, tout est entrelacé; elles sont très douces au marbre, elles sont ses filles aînées.)

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Once again considering the artist’s relationship to Puvis de Chavannes - especially in light of Catherine Chevillot’s article - there is a broad desire to synthesize, monumentalize, and to bring back order to the art of sculpture; an order it lacked in the

19th century.293 At this point, one is bound to wonder how such a model might accommodate Bourdelle’s méridional mentality and aesthetics? In his lectures at the

Grande Chaumière, Bourdelle often mused on his upbringing and the land of his ancestors – stories that sounded folksy. However, and more importantly, they also reveal a deliberate search for practices and a way of life that are timeless. Reflecting on the shelter of the shepherd and his flock is Bourdelle’s own way of searching for the essential in the French countryside. Moving towards the new monumental in sculpture and architecture required a new understanding and negotiation with the past. Some people looked to the Classical past for this, but Bourdelle’s connection to his own ancient roots in Montauban lend a folksiness to the pursuit of the eternal. The practices of the shepherd, the shapes of the Roc d’Anglar, the salle des meurtrières from Saint-Antonin’s maison commune, even the construction and forms of the cabanes, were all examples that

Bourdelle looked to in search of an art of elegant and monumental simplicity.

The vision that he laid out for the exterior of the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées suggests that Bourdelle placed great importance on this project.294 This would be his

293 Chevillot, “Was Puvis de Chavannes a Painter?,” 175-87.

294 My meeting with Colin Lemoine, curator of sculptures at the Musée Bourdelle, on July 2, 2014 was enlightening in that respect. As Mr. Lemoine said, the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées was Bourdelle’s most important work and should be considered his masterpiece. The reasons for this are: the project’s ability to combine all of Bourdelle’s ideas of art into one work, including the union of architecture and sculpture; the

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permanent mark on the city of Paris, and he felt the need to emphasize his philosophical approach and make a very tactile claim for the reunification of architecture and sculpture.

This approach, abandoned by modern sculptors, would be used by Bourdelle on both the exterior and interior of the building.

Antonin Perbosc and the Yearning for the Languedoc

Bourdelle emphasized the natural settings around Montauban as an inherent part of his southern identity, just as he looked to his fellow Montalbanians in order to establish what it meant to be a méridional. To his friend, Antonin Perbosc, he declared his fondness for his homeland (and occasional displeasure at being in the north).295 After

temple/cathedral format; the use of the human figure and movement; inspiration from Archaic, Gothic, and Romanesque sculpture; a horizontal frieze combined with a vertical structure (like church architectural sculpture); use of allegory in conception and execution; and monumental form. The lectures at the Grande Chaumière indicate that Bourdelle recognized the impact that the theater would have on his legacy.

295 Along with being a confidant and kindred spirit of the Languedoc, Perbosc was responsible for introducing Bourdelle to Rodophe Bresdin’s art. In a Grande Chaumière lecture from February 5, 1914, Bourdelle recounted a friend inviting him to see a collection of Bresdin drawings. After viewing the drawings, Bourdelle stated that he became infatuated with the artist. By this point, Bresdin was seen primarily as a proto- Symbolist. He was endorsed by Charles Baudelaire, Joris-Karl Huysmans included his engravings in Des Esseintes’s house in À Rebours, and he was depicted in fictional form in Champfleury’s Chien-Caillou. Bresdin did have a retrospective at the 1908 Salon d’Automne, so there was a rising interest in his work while Bourdelle talked about him at the Grande Chaumière. Accounts of Bresdin illustrate him as an eccentric fellow in ways that could appeal to Bourdelle. Born in the Pays de la Loire in 1822, Bresdin moved to Paris at the age of twenty and quickly engaged with the bohemian world. After participating in the failed uprisings of the 1848 revolution, Bresdin left Paris and lived in Toulouse for about a decade. He returned to Paris in 1861 and was continually mobile for the remainder of his life (even moving to Montréal for about five years). He always felt a calling to the frontier and expressed admiration for a life beyond the metropolis. In Bresdin’s work, Bourdelle saw an artist with a deep respect for the medium, a reverence to the past, and an upholding of tradition. Underneath the fantastic landscapes adored by

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the events surrounding Quercy’s memorial, Bourdelle and Perbosc kept in regular correspondence, although they had previously discussed linguistics and culture while the sculptor was establishing his career in Paris in the late 19th century.296 Many of the letters between the two concerned new poems or interpretations of Occitan, as well as the progression of the sculptor’s work as he moved forward on important projects.

Huysmans, Baudelaire, and Mallarmé, we see an etcher with a deep understanding of the works of both the northern and southern Renaissance. Bresdin’s etching technique showed knowledge of the Northern Renaissance and the Dutch Golden Age, which led to appreciation for his work from the Symbolists and neoclassicists of the late-19th and early-20th century. Considering the traits of Bresdin, we can see how Bourdelle became enamored with him: he was an artist from the provinces who was pulled into Paris but had a desire to move away and lead a “simple life.” Bresdin’s knowledge of drawing and etching techniques, as well as his keen interest in using the classical tradition for contemporary works, meant that he followed a similar formula to Guadet, the Perrets, Denis, and Bourdelle. See Antoine Bourdelle, “À la rencontre de Rodolphe Bresdin,” in Cours et Leçons, Tome II, 307-13.

296 Méras, “L’Amitié de Perbosc et de Bourdelle d’après leur correspondance,” 8. One such example of the writing shared between the two artists comes from an April 1895 letter, in which Bourdelle said “This morning I read some other pages of Terradou and behold, this sacred Estieu awakens what slept among the earth, rocks, and marbles, and the work that awaits me. Ah! Dear, sacred poets, go – you make [me] forget the rude battle of Paris. I must say ‘thanks’ to you.” (Ce matin, j’ai lu d’autres pages du Terradou et voilà que ce sacre Estieu éveille ce qui dormait parmi des terres, des pierres et des marbres et le travail qui m’attend. Ah! Sacrés chers poètes, allez, vous faites oublier la rude bataille de Paris, il faut donc vous dire merci.) The work in question was Lou Terradou, a collection of poems in Occitan written by Perbosc’s friend, Prosper Estieu. Bourdelle showed his sympathy for the culture of the Midi in claiming that the words of Estieu stirred something that lay in the very “terradou” (or terroir in French) that the sculptor remembered. It is very telling that Estieu and Bourdelle use the term “terroir,” which signifies something beyond “le paysage;” it encompasses all the flora and fauna that go into a land. We may be tempted to think that Bourdelle’s mention of the “rude battle of Paris” is just meant as an exaggerated pleasantry and an expression of thanks to Perbosc. Given the further correspondence between the two, however, it becomes clear that the capital grated on Bourdelle’s nerves.

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The letters exchanged between the friends reveal Bourdelle’s deep loyalty to his southern origins. In August 1911, right before the erection of the Quercy memorial, he wrote:

At Saint-Antonin, where I would be so happy to see you if you gave me notice, I think of your brother-in-arms [Quercy]. I watch from afar where nothing useful should be omitted from this humble monument, but the poet’s true monument is what he wrote. In a good corner with a few simple shelves, wherever the book is strong you know it like a fine wine, you breathe it in and on days that you live to the fullest, your soul is refreshed. By treatment of the great author of “Got” [referring to Perbosc’s 1903 work Lo got occitan], Quercy’s fine wines shall be poured to friends who come to see him in October ... I remember my strength, little by little. The sky presses its power over our heads, its lively and serene flow. The top of a peach branch at my stone window strikes the sun and onward through the valley my new children clash with shoulders of tiled earth, with marble torsos or bronze horns, a herd of sculpted beings that my desire pushes in tumult. In great friendship, Bourdelle”297

297 Ibid., 9. “A Saint-Antonin, où je serais si heureux de vous voir à la paysanne, si vous m’avertissez du jour, je pense à votre frère d’armes. Je veille de loin à ce que rien ne soit omis d’utile à l’humble monument dressé, mais le vrai monument d’un poète est celui par lui-même écrit. Dans le bon coin de quelques simples planches quand le livre est fort, on le sait là comme un grand vin, on le respire et dans les jours où l’on vit en entier, on s’en désaltère dans l'âme. Que, par les soins du grand auteur du Got, les bons vins de Quercy soient versés aux amis qui lui vont venir en octobre près du Mont. Escouto, se plaou, au Santou, Maison du Vieux Pape, au-dessus de l’antique Burg, roman gothique et Renaissance de Saint-Antonin. Je rappelle mes forces, peu à peu. Le ciel appuie sur nos hauteurs sa puissance, son flux de sérénité, si vivante! Le haut d’un rameau de pêcher bat le soleil à ma fenêtre de pierre et par la vallée, en avant, des enfants nouveaux en moi entrechoquent des épaules en terre à tuile, des torses de marbre ou des cornes de bronze, tout un troupeau d'êtres sculptés que mon désir pousse en tumulte. En grand amitié, Bourdelle”

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To welcome you we have good rustic, gray bread - fresh from the oven – eggs, and sometimes cheese. As a setting, the beautiful nearby rocks: Roc d’Anglars.298

One of the projects that Bourdelle and Perbosc discussed was the Théâtre des Champs-

Elysées. In a letter dated from February 21, 1913, Bourdelle asked his friend:

Excuse me, I no longer write, not a second of free time. But I wish to know about you, to make a great evocation which can strongly affect you, how do you say this in langue d’oc: ‘Active Pallas creates the epic spirit’ Swift cloud, it’s night that flees, so rapid [it] does not have its very patois words, give [them] to me, fugitive [cloud]. The blossoming roses. Then Pan creates the reed flute, or syrinx. Then young nymphs teasing beasts, shepherdesses. Nymphs disarming Eros (or Love). Heroes and centaurs elevated; 2 Heroes and dying centaurs then the pythoness [potentially referring to the Oracle of Delphi]. All this, quickly return by mail in Langue d’Oc. This is necessary, French and Roman [sic] text on the interior frescoes of the theater, you think what novelty, which will place our language in honor.299

The Langue d’Oc inscription for the theater never came to fruition. But Bourdelle’s request to his friend suggests his intention to add a uniquely southern aspect to his Paris- based project. Once again, the sculptor used the term “Roman” to describe Langue d’Oc, which he also did when speaking at the dedication of the Quercy memorial.

298 Ibid., 9. “Pour vous recevoir avons bon pain gris fauve. Source au seuil. Des œufs et parfois des fromages. Comme décors de beaux rochers autour. Roc d’Anglars.”

299 Ibid., 10. “Je m’excuse, je n'écris plus, pas une seconde de liberté. Mais je désire savoir de vous, pour faire une grande évocation qui peut vous toucher fort, comment vous dites en langue d’oc, ceci: « Pallas active suscite l’esprit d’épopée » La nuée rapide, c’est une nuit qui fuit, Si rapide n’a pas son mot très patois, donnez-moi fuyante. Puis les roses effeuillées. Puis Pan crée la flute de roseaux ou sirynx. Puis jeunes nymphes taquinant les bêtes, bergères. Nymphes désarmant Eros (ou l’Amour). Héros et centaures élevés; 2 Héros et centaure mourants puis la pythonisse. Tout cela vite, retour courrier, en Languedoc. Il le faut, texte français et roman sur les fresques à l'intérieur du théâtre, vous pensez quelle nouveauté, qui mettra en honneur notre parler.”

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We see the artist voicing an even greater fondness for the sights and sounds of the south, in a letter from June 17, 1914.300 By reading some of Perbosc’s work, Bourdelle’s

300 Ibid., 10-11. Mon cher poète, Mon stylo est à Paris; je suis presque sans lui, comme un chanteur sans voix. Je me trouve au soir à Chaville près des miens, étonné de quelques heures de halte après un grand ouvrage à lente trame, et c’est ma dernière figure: Le dernier Centaure qui meurt. Et ce matin je m'étais levé à 4 heures, ainsi depuis plus d’un mois, et parti pour l’atelier à Paris à 5 h. 9. J’ai pendant l’emballement du train tranquillement lu votre estampel aux Chansons de Bessières. Sur notre piano, on les essaiera, ces chansons, mais, sans son secours, j’ai trouvé que votre estampel mène une bien grande musique. C’est de la joie de qualité rare que donne votre ouvrage pour ceux qui ont l’oreille bien placée, et je sens votre navrement très au plus caché de vous-même de n’avoir pas tous les mots admirables, vous qui en avez refaits un si grand nombre. Par endroits, on est en plein jardin, en plein verger de Langue d’Oc, puis je sens des espaces français, mal déguisés en Franciman et vous devez le sentir plus que moi, je n’ai que l’intuition dans ce domaine où vous tenez si grandement le savoir. En vous lisant, tout étonné et très ravi, je me trouvais comme rentré chez nous, et je le vois de plus en plus, ce sens d’une langue natal qui embellissait nos nourrices, qui, sans que je l’aie étudié, allait si bien à mon enfance indépendante, a fait beaucoup la couleur de mon art. Que je le veuille ou non, si j'écris et si je parle un français hasardeux d’autodidacte, je sculpte en Langue d’Oc. Il n’y a pas d'hésitation possible. Il faut tout faire pour retrouver tous les mots d’oc plein, tout le reste est fleurs de papier qui n’ont aucun parfum de terre. Certes, Perbosc, ce que vous dites est vrai des chants issus du populaire, mais le chant issu de là et qui totalise un sens vrai est fruit bien lent que doit mûrir toute une race. On en trouve très peu voulus. Ceux qui sont éternels sont des sortes de pétrificateurs filtrés des sources profondes de races et l'âme est rare qui fait ces pétrifications. Les vrais mots d’oc sont de même origine; ils sont des sources de saveur, ils étendue, souplesse, force et grâce. Votre Estampel en est, pareil à ces vergers reirals, ruraux, je pense qu’ils sont coumouls d’arbres à fruits en fleurs. Un ami rencontré qui n’a pu lire un mot de votre langue me disait son amer regret de ne rien en savoir, car, disait-il, c’est en provençal que chantait tous les jours vers Dieu le bon François d’Assise. Est-ce réel cela, Perbosc? Mais les manuscrits des poèmes sont abolis, sans doute, et si tout cela est ainsi, Dieu quelle immense perte! Et tandis qu’aux mains des mouleurs blancs comme des murs de bordes passées au lait de caouseno, mon centaure voile son argile bleue sous le plâtre, tandis que les couteaux de fer qui ont obéi à mes mains plus volontaires que lassées sont rangés après avoir coupé profils et plans, hélas, trop éloignés des formes éternelles qu’un génie souvent prête aux chansons de race, me préparant pour un autre combat, je vous écris avant de me rebadicader dans l'âpre argile des sculpteurs. De vous tous bien à vous, Bourdelle”

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memories of his home region were reignited and he sensed a profound division between himself and non-méridional French,

I quietly read your critique of the Chansons de Bessieres … In places, one is fully in the garden and fully in the orchard of Langue d’Oc, and then I, poorly disguised in Franciman, feel French spaces and you must feel it more than me, I only have intuition in the domain where you hold great knowledge.

He further stated that the dialect he learned as a child was only in spoken form, acquired by hearing other native speakers. Still, it was deeply impactful:

In reading you[r work] completely astonished and delighted, I found myself returned home, and I see it more and more, this sense of a native language which beautified our wet-nurses and which without my studying it developed well in my childhood and made a lot of my art’s color.

Once he grew older and went to school, French was emphasized. Nevertheless, his “patois” was something inherited, innate, and native with which he felt connected. He described that native language and culture as if they were organic forms that grow and get harvested,

It is necessary to do everything to fully rediscover all the words d’oc in full, everything else is paper flowers that have no earthly scent … Certainly, Perbosc, what you say is true of popular songs, but the song with true feeling is very slow fruit that needs to ripen a whole race … The true d’oc words are of similar origin: they are from flavorful sources. They are expandable, flexible, strong and graceful. Your critique is one [of those sources] and like these rural orchards, I think they are packed with flowering fruits.

The connection of the language to the land repeats types of symbolism he has used to talk about his connection to the south. He also referred to Langue d’Oc as a language of ancestry and heritage that needs to be kept alive.

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The Death of the Last Centaur and the Dying Centaur

Most research on the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées has focused on its sculpted exterior, but there is also a suite of frescoes that the artist created for the interior of the building. These works are in the theater’s mezzanine and feature stories and characters from Greek mythology, including Eros and Psyche, the fall of Icarus, and Orpheus and

Eurydice (Fig. 113). The Death of the Last Centaur fresco is particularly important for this dissertation (Fig. 114).301 The theater fresco also served as the inspiration for the

Dying Centaur sculpture.302 The half-human, half-horse creature recurred in Bourdelle’s drawings for years after both the fresco and sculpture were finished.303 What was

Bourdelle’s fascination with a creature on the fringes of civilization and associated with barbarism? An examination of Bourdelle’s relationship to the centaur, and his creation of

301 Death of the Last Centaur was a collaborative work by Bourdelle and his wife, Cléopâtre Bourdelle-Sevastos.

302 The Dying Centaur was commissioned on July 14, 1912 by Jorge Lavalle Cobo, the mayor of . A patron of the arts, Cobo first became interested in the sculpture during a trip to Bourdelle’s studio, where he saw a small study of the Dying Centaur made by the artist in 1911. The monumental sculpture was completed in 1914 after several delays caused by World War I and sent to Buenos Aires in 1916 where it is still on display in a public park. Several casts have been made since the original commission. See Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 127.

303 “From then on [1910] and up to 1926, Bourdelle did not stop developing this motif in more than 200 drawings representing battles between centaurs or romance between centaurs and centauresses.” (Dès lors, et ce jusqu’en 1926, Bourdelle ne cessera de développer ce motif dans plus de 200 dessins représentant des combats entre des centaures ou encore des idylles entre centaures et centauresses). Chloë Théault, “Le Centaure Mourant de Bourdelle: autoportrait de l’artiste en bête,” Ligeia 145-148 (January-June 2016): 122.

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centaur-themed works will provide a greater understanding of his complex and shifting notions of identity and serves as a fit conclusion to this chapter.

Bourdelle was completely unfamiliar with fresco as a medium before starting the interior decoration of the theater, but it is possible that he was inspired to undertake the project by the work of Puvis de Chavannes and the theories of Maurice Denis. Looking at the frescoes by Bourdelle reveals an approach that Puvis de Chavannes took in his decorative schemes: the works are meant to harmonize and complement the constructed building. There is a “washed-out” color in the frescoes, partly due to the nature of the material being used. The colors are also evocative of Puvis de Chavannes’s murals, the style of which suggest timelessness or a constructed sense of antiquity (Fig. 115).

Both the Death of the Last Centaur and the Dying Centaur represent Chiron, the wisest of all centaurs who was skilled in music and the arts and was the tutor of Achilles.

In the Dying Centaur, Chiron holds a lyre, an attribute that alluded to his sophistication and artistic talent. The centaur’s death also highlights the fact that Chiron met a tragic end: the immortal creature was accidentally pierced by one of Heracles’s arrows dipped in the fatally poisonous blood of the Lernean Hydra. Chiron suffered continuous agony and, to end it, he begged Zeus to strip him of his immortality and allow him to die. In both the Dying Centaur and the Death of the Last Centaur, the creature features the same bent neck and arms that are extended horizontally from the body.304 The fresco and preparatory drawings for the Death of the Last Centaur display the arms of the creature

304 It should be noted that the bent neck and arms of the two centaurs are very similar to Rodin’s Three Shades sculpture (before 1886, monumental group in 1904, in the collection of the Musée Rodin, Paris).

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tied to the branches of a tree (Figs. 116 & 117). Parallels to a crucified Christ are evident in the figure’s construction, and this comparison adds another layer of tragedy to

Bourdelle’s interpretation of the Chiron myth.

The subject of the centaur was not unique to Bourdelle. Although particular artists inspired his work, the centaur has been a prominent artistic theme throughout the history of Europe’s cultures.305 Since Classical antiquity, the most common characteristic of the centaur has been its connection to nature and the animal world. The centaur was prone to violence, lasciviousness, and binge drinking in Greek mythology. Because of its human- animal duality, the centaur was often depicted in Greek myth and art as a creature that was torn between civilization and savagery. Most often, it gave in to its animalistic traits and was used as a lesson for humans to protect civilization and order and guard against the senseless brutality of the natural world. Chiron was a noted exception to the beastly qualities of the centaur. His devotion to the arts and sciences enshrined him as a mythological creature that escaped the wild and uncivilized nature of his animal half and fully embraced the knowledge and culture of humanity.

The dual nature of the centaur was a theme that medieval, Renaissance, Baroque,

Neoclassical, and Romantic artists explored. Depictions of the centaur continued into late-19th century European art, particularly in the work of symbolist-affiliated painters.

Greek mythological figures were often used by symbolist writers and artists for their

305 For an overview of the centaur’s symbolic meaning in the history of Western art and culture, see Mario Pereira, “Centaur,” in The Classical Tradition, eds. Anthony Grafton, Glenn W. Most, and Salvatore Settis (Cambridge, MA: Belknap/Harvard University Press, 2010), 187-89.

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ability to invoke the supernatural, their strong reliance on imagination and the mind, and their relative ease in transmitting symbolic meaning to viewers.306 As discussed in the first chapter, some of Symbolism’s concerns were the exploration of human nature and the conflict between the material and spiritual realms. Half-human, half-animal creatures from Greek mythology - residing in a liminal zone between order, chaos, fantasy, and reality - were ideal for addressing such topics in art.

Many symbolist artists did not just use the centaur and other hybrid creatures as antagonists in the struggle between civilization and savagery. Rather, they sometimes reinterpreted the meaning of mythological monsters to address their artistic agendas. The half-human, half-goat protagonist of Stéphane Mallarmé’s famous poem “Afternoon of a

Faun” (1876) embodies the slothfulness and sensual desire that were common traits of such composite creatures.307 But the faun and the fantastic world that he inhabited allowed Mallarmé to explore language and artistic thought untethered from material references. Additionally, the deadly female sphinx was used by decadent and symbolist

306 And for some symbolist artists, like those affiliated with the École romane, centaurs and other mythological characters had the added benefit of directly evoking the culture, civilization, and order of ancient Greece.

307 Published as L’après-midi d’un faune, the poem is told from the perspective of a mythological faun who, half-awake, muses on his surroundings and sexual relationships with nymphs. The dream-like narration of the poem also highlights the symbolist interest in dream states and subconscious desires. See Stéphane Mallarmé, “Afternoon of a Faun/L’après-midi d’un faune,” in Collected Poems, Stéphane Mallarmé: A bilingual edition, trans. Henry Weinfield (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 38-41.

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artists to push their misogynistic belief that women were vicious temptresses and closer to the chaotic natural world than men.308

Like these other half-human, half-animal creatures, the use of the centaur by late-

19th century artists was varied. The centaur’s violent and sexual qualities were depicted by Arnold Böcklin (1827-1901), Franz von Stuck (1863-1928), and Odilon Redon.309

There were also artists and writers who highlighted noble aspects in centaurs that were usually reserved for just Chiron. Both Redon’s Centaur Aiming at the Clouds of 1875, and Gustave Moreau’s Dead Poet Carried by a Centaur of circa 1890 associate the creature with the arts and the ethereal realm (Figs. 118 & 119). In these instances, the centaur is associated with human imagination and “pure” art, like Mallarmé’s faun. The centaur also represented Symbolism’s aspiration to move art away from the material realm in the short-lived literary journal Le Centaure. The publication featured poetry by writers such as Henri de Régnier, Paul Valéry, and André Gide, as well as illustrations by

Félicien Rops, Henri Fantin-Latour (1836-1904), Jacques-Émile Blanche (1861-1942), and other artists associated with avant-garde movements.310 The centaur was also

308 Notable examples includes Gustave Moreau, Oedipus and the Sphinx (1864, oil on canvas, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York); Félicien Rops, The Sphinx (1886, ink print on paper, Los Angeles County Museum of Art); and Fernand Knopff, Caresses (1896, oil on canvas, Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium, Brussels).

309 Richard Warren, Sex, Symbolists and the Greek Body (New York, Bloomsbury Academic, 2019), 225-27. Warren discussed the centaur’s association with aggression and sexuality in symbolist art, with reference to paintings and drawings by Böcklin, Stuck, Redon, Max Klinger (1857-1920), and Gustave Moreau.

310 For a thorough analysis of the style and artistic intentions of Le Centaure, see Anne Mairesse, “La Revue du ‘Centaure’: Textes et contextes d’une œuvre esthétique et littéraire,” Nineteenth-Century French Studies 36, no. ½ (Fall-Winter 2003-04): 104-20.

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portrayed as a sympathetic figure by artists in the late 1800s and early 1900s. One example is Henri de Régnier’s poem “The Wounded Centaur,” in which the narrator kills a centaur and is overcome by the creature’s humanity in death:

I trembled. Your gallop filled my ears, / Resounding with the echo of its vermillion hum, / And I held my bow while invoking the Gods! / And the air carried my victorious line towards you … / You fell. Now I curse my prayer, / My straight arrow and murderous fear, / Dear monster! I cry for you and see you again / Your human hand pressing on your flank, oh Centaur, / Your wound and I hear … in the dead of night I hear / The human cry shooting out from your neighing!311

Bourdelle was working on Death of the Last Centaur and Dying Centaur at a time when there was a renewed artistic interest in the mythological beast. There was also a variety of interpretations about the nature of the centaur, and Bourdelle displayed an understanding of how past and contemporary artists engaged with the topic. For both his fresco and sculpture, Bourdelle interpreted the centaur in a sympathetic light and associated it with artistic and imaginative qualities. Bourdelle also had sources of inspiration for his works, including Antoine-Louis Barye’s Theseus Fighting the Centaur

Bianor from 1850. Barye’s sculpture is far more Romantic in expression and movement than Bourdelle’s works, but there are structural similarities in the craning of the neck and

311 “J’ai tremble. Ton galop remplissant mon oreille, / Sonore de l’écho de sa rumeur vermeille, / Et j’ai tendu mon arc en invoquant les Dieux! / Et l’air porta vers toi mon trait victorieux … / Tu tombas. Maintenant je maudis ma prière, / Ma flèche trop certaine et ma peur meurtrière, / Cher monstre! je te pleure et je revois encore / Ta main d’homme presser à ton flanc, ô Centaure, / Ta blessure et j’entends, au fond du soir, j’entends / Le cri humain jailli de ton hennissement!” Excerpt from Henri de Régnier, “Le centaure blessé,” in La cité des eaux (Urbana, IL: Project Gutenberg, 2007), http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/23589/pg23589-images.html. The collection of poems was first published in 1902.

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the extension of limbs used by both artists (Fig. 120). Barye took inspiration from the mannerist sculptor Giambologna, who created a sculpture of Heracles fighting the centaur

Nessus in 1599 (Fig. 121). Other potential sources of inspiration for Bourdelle are the centauromachy sculptures from the metopes of the Parthenon in Athens, completed 447-

438 BCE, and the west pediment of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia, completed circa 460

BCE (Fig. 122 & 123).312 One of the centaurs in the pediment has his upper torso turned and right arm extended in a similar manner to Bourdelle’s Dying Centaur. Bourdelle’s access to sculptural collections across Paris meant that he was able to see some of these inspirational sculptures. Barye’s Theseus Fighting the Centaur Bianor was acquired by the Musée des Beaux-Arts de la Ville de Paris, also known as the , in 1908.

Plaster casts of the Parthenon sculptures and the pediment sculptures of the Temple of

Zeus at Olympia were in the extensive collection of the École des Beaux-Arts.313

312 “Centauromacy” is a thematic subject in art of the Classical world and art that has been inspired by ancient Greek culture. The centauromachy refers to the myth of a battle between the Lapiths and the centaurs at the wedding of King Pirithous. The centaurs were wedding guests, but after consuming too much wine, one of the centaurs attempted to kidnap and rape Hippodamia, the bride of Pirithous. This hostile act resulted in a fight between the Lapiths, led by Pirithous and Theseus, and the centaurs. The Lapiths emerged victorious in the battle and the myth was meant to underline important values in ancient Greek culture, including that one should always be a good guest and never to engage in excess of any substance, particularly alcohol. The centauromachy also highlights the thematic struggle between civilization (represented by the law-abiding Lapiths) and barbarism (the centaurs) that is at the foundation of numerous ancient Greek myths.

313 The École des Beaux Arts also had the restoration drawings of the Temple of Olympia by M. Laloux, which were completed in 1883. For examples of the illustrations, see Jean Schopfer, “The Greek Temple,” The Architectural Record XVII, no. 6 (June 1905): 446- 51. For a brief background on the illustrations, see James K. Smith, “The Temple of Zeus at Olympia,” Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome, Vol. 4 (1924): 154.

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The centaur was a source of fascination for Bourdelle; Cléopâtre wrote,

“[Bourdelle] loved the centaur myth, this figure that shows the duality of man – spirit and animal.”314 In his post-Dying Centaur drawings of the mythical creatures, Bourdelle would sometimes include himself as one of the centaurs (Figs. 124 & 125). Photographs of the artist from the 1910s show the similarities between the illustrated centaurs and himself (Fig. 126). These drawings are some of the most intriguing of his oeuvre. They also raise the question: Why would Bourdelle identify with a monster associated with coarseness, savagery, and tragedy? As I have shown through this dissertation, coarseness and savagery were perceived components of Bourdelle’s southern identity and the following paragraphs will assess how he tried to symbolize méridional attributes through the centaur. The tragic fate of Chiron can be equated to loss for Bourdelle. These include a feeling of diminished regional identity and concern for a loss of artistic creativity.

Chloë Théault’s article, “Le Centaure Mourant de Bourdelle: Autoportrait de l’Artiste en Bête,”315 offers insight into how Bourdelle considered his identity and how such self-perception related to the Dying Centaur. Théault’s focus in the article was looking at the personal and allegorical inspirations for the Dying Centaur, including the symbolist interest in the centaur as representing the human spirit’s struggle over the material world. One of the earliest works by Bourdelle featuring a centaur was the 1910 plaster study Mind over Matter (Figs. 127 & 128). The sculpture, slightly over two feet tall, is a struggle between two mythical creatures associated with savagery: the centaur

314 Bourdelle-Sevastos, Ma Vie avec Bourdelle, 127.

315 Théault, “Le Centaure Mourant de Bourdelle,” 122-29.

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and the half-human, half-bull minotaur. Through the title of the work, as well as the struggle of the two figures, Bourdelle defined the centaur as a creature of the spiritual realm, which is conquering the beastly minotaur that represents matter. The association of

Bourdelle’s centaurs with Chiron is already present in this early study, and the head of the centaur in Mind over Matter bears resemblance to the stoic features of the Head of

Apollo. This is an indication of how Bourdelle treated the subject in later drawings and in both Death of the Last Centaur and the Dying Centaur.

Théault’s article also addressed Bourdelle’s connection to the pastoral south.

There is no doubt that Bourdelle felt an affinity with the world of animals and shepherds.

He talked about it on several occasions, including his 1905 essay in Le Temps and his lectures at the Grande Chaumière. In a September 9, 1917 letter to his sister-in-law,

Anthippe Sevastos Couchoud, Bourdelle explained that “Man is the plowman who goes through time in the earth’s harsh furrow – But like the sweet oxen that the yoke bound, my four plowmen – heart, body, mind, and soul – slowly receive the synthesis of soil, hearts, and days.”316 He also represented the connection between his shepherd ancestors and their flock in a 1924 drawing and once wrote to his first wife, Stéphanie Van Parys,

“I would like to be a shepherd! Loving mortals less than my little flock” (Fig. 129).317 A consideration of Bourdelle’s self-representation as a centaur can be expanded to

316 “L’homme […] est le laboureur qui va à travers le temps dans l’âpre sillon de la terre – Mais comme les doux bœufs que les jougs ont lié, mes quatre laboureurs – le cœur, le corps, l’esprit et l’âme – reçoivent lentement la synthèse du sol la synthèse des cœurs la synthèse des jours.” Quoted in Théault, “Le Centaure Mourant de Bourdelle,” 125.

317 “Je voudrais être Berger! Aimant moins les mortels que mon petit troupeau.” Quoted in Théault, “Le Centaure Mourant de Bourdelle,” 125.

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symbolically allude to the struggle between town and country, or metropolis and Midi, especially given his statements on the méridional connection to nature and his dissatisfaction with certain aspects of Paris. One must also consider the centaur’s thematic struggle between civilization and barbarism. Bourdelle would have been aware of this theme in the centaur, but perhaps his struggle between maintaining two identities - the cultured artist and the earthy Montalbanian - did not have to have one triumph over the other.

The French south was a region with an identity crisis at the beginning of the 20th century. Improvements in transportation meant that the distance between the metropolis and the Midi were shorter than they ever had been, enabling stronger connections between two poles of French identity in the early twentieth century. Despite the efforts of the Félibrige and affiliate organizations, the number of Langue d’Oc speakers continued to shrink and would diminish more after both world wars.318 While suggestions of federalism and the use of regional dialects would have sparked controversy in the 1870s and 1880s, it did not present the same challenge to French unification by the 1910s and

1920s. Mainstream French was becoming the established language throughout the

318 It is important to note that the Félibrige was more interested in the revival of Provençal as an art form and expression of culture than as a lingua franca. While some figures like Antonin Perbosc did attempt to revive Langue d’Oc as an everyday language to be used alongside French, Mistral and others focused on the poetic potentials of the language. The Félibrige, even if its members’ intentions were always sincere, was a movement of refinement rather than of the people. We should also note that the original Félibrige was interested primarily in Provençal and was less concerned (if at all) with the neighboring regions of greater Occitania and how regional differences might influence spoken Langue d’Oc.

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country.319 Still, the perception of the south as a land removed from the capital persisted and some southerners, like Bourdelle, perpetuated those beliefs. In a lecture presented at the Grande Chaumière about the town of Marseille, Bourdelle mentioned the Greek colonial history of the city, using the Hellenic pronunciation of the town’s name,

“Massilia,” and describing the women he saw as similar to the caryatids on the

Erechtheion.320 In a town whose history stretches back to the ancient Greeks, stone is turned to living flesh and the Mediterranean spirit was alive. The complex nature of the

French south continued to be explored and exploited by Bourdelle throughout his career, whether it was drawing upon the perception of Classical sophistication in méridional culture or transforming himself into a mythical beast that represented the untamed and idyllic Midi.

It is important to look at the drawings of Bourdelle as a centaur when considering his identification as a southerner who traces his ancestry to the land and to artisanal practices. These presentations of the artist, coupled with the illustrations of him as a figure on a Greek black-figure vase or as a faun, suggest his connection to the

Mediterranean past and, conversely, his alienation from the metropolis (Figs. 130, 131 &

319 Pertaining to Bourdelle, the status of French in Montauban as the primary language probably predated the Ferry Laws of the fin-de-siècle. The town’s Huguenot history meant that French was used in church services and would have been introduced into the community earlier than neighboring Catholic towns.

320 Antoine Bourdelle, “Les Cariatides du Vent,” in Cours & Leçons, Tome II, 156. “In this ancient Massilia that see its reflection in the sea, there are types of young, admirable women who are like the twin sisters of the Erectheion women, who are immortal columns.” (Il y a dans cette antique Massilia qui se regarde dans la mer des types de jeunes filles admirables qui sont comme les sœurs jumelles des femmes de l’Érechthéion, qui sont d’immortelles colonnes.)

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132). Like the centaur drawings, the black-figure vase painting and the faun illustrations feature characters that are bald and with short-trimmed white beards. These traits, along with the sharply angled nose and dark eyebrows identify the figures as Bourdelle. The artist wore his head and facial hair in a similar style from the 1910s until the end of his life (Fig. 133). Bourdelle’s continued correspondence with Perbosc - including statements of his dissatisfaction with Paris - underlined his connection with the south and his identification as an outsider while living in the French capital.321

Ending with the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées and Dying Centaur is fitting, as they represent two critical ways to understand Bourdelle’s sculpture. The theater is his most complete statement on the unification of architecture and sculpture.322 He envisioned it as a modern Greek temple and tried to make it represent the classical values of order and harmony that he believed all monumental sculpture should have. Bourdelle’s centaur is a stand-in for the loss of southern tradition and identity, as well as an assertion of méridional values, including a closeness to nature. Additionally, Bourdelle’s reflections on the Midi later in life suggest that his home region was still close to his mind and heart. We leave Bourdelle at a moment before the entirety of the Parisian art world changed with the outbreak of World War I.323 Bourdelle’s devotions shifted from

321 Méras, “L’Amitié de Perbosc,” 16-17.

322 This was the opinion expressed by Colin Lemoine during our July 2, 2014 meeting.

323 Like all aspects of French life, the Parisian art world changed significantly with the French declarations of war against Germany and Austria-Hungary in August 1914. While many avant-garde artists had protested the public rise of nationalist sentiments in the first two decades of the 20th century, there was a collective realization that war constituted an existential threat to France. Political differences remained across the country and within

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Montauban to the nation as a whole at this time, prompted by a number of key happenings, such as the development of the “Union Sacrée” and the shock experienced from the devastation of Reims Cathedral. Along with the centaur, Bourdelle made extensive drawings of Reims Cathedral and he was united with fellow French artists in outrage over the damage done to the church by German bombardment on September 4,

1914. Shelling by the German Imperial Army caused an extraordinary amount of damage, with renovations not being able to begin until after the end of the war. The Germans thought that destruction to the church would destroy French morale, but it only joined them in anger over the loss of a cultural treasure. The patriotism that the sculptor displayed during and after the war years was undoubtedly sincere. Near the end of his life, however, he returned to the theme of Montauban. The conclusion of this dissertation will consider how Bourdelle tried to tie his legacy to his home.

the Paris art world, but the preservation of the nation was considered paramount in war and many artists soon joined the military. Silver, Esprit de Corps, 5 stated, “By the first winter of war, Braque, Derain, Charles Camoin, Raymond Duchamp-Villon, Roger de la Fresnaye, Albert Gleizes, Moise Kisling, František Kupka, Fernand Léger, Jean Metzinger, Henri Dunoyer de Sgonzac, Jacques Villon, Maurice de Vlaminck, and Ossip Zadkine, among many others, were all at the front; even Matisse, already forty-five years old, tried to enlist.” Noncombatant young artists were viewed with suspicion and often hid from the public view, like Jean Cocteau, or fled the country altogether, like Robert and Sonia Delaunay. The cosmopolitan nature of the French capital changed dramatically. Foreign artists and individuals living in Paris faced the threat of expulsion from the country. Of the Spanish Juan Gris, Silver said on page 4 of Esprit de Corps that the artist “had already sensed that even the daily lives of himself and his friends were being radically altered; the free-wheeling, bohemian world of Montmartre and Montparnasse was, at least for the moment, a vanished way of life … The friendships, financial arrangements, alliances, and even animosities among companions of disparate national origins were suddenly suspended.” Besides Silver’s Esprit de Corps, Cottington’s Cubism in the Shadow of War presents a careful examination of the state of the Parisian art world leading up to World War I, and how the beginning of conflicts changed the lives of all artists in the French capital.

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FIGURES

ALL IMAGES REMOVED DUE TO COPYRIGHT

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CONCLUSION

BOURDELLE’S MONTALBANIAN LEGACY IN TIME

This dissertation began as an investigation of how Antoine Bourdelle’s southern identity influenced his sculpture’s development. Any detours from the original research proposal arose from exploring the cultural and artistic state of France in the years preceding World War I. Coming from a region that had long been defined by its difference from the rest of France had a significant impact on Bourdelle. Those effects are seen in his early sculpted works, his drawings, and his literary output. His display of montalbanian and méridional connections in the 19th century reflected the ideas of

French regionalism. At the beginning of the 20th century, Bourdelle’s expression of southern identity takes on some characteristics of right-wing nationalism espoused by the

École romane and the Action française. This, however, happened with the entire regionalist movement and Mistral, the leader of the Félibrige, was celebrated in the early

1900s as a prophet while the country shifted towards nationalism. Bourdelle was a son of the Midi and connected to the Greco-Roman past. These were qualities seen as vital components of French identity. The artist’s 1905 exhibition at the Hébrard Gallery displayed his Classical influences and interpretations of ancient Greek sculpture.

Bourdelle was one of the artists at the front of a classical revival in the early 20th century and his connection to the French south gave him an “authenticity” that other artists did

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not have. After the construction of the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées, Bourdelle was one of the premiere sculptors in France and carried his identity as a southern, Classically inspired artist to the end of his career. Yet, with his fame secured after the theater and with regionalist ideas absorbed into French nationalism’s rhetoric, Bourdelle still maintained a méridional identity that was both unique and heartfelt. As noted in his letters to Antonin Perbosc, he privately wished for a return to his hometown and the chance to speak “en langue d’oc” with his people.

Near the end of his life, Bourdelle undertook two projects - a catalogue of his oeuvre and the construction of a museum - and brief investigations of both will conclude this dissertation. The first project was a catalogue raisonné, L’Œuvre d’Antoine

Bourdelle, which began publication in 1925.324 The book includes an essay that details the history of Montauban (Appendix F). Part history and part poetry, the essay describes the town’s growth as a series of quasi-mythological events and connects the native-born

Montalbanians to ancient Gauls, Greeks, Romans, and medieval heroes. Bourdelle began with the origins of the town’s name and earliest settlers and ended with a grand theory on art and sculpture. In between, he elaborated on the unique land, stories, and symbols of

Montauban, all of which contributed to the development of his art.325

324 Bourdelle, L’Œuvre d’Antoine Bourdelle. Bourdelle wanted the catalogue to cover all of his life’s work. It was issued over five years in several portfolios. Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 157 discussed the steps taken by the artist to complete the book.

325 Of interest for this dissertation is Bourdelle’s differentiation between Provence and Languedoc. He claimed the willow as something that is distinctly Occitanian, and particularly Montalbanian. Provence has “clarity, order, and the juice of the Greek olive,” (L’Œuvre d’Antoine Bourdelle, 18) whereas the willow is tied to certain traditions that can be categorized as Occitanian.

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One part of the essay worth additional consideration is Bourdelle’s examination of the Head of Renaud (Fig. 134).326 This sculpted head of the fictional medieval knight,

Renaud de Montauban, was inserted into the exterior wall of what is now the Musée

Ingres Bourdelle.327 Bourdelle briefly discussed the story of Renaud in L’Œuvre d’Antoine Bourdelle. In doing so, he stated that his recitation, “will be affected by the voice, and … also the echo of the old legendary songs that the weaver, vitner, and master fisher - my admirable grandfather Salvy Reille - chanted in the country style … with such a grandiose accent.”328 Bourdelle connected himself and his town with ancient French tradition, but emphasized the importance of having the story of Renaud originally told to

326 Renaud de Montauban is the hero of the Quatre fils Aymon (12th century), one of the primary examples of an Old French epic, or “chanson de geste.” It was from the chansons de geste that the lyrical poetry of the troubadours emerged and having a titular figure from one of these epics based in Montauban certainly places the town at the center of French culture (and could arguably trace the artistic importance of the town further back than the troubadours, and by extension, the Félibrige).

327 The building that houses the Musée Ingres Bourdelle has a history as old as Montauban. It began as a defensive outpost to protect the city - then ruled by the Count of Toulouse - and its river commerce. The building was reconstructed during the Hundred Years’ War and the French Wars of Religion. The current structure was built from 1664- 1680 to serve as the bishop’s palace after Catholic forces recaptured the town from the Huguenots. The palace was repurposed as city hall after the French Revolution and was turned into a museum in 1820. Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres donated parts of his collection to the museum in 1851 and 1867. After Ingres’s death in 1867, the building was rechristened the Musée Ingres. After an extensive, multi-year renovation, the museum reopened at the end of 2019 with a new name: Musée Ingres Bourdelle. For more information on the building’s history, see “Histoire des lieux,” Musée Ingres Bourdelle, accessed March 6, 2020, https://museeingresbourdelle.com/histoire-des-lieux.

328 “Il en ressentira les voix, et, lui répondant de très près, l’écho aussi des vieux chants légendaires, que le Tisserand-Vigneron et maître pêcheur, mon admirable grand-père Salvy Reille, psalmodiait à la mode paysanne de sa splendide voix et d’un si grandiose accent.” Bourdelle, L’Œuvre d’Antoine Bourdelle, 24.

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him through the regional “accent” of his grandfather. In the Head of Renaud, Bourdelle saw the representation of creative process and artistic spirit. He claimed to see the work of the artisan - so closely connected to the mason, the potter, and the metalsmith - who crafted the Romanesque stone head. He offered the highest praise to the sculpture’s maker, who Bourdelle envisioned as having pure artistic vision. The Head of Renaud represented artistic truth and the replication of God’s original creation of humanity.329

Bourdelle’s examination of the sculpted head connected him to the history of Montauban, a town that was a part of himself and a place that contained fundamental components of art that he hoped to replicate in his work.

We should look at such grandiose statements critically and ask if this was just

Bourdelle’s attempt to further market himself as a man of the south and to rely on the artistic legacy of Montauban to boost his reputation. This could explain some of his actions, but there was little motivation for Bourdelle to assert such ideas after his fame had been secured. The effort he took in constructing this vision of Montauban and its history went beyond simple gestures of hometown pride.

Across the street from the Musée Ingres Bourdelle in Montauban is Picquard

Square. In 1954, the city installed a monument to Antoine Bourdelle at that location. The structure is a concrete stele with the artist’s self-portrait bust near the top (Fig. 135). The sculpture resembles an ancient herm and underlines Bourdelle’s interest in Classical sculpture. Bourdelle’s self-portrait originally was created as a piece of architectural

329 This comparison of artistic creation to divine creation is like Bourdelle’s message in his 1890 “Poème du sculpteur,” discussed in Chapter One.

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sculpture - specifically a keystone - and first displayed at the 1925 Paris Art Déco exposition (Fig. 136).330 Since Bourdelle began publishing L’Œuvre d’Antoine Bourdelle the same year that he created this sculpture, it is worth wondering whether his self- portrait was a deliberate reference to the Head of Renaud.

The second project to consider was the museum Bourdelle wished to build in

Paris. Inspired by the 1919 opening of the Musée Rodin, Bourdelle began planning his own museum in 1922.331 He sent a proposal to the City of Paris in 1926 that called for the construction of a new building to house his art and archives.332 Drawings created by the artist in 1926 and 1927 (Figs. 137 & 138) further emphasize the attachment that

Bourdelle felt to his hometown. The proposed building featured a red brick facade, barrel arches, and barrel tiles on the roof - all characteristics of buildings in Montauban’s city center. Sketches for the museum are like structures in Montauban’s main plaza, the Place

Nationale, as well as the old Collège des Jésuites (Fig. 139 & 140). Additionally,

Bourdelle’s museum sketches resemble illustrations of the artist’s old family home in

Montauban, which he nicknamed “La Providence,” (Fig. 141).

330 “Bas-relief: Autoportrait à 60 ans,” Plateforme Ouverte du Patrimonie, Ministère de la Culture, République Française, accessed August 4, 2019, https://www.pop.culture.gouv.fr/notice/palissy/IM82100742.

331 Cantarutti, Bourdelle, 157.

332 Ibid., 157-58. The Société des Amis de Bourdelle was formed in 1926 to assist in the creation of the museum. The proposal submitted by Bourdelle offered the city all his work and the rights to their use, in exchange for land to construct the new building. Sites suggested by Bourdelle included the Porte d’Auteuil, in the west of Paris, and a plot on the Avenue Bosquet.

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The French government had little interest in Bourdelle’s offer and no plans were in place for a museum at the time of the artist’s death. The City of Paris did eventually accept the donation due to the efforts of the artist’s surviving family members and the

Musée Bourdelle, which includes the artist’s studio and residence, was opened to the public in 1949. It is still administered by the city and is part of the Paris-Musées collection. The museum presents visitors with a comprehensive collection of Bourdelle’s art and archival material, some of which is in the space where the artist lived and worked.333 The campus successfully blends historic buildings with newer expansions, and the secluded nature of the institution is excellent for contemplating and studying

Bourdelle’s art. Still, it is worth considering if the artist’s legacy would be different today if the museum were constructed in Bourdelle’s proposed “montalbanian” style. Such a museum would have been a unique structure in Paris that served as a physical stand-in for

Bourdelle’s southern identity. His desire at the end of his life to symbolically bring some of Montauban into Paris continued a lifelong theme: that his complicated méridional identity be forever part of both his sculptures and his creative persona.

333 The museum has had two expansion projects since its opening: the construction of a large exhibition hall in 1961 and an extension in 1992 for basement galleries, archives, and storage. See “1961 La construction du Grand Hall,” Musée Bourdelle, accessed March 6, 2020, http://www.bourdelle.paris.fr/fr/musee/lhistorique-de-latelier-au- musee/1961-la-construction-du-grand-hall, and “1992 La nouvelle extension,” Musée Bourdelle, accessed March 6, 2020, http://www.bourdelle.paris.fr/fr/musee/lhistorique- de-latelier-au-musee/1992-la-nouvelle-extension.

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FIGURES

ALL IMAGES REMOVED DUE TO COPYRIGHT

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Appendix A

ANTOINE BOURDELLE, “LE POÈME DU SCULPTEUR”

First published in La Tribune de Tarn-et-Garonne, July 3, 1890, republished in

L’Archer, no. 12, 1930, included in L’Atelier perpétuel, eds. Marc Koylov and Colin

Lemoine (Paris: Paris-Musées, 2009): 210-12.

To my master Falguière.

To take the soft silt, blonde flesh of the earth, / To bend two knees for the solemn hymn, /

To remind me that Adam, my paternal ancestor, / Born from this kneaded silt by God the

Father, / And try to match the great, eternal master. // Child of the sacred earth, understand Nature, / Carve the rustic wood in the knife’s shadow, / Perfect a kitbag with a good knife, / Simple shepherd living on dairy and pure water, / Loving mortals less than my little herd. // And evening, wrapped in my coarse cloths, / Across the great woods, the bramble, the brush, / Drive my sheep under the pebble roof, / And go to sleep with the stars on my forehead, / And polished rock for an austere headboard. // To take the rural clay in my practiced hands, / And, marvelous potter, suddenly make bloom, / A flowering of kaolin urns, / Great, squat vases, slender amphorae, / Perennial flowers forming a magic garden. // Chisel, trembling, in antique stone, / A fine, multicolored ring, / And engrave birds and flowers with care, / Make this ring a mystic symbol, / Soft like an autumn evening and pure like the rain. // Cut into the alabaster, in wandering troops /

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Forest spirits and water nymphs; / Mix among the lilies and the soft reeds, / Ecstatic faces over round breasts, / And love illuminating the nests under the twigs. // Draw divine idylls on onyx, / Print the definitive line on pure gold, / Just as dreaming Phidias, thoughtful Michelangelo / Searched for, tormenting the soul on thorns, / And could not find their attentive spirit. // Chisel the undying stanza in iron, / Fanatic worker, with my own blood, / Write the wild, bitter, and roaring verse, / From the divine poem, wholly impregnable, / Where neighing Pegasus passes in full azure. // Enter the deep and moving forests, / Piously seek all the great dead trees, / With axe cuts, give a soul to these grand bodies, / And revive them in suffering postures, / Twisting their bruised arms, which stay strong. // Carve the inert rock, wrenched from mountains, / And make from this massive, rough, and numb block, / A colossus, supporting his heavy brow in his hands, / Dark specter that watches over the countryside, / Bending his rough torso, as large as a tower.

// Build a stoic forehead in a divine cast, / A forehead of bronze, gold, and copper together, / A fiery figure, upright on his feet, / And who stands very tall in heroic pose, /

His bright sword in the burning heavens. // Like a frost dream, raise into the azure, / the white cathedral, tree where saints nest; / Wrap scrolls around the stained glass / And set ablaze in the copper hosanna / the mother of Jesus, raising her hands towards God. //

Under the nave, in the fearful raising of prayer, / Set upon his horse with haughty gestures, / The archangel of death in his stirrups, / Like the great warriors carved into stone / By the marvelous chisel of humble illustrators. // Then, having worked for eternal joy, / Sower, in the furrows of the black-bosomed earth / Having thrown the sacred grain of my hope / From which is born the forest of the immortal flower; / Go on the mountain

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and in the peace of evening, // Dig my last bed in a large stone, / Without vain imagery, without futile torch, / And say, kneeling at the edge of the tomb: / Earth receive your child and take back your dust. / The tomb will have the softness of the cradle for me

A mon maître Falguière.

Prendre le doux limon, blonde chair de la terre; / Ployer les deux genoux pour l’hymne solennel; / Me souvenir qu’Adam, mon aïeul paternel, / Naquit de ce limon pétri par Dieu le père, / Et tâcher d’égaler le grand maître éternel. // Enfant du sol sacré, comprendre la

Nature; / Tailler le bois rustique à l’ombre du coteau; / Parfaire une musette avec un bon couteau, / Simple pâtre vivant de laitage et d’eau pure, / Aimant moins les mortels que mon petit troupeau. // Et le soir, enroulé dans mes grossières toiles, / À travers les grands bois, la ronce, le genet, / Conduire mes moutons sous le toit de galet / Et m’endormir, ayant sur mon front les étoiles / Et le rocher poli pour austère chevet. // Prendre l’argile agreste en mes mains exercées / Et, potier merveilleux, faire éclore soudain / Toute une floraison d’urnes de kaolin, / De grands vases trapus, d’amphores élancées, / Fleurs vivaces formant un magique jardin. // Ciseler, en tremblant dans une pierre antique, / Une bague très fine, aux multiples couleurs; / Y graver avec soin des oiseaux et des fleurs; /

Faire de cette bague un symbole mystique, / Doux comme un soir d’automne et pur comme les pleurs. // Découper dans l’albâtre en troupes vagabondes / Les sylvains des forêts et les nymphes des eaux; / Mêler, parmi les lys et les souples roseaux, / Des fronts extasiés sur des poitrines rondes, / Et l’amour, éclairant les nids sous les rameaux. //

Dessiner sur l’onyx des idylles divines; / Imprimer dans l’or pur le trait définitif / Que

Phidias rêveur, Michel-Ange pensif, / Cherchaient, se torturant l’âme sur des épines / Et

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que ne put trouver leur génie attentif. // Ciseler dans le fer la strophe impérissable; /

Fanatique ouvrier, avec mon propre sang, / Écrire le vers fauve, amer et rugissant / Du poème divin, entier inattaquable, / Où passe en plein azur Pégase hennissant. // Pénétrer les forêts profondes et mouvantes; / Chercher pieusement tous les grands arbres morts, /

Donner à coups de hache une âme à ces grands corps / Et les faire revivre en postures souffrantes, / Tordant leurs bras meurtris et qui sont restés forts. // Tailler le roc inerte arraché des montagnes / Et faire de ce bloc, massif, rugueux et gourd, / Un colosse, appuyant dans ses mains son front lourd, / Spectre sombre, qui veille au-dessus des campagnes, / Ployant son torse fruste aussi grand qu’une tour. // Dans un moule divin, jeter un front stoïque, / Un front de bronze et d’or, et de cuivre alliés, / Une figure ardente et droite sur ses pieds, / Et qui dresse très haut, dans un geste héroïque, / Son épée

éclatante aux cieux incendiés. // Ériger dans l’azur, comme un rêve de givre, / La blanche cathédrale, arbre où nichent les saints; / Enrouler les rinceaux autour des vitraux peints /

Et faire flamboyer dans l’hosannah du cuivre / La mère de Jésus, levant vers Dieu ses mains. // Sous la nef, dans l’essor craintif de la prière, / Dresser sur son cheval, en des gestes altiers, / L’Archange de la mort, droit sur ses étriers, / Comme ces grands guerriers que taillait dans la pierre / Le ciseau merveilleux des humbles imagiers. // Puis, ayant travaillé pour la joie éternelle, / Semeur, dans les sillons de la terre au sein noir / Ayant jeté le grain sacré de mon espoir / D’où naîtra la forêt de la flore immortelle; / Aller sur la montagne, et, dans la paix du soir, // Creuser mon dernier lit dans une grande pierre, /

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Sans simulacre vain, sans futile flambeau, / Et dire, agenouillé sur le bord du tombeau: /

Terre, reçois ton fils et reprends ta poussière. / La tombe aura pour moi la douceur du berceau

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Appendix B

LE STATUAIRE BOURDELLE

The following essay is from François Thiébault-Sisson, “Nos artistes racontés par eux-mêmes: le statuaire Bourdelle,” Le Temps, August 4, 1905.

A recent exhibition in the A.-A. Hébrard Gallery illuminated the work and talent of the sculptor Emile Bourdelle. Repudiating vain skills - the adroit practice of forms which were spontaneous at first, but which only had freshness and effectiveness in the hands of their original creator - he marks his inventions with an accent of rough grandeur that crashes on the sentimental affectations or decorative graces of so many others.

Bourdelle is in no way a calligrapher. A passionate lover of life, he translates [life] in feverish sketches that are only a pastime for him, a useful and certain exercise. He then transposes life in rough and strong, melancholic and thoughtful imaginations that constant and happy research increases more and more until it becomes his style.

This young master is 44 years old. He is of an age where a statuaire is definitively coming into his own and has not yet given all his measure.

What hardships has he crossed, what paths has he travelled before opening a new road? This is what I asked the artist, and here is his autobiography:

“I was born in Montauban on October 30, 1861.

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“My paternal grandfather was a goatherd. He was a very good man, very familial, very attached to his goats. I always saw him dressed in a great Louis XVI vest, embroidered with flowers. A great, unstarched shirt collar was turned down on his vest.

Large white pants and shoes decorated with silver buckles completed his Sunday dress.

He had sons who were also goatherds. One of his sons was a famous disciple of Marsyas.

Morning and night, he enchanted Montauban with his skillful trills that were played on a wooden syrinx. The sounds of this rustic music brightened the peaceful days of my early childhood.

“My mother was born in the Albigensian lands to a weaver named Reille, who was established in Gaillac. This good grandfather was a fisherman with a divine line.

Wherever he was, he caught fish, and all his fishing was miraculous. A former master in the art of braiding fishing line, he sold them all over Gaillac for fishing. Gifted with a beautiful, caressing voice and his memory filled with romances and well-known tunes from another time, grandfather Reille always sang. His perpetual singing did not stop his weaving of cloth, which was the most beautiful, finest, and strongest in the country. My hutches still abound with napkins, tablecloths, and bed sheets that were the work of his hands.

“My mother was a beautiful, timid, and wild countrywoman. Having left the unproductive and difficult craft of weaving, her father became a work surveyor for railroad construction. He lived by himself in the steep areas of the Aveyron and Tarn, among the rocks and chestnut trees along the rivers. Next, he settled in Montauban. My

20-year-old mother married my 40-year-old father there.

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“My father, Antoine Bourdelle, had long been a widower. He had four daughters with his first wife, all of whom died of tuberculosis, just like their mother. [He also had] a son who did not pass his nineteenth year: the same sickness that had taken his mother and sisters struck him when I was only four years old.

“You assess the bitterness that this mourning had spread over my father’s life.

The memory was even more painful to the dignified man as his first son was admirably gifted in the arts. At the Montauban drawing schools, there were only rewards for [the son] during his life, and my father cherished him all the more as he held the hope of one day seeing [his son] shine in the art of drawing, which he had practiced himself - how much nature had favored the family. Indeed long ago his masters were amazed by the power of his gift and his drawing professor, M. Combes, had wanted to send him to Paris, at [M. Combes’s] expense, to the studio of M. Ingres. But my father was his mother’s spoiled child and he did not want to leave. Residing under the paternal roof, he obscurely grew close to the breast and chose the craft of cabinetmaking, where he found the opportunity to use his natural talent. He turned and sculpted in wood, executed marquetry panels, and had a great artistic reputation in his native land.

“At primary school - where I had the same teacher that had instructed my brother

- I hardly wanted to learn anything but drawing. Already a draftsman at 13 years, I took the woodcarving tools in my father’s studio during school vacation and sculpted the head of a horned faun, copying a plaster.

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“The copy followed the model very well. Astonished and delighted, my father consented to giving me the decoration of buffets and side boards to sculpt. I easily made them identical to his models.

“I was, then, never made an apprentice. I did not notice any of the challenges that steadily rose before me; week by week, my work became quicker and surer. With my father, I executed copies of antique sculpted furniture and repaired complicated sculpture from China, Japan, Spain, and even France. At the same time, I learned to copy antique heads in clay at the municipal drawing school.

“My teacher was an old, “jack-of-all-trades” photographer, touching everything with adroit and ingenious hands. That [approach] did not interest me. The antique plaster casts spoke otherwise to my heart and I vaguely perceived their sublime harmony.

“Our clients, the art lovers, looked after the kid who sculpted and repaired their bibelots and furniture. They spoke to me of the Toulouse École des Beaux-Arts. But we had no money: you never become rich when you work as an artist at commercial rates.

My father gave himself up for the smallest orders, [doing] twice the necessary work.

From this [came] an assuredly noble, but very embarrassing, poverty.

“I was a savior for my father because I worked quickly and well. The leading city merchants bought my sculptures. Partial prosperity followed.

“Everyone besides my father had hesitated a long time. His hesitation was very short. He said “yes” to the men who took an interest in his son and who requested a pension that would allow [the son] to live in Toulouse. The official steps were taken.

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“It was a Homeric struggle. A city that bestows a master of masters is very good earth for fruit. Those who cultivate [the fruit] have their duties, and those duties were fulfilled by our Montalbanian officials with an admirable conscience. Now I had a rival, already a student at the Toulouse École. The humble craft that I practiced, the work still shapeless in my hands, could it triumph? Was I not defeated beforehand in this unequal duel?

“Despite everything, the beginner won. I had 300 francs at first, then 600, and I left my father and mother at age 15. The three of us were very emotional, but vague hopes sustained us: we seemed to hear the beating of wings in our heads, and glory and fortune waited to drive me to Toulouse.

“The dream was partially realized. There were the long years that the mother vanished. Paralysis tied the limbs of the old father, and I saw that [my] departure - however favorable it would be to us - is always unfair in some way.

“The weakling left for Toulouse. Consumed by a passion for work, he spent months there without opening his mouth. His comrades did not return to his silence.

Sustained by a dose of strong will, he worked not only during the day, but also at night, executing scaled-down ancient engravings in pen. I completed two classes in three months and found himself struggling with the great bearded and mustachioed fellows that were six or seven years older.

“Fighting against them was difficult. I was only more obstinate. My parents had joined me in Toulouse. I was responsible for souls. I felt my strength increased tenfold.

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Three times I entered en loge [sic], the last time brought me success. I was sent by the city of Toulouse to Paris, with a pension of 1200 francs. The 600 that the city of

Montauban gave to me was maintained.

“I departed, leaving behind my own country and a large part of that year’s pension. Time had come for my father and the health of my mother, so shaky, demanded constant care. In Paris, I was dropped into a furnished apartment on the Rue Bonaparte, where floors touching the sky sheltered several old friends. I shared my hopes with one of them, the painter Achille Lauge, who now works in Carcassonne. For six months, we lived together fraternally on a rolling budget of 20 sous a day, everything included: food, lodging, laundry … and we were happy. We were both 24 years old. We had this grand

Paris under the soles of our shoes. We did not see misery; on the contrary, we enjoyed it.

The École des Beaux-Arts was our distraction; I entered there in second place and stayed in Falguière’s studio for two years.

“I felt an emptiness in this milieu very quickly, and I left. I understood living and working my own way. I could earn my bread as an assistant. I could do industrial work, the products of which could pay for my studio, my clay, my models. I left and remained on the best terms with my master Falguière. I admired the marvelous gifts of this rare artist, but his art, and that which I was dying to create, hardly had any contact. I was in the impasse du Maine. In this enclave devoted to the arts, the sculptor is a common item.

In this heap of old buildings, there were as many statuaire’s studios as there were blades of grass between the pavement. I set myself up there. My good parents came to join me

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there. I would have been perfectly happy there if death had not taken my mother from me in 1888 and if this cruel loss had not made my poor father sick for the rest of his days.

“It was a terrible trial that took my strength for a long time. I lost all desire to live, all energy and ambition. Dear friendships saved me. I recovered by modeling and painting, because I always loved painting. The portraits that I made cannot be counted.

You have seen some of them in pastel at a recent rue Royal exposition. If they want to set some price, I would never let myself create. That’s the best way for a sculptor to not lock himself in a formula, even happily, because the portrait obliges him always to keep himself close to life, to note the most subtle nuances. Thus his imagination remains fresh, his inspirations are also more varied, his creative faculties more versatile.

“Calmness once more returned to my heart. I recovered with a new keenness for work.

“It was a series of monuments for several years, of which the majority were destined for my hometown: monuments to Léon Cladel, Armand Saintis, and Father

Symayral; effigies of [François] Arago and [Jules] Michelet. There was also the

Monument Tellier in Havre, and a statue of Lazare Carnot for a competition where I won first prize. Finally, there was my most important work and the most profoundly personal, the Monument aux combattants de 1870, which was erected two years ago in Montauban on a granite socle with its imposing mass in bronze.

“It is not up to me to talk about the finished works from 12-15 years of practicing my art. That is now the public’s business. They alone have a voice. It’s up to them to say if my efforts were unproductive or if some original or new work reveals itself.

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“What I cannot fail to express is the high regard that I hold for those who surpassed me in life; for Dalou, my studio neighbor in the impasse du Maine; for

Falguière, my master at the École des Beaux-Arts; for Rodin. I frequented Dalou for eight or nine years. I loved his thorough, firm, and sober art, and although his temperament was rigid and he adapted the most deferential contradictions as little as possible, I did justice to his full-of-righteousness character. As for Rodin, who I met in connection with my Monument de Cladel, I keep him as a living source. Many wanted to bathe in this source, and they found the current deeper and more violent than they thought. They lost their footing there.

“Despite admiration for my master, I made sure to not stay too long in his waters, as stimulating as they were. An artist like him raises his country and humanity. His instruction is fertile, like his examples. But the humble stream gains nothing by mixing with the waters of a great river. It is absorbed and lost there. I didn’t let myself be absorbed. The future will say if I was wrong.”

Such is the confession that the artist made. Would that I could keep in the transcription something of the tone and charm of his conversation.

Thiébault-Sisson

Une exposition récente, dans la galerie A.-A. Hébrard, a mis en lumière l’œuvre et le talent du sculpteur Emile Bourdelle. Répudiant les vaines habiletés, la pratique adroite de formules qui furent au début spontanées, mais qui n’eurent de fraîcheur et d’efficacité qu’aux mains de leur créateur initial, il marque ses inventions d’un accent de grandeur fruste qui détonne sur les mièvreries sentimentales ou les grâces décoratives de

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tant d’autres. Bourdelle n’est en rien calligraphe. Adorateur passionné de la vie, il la traduit en esquisses fiévreuses qui ne sont pour lui qu’un passetemps, une toile et sûr exercice. Il transpose ensuite la vie en imaginations rudes et fortes, mélancoliques et pensives, qu’une recherche constante et heureuse hausse de plus en plus jusqu’au style.

Ce jeune maître a quarante-quatre ans. Il est à l’âge où, sans avoir donné toute sa mesure, un statuaire est entré définitivement dans sa voie.

Quelles épreuves il a traversées, quels chemins il a parcours avant de se frayer une route neuve, c’est ce que j’ai demandé à l’artiste, et voici son autobiographie:

« Je suis né à Montauban, le 30 octobre 1861.

« Mon grand-père paternel était chevrier. C’était un homme très bon, très familial, très attaché à ses chèvres. Je le revois toujours, vêtu d’un grand gilet Louis XVI brodé d’un semis de fleurettes. Sur le gilet se rabattait un grand col de chemise non empesé. De larges pantalons blancs et des souliers découverts à boucles d’argent complétaient sa tenue des dimanches. Il eut des fils également chevriers. Un de ces fils était un disciple fameux de Marsyas. Il enchantait matin et soir Montauban par des trilles savants exécutés sur sa syrinx de buis. Les sons de cette musique rustique égayèrent les paisibles journées de ma première enfance.

« Ma mère était née, en pays albigeois, d’un tisserand nommé Reille, établi à

Gaillac. Ce bon grand-père était un pêcheur à la ligne divin. Où qu’il fût, il prenait du poisson, et chacune de ses pêches était miraculeuse. Passé maître dans l’art de tresser les minces cordelettes auxquelles on attache les hameçons, il en vendait à tout Gaillac pour la pêche. Doué d’une jolie voix caressante, la mémoire peuplée de romances et d’airs

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populaires d’autrefois, le grand-père Reille chantait toujours, et sa perpétuelle chanson n’empêchait pas les toiles qu’il tissait d’être les plus belles, les plus fines et les plus résistantes du pays. Mes bahuts regorgent encore de serviettes, de nappes et de draps de lit qui furent l’ouvrage de ses mains.

« Ma mère était une belle et timide paysanne sauvageonne. Ayant quitté le métier improductif et pénible de tisserand, son père était devenu surveillant des travaux de percement du chemin de fer. Il avait vécu avec les siens dans les sites abrupts de l’Aveyron et du Tarn, parmi les roches et les châtaigniers, le long des gaves. Puis il était venu s’installer à Montauban. Ma mère, alors âgée de vingt ans, y épousa mon père qui en avait quarante.

« Depuis longtemps déjà, mon père, Antoine Bourdelle, était veuf. Il avait eu de sa première femme quatre filles qui moururent de consomption comme leur mère, et un fils qui ne devait pas dépasser sa dix-neuvième année : le même mal qui avait enlevé sa mère et ses sœurs le terrassa lui-même, alors que moi, nouveau venu, j’avais à peine quatre ans.

« Vous jugez de l’amertume que ces deuils avaient répandue sur la vie de mon père. Le souvenir en était d’autant plus pénible au digne homme que son premier fils était admirablement doué pour les arts. Aux écoles de dessin de Montauban, il n’y eut, tant qu’il vécut, de récompenses que pour lui, et mon père le chérissait d’autant plus qu’il caressait l’espoir de le voir un jour s’illustrer dans ces arts du dessin qu’il eût pu lui- même exercer, tant la nature l’avait favorisé de ce côté. Jadis ses maîtres, en effet, s’étaient émerveillés de la puissance de ses dons, et son professeur de dessin, M. Combes,

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avait voulu l’envoyer à ses frais à Paris, dans l’atelier de M. Ingres. Mais mon père était l’enfant gâté de sa mère et il n’avait point voulu la quitter. Demeuré sous le toit paternel, il grandit obscurément près des siens et choisit le métier d’ébéniste, où il devait trouver l’occasion d’utiliser son talent naturel. Il tournait, il sculptait sur bois, il exécutait des panneaux de marqueterie, et il garde en son pays natal une jolie réputation d’artiste.

« A l’école primaire, où mon enfance se passa sous le même maître qui avait fait l’éducation de mon frère, je ne voulus guère apprendre que le dessin. A treize ans, pendant une période de vacances, déjà dessinateur, je pris dans l’atelier de mon père les outils dont il taillait le bois, et sculptai, d’après un plâtre, une tête de faune cornu.

« La copie suivait le modèle de très près. Mon père, étonné et ravi, consentit à me donner des décors de buffets-dressoirs à sculpter. Je fis cela aisément identique aux modèles composés par lui-même.

« Je ne fis jamais, d’ailleurs, ouvrage d’apprenti. Les difficultés avaient beau s’élever devant moi, je ne m’en apercevais pas; de semaine en semaine, mon travail devenait plus rapide et plus sûr. J’exécutais avec mon père des copies de meubles anciens sculptés, je réparais des sculptures compliquées du Japon et de la Chine, d’Espagne ou bien de France, et en même temps, à l’école municipale de dessin, j’apprenais à modeler dans la terre glaise des têtes copiées d’après l’antique.

« Mon maître était un ancien photographe très « Michel Morin », touchant à tout avec des mains très adroites et de l’ingéniosité. Ce n’était pas là mon affaire. Les moulages en plâtre de l’antique parlaient autrement à mon cœur, et vaguement déjà je percevais leur sublime harmonie.

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« Les amateurs d’art, nos clients, s’occupèrent du gosse qui sculptait, qui réparait leurs bibelots et leurs meubles. Ils parlèrent pour moi de l’école des beaux-arts de

Toulouse. Mais nous étions sans fortune : on ne devient jamais riche quand on travaille au tarif commercial en artiste. Mon père se livrait, pour la moindre commande, au double du travail nécessaire. De là une pauvreté assurément très noble, mais fort embarrassante.

« J’étais pour mon père un sauveur, car je travaillais vite et bien. Les marchands madrés de la ville achetaient mes sculptures. Une demi-prospérité s’ensuivait.

« Tout autre que mon père eût hésité longuement. Son hésitation à lui fut très courte. Aux gens qui prenaient intérêt à son fils et s’offraient à demander pour lui une pension qui lui permettrait de vivre à Toulouse, il dit oui, et les démarches officielles furent tentées.

« Ce fut un combat homérique. Une ville qui a donné un maître des maîtres est une bonne terre à fruits. Ceux qui la cultivent ont des devoirs, et ces devoirs, nos édiles montalbanais les remplissent avec une admirable conscience. Or, j’avais un rival, déjà

élève à l’école des beaux-arts de Toulouse. L’humble métier que j’exerçais, le travail encore informe de mes mains pouvaient-ils triompher? Dans ce duel inégal, n’étais-je pas vaincu par avance?

« Le débutant, malgré tout, l’emporta. J’eus 300 Fr. D’abord, puis 600, et je quittai le père et la mère à quinze ans. Nous étions tous trois très émus, mais de vagues espoirs nous tenaient : il nous semblait, sur nos têtes, entendre passer un bruit d’ailes, et que la gloire et la fortune m’attendaient pour ma conduire à Toulouse.

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« Le rêve n’est encore réalisé qu’en partie. Voilà de longues années que la mère a disparu. La paralysie, depuis trois ans, a noué les membres du vieux père, et je m’aperçois que le sort, si favorable qu’il nous soit, est toujours, par quelque endroit, très injuste.

« Le gringalet partit pour Toulouse. Dévoré d’une fièvre de travail, il y passa des mois sans desserrer les dents. Ses camarades n’en revenaient pas de son mutisme.

Soutenu par une dose de volonté formidable, il ne travaillait pas seulement durant le jour, il travaillait encore la nuit, exécutant, pour se faire la main, à la plume, des copies très réduites de gravures anciennes. En trois mois, il franchit deux classes et se vit aux prises avec de grands gaillards barbus, moustachus, de six à sept ans plus âgés.

« Lutter contre eux était dur. Je n’en fus que plus opiniâtre. Les parents m’avaient rejoint à Toulouse. J’avais charge d’âmes. J’en sentis mes forces découplées. Trois fois j’entrai en loge. La dernière me valut un succès. Je fus envoyé par la ville de Toulouse à

Paris, avec une pension de 1,200 francs. Celle de 600 que la ville de Montauban m’accordait fut maintenue.

« Je partis, laissant les miens au pays, et leur abandonnant le plus gros de ma pension. L’âge était venu pour mon père, et la santé de ma mère, si chancelante, réclamait des soins assidus. A Paris, j’étais descendu dans un hôtel meublé de la rue Bonaparte, où les étages les plus voisins des cieux abritaient quelques anciens camarades. Je mis mes espoirs en commun avec l’un d’eux, le peintre Achille Laugé, qui travaille maintenant à

Carcassonne. Six mois durant, très fraternellement, nous vécûmes ensemble sur un roulement budgétaire de vingt sous par jour, tout compris nourriture, logement,

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blanchissage… et nous étions heureux. On avait tous deux vingt-quatre ans. On avait ce grand Paris sous la semelle de ses souliers. On ne s’apercevait pas de la misère; au contraire, on s’en amusait. Comme distraction, l’Ecole des beaux-arts, où j’étais entré avec le no. 2, où je resait dans l’atelier de Falguière deux ans.

« Je ressentis bien vite dans ce milieu une impression de vide, et je partis.

J’entendais travailler et vivre à ma guise. Mon pain, je le gagnerais comme practicien.

J’exécuterais pour l’industrie des travaux dont le produit m’aiderait à payer mon atelier, ma terre glaise, mes modèles. Je partis, mais je restai dans les meilleurs termes avec mon maître Falguière. J’admirais les dons merveilleux de cet artiste rare, mais son art de celui que je mourais d’envie de créer n’avaient guère de contact. Je m’en fus dans l’impasse du

Maine. Dans cette cité vouée aux arts, le sculpteur est une denrée commune. Il y a dans cet amas de vieilles bâtisses autant d’ateliers de statuaire que de brins d’herbe entre les pavés. Je m’y installai. Mes bons parents vinrent m’y rejoindre. J’y aurais été parfaitement heureux si la mort ne m’avait enlevé, en 1888, ma chère mère, et si cette perte cruelle n’avait fait de mon pauvre père, pour tout le restant de ses jours, un malade.

« Ce fut une épreuve terrible, et qui m’enleva pour un long temps toutes mes forces. J’avais perdu tout désir d’être et de vivre, toute énergie et toute ambition. De précieuses amitiés me sauvèrent. Je me remis à modeler et à peindre. Car j’ai toujours aimé la peinture. Les portraits que j’ai faits ne se comptent plus. Vous en avez vu quelques-uns au pastel à une récente exposition rue Royale. On veut bien y attacher quelque prix et je ne me lasserai jamais d’en créer. C’est le meilleur moyen, pour un sculpteur, de ne pas s’enfermer dans une formule, même heureuse, car le portrait l’oblige

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à se tenir toujours très près de la vie, à en noter les nuances les plus subtiles. Ainsi son imagination reste fraîche, ses inspirations aussi plus variées, ses facultés créatrices plus souples.

« Le calme une fois rentré dans mon âme, je me remis avec une ardeur nouvelle au travail,

« En quelques années, ce fut toute une série de monuments, dont la plupart étaient destinés à ma ville natale : monuments de Léon Cladel, d’Armand Saintis, du curé

Symayral, effigies d’Arago et de Michelet. Ce fut aussi le monument Tellier, au Havre, et pour un concours où j’obtins le premier prix, une statue de Lazare Carnot. Ce fut enfin mon œuvre la plus importante et la plus profondément personnelle, ce Monument aux combattants de 1870 qui érige à Montauban, depuis deux ans, sur un socle de granit, sa masse imposante de bronze.

« Des travaux élaborés de la sorte en douze à quinze ans de pratique de mon art, il ne m’appartient pas de parler. C’est affaire désormais au public. Lui seul a la parole. A lui de dire si mon effort fut stérile ou si quelque note inédite et neuve s’y révèle.

« Ce qu’on ne m’empêchera pourtant pas d’exprimer, c’est la haute estime que je professe pour ceux qui m’ont devancé dans la vie, pour Dalou, mon voisin d’atelier dans l’impasse du Maine, pour Falguière, mon maître à l’Ecole des beaux-arts, pour Rodin.

J’ai fréquenté huit ou neuf ans le premier. J’aimais son art consciencieux, ferme et sobre, et bien que sa nature fût raide et s’accommodât aussi peu que possible de la contradiction même la plus déférente, je rendais justice à son caractère plein de droiture. Quant à

Rodin, que j’ai connu à propos de mon monument de Cladel, je le tiens pour une source

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vivante. Beaucoup ont voulu se baigner dans cette source. Ils en ont trouvé le courant plus profond, plus violent aussi qu’ils ne croyaient. Ils y ont perdu pied.

« En dépit de mon admiration pour le maître, j’ai tenu à ne pas trop séjourner dans ses eaux, si vivifiantes qu’elles fussent. Un artiste comme lui augmente son pays et hausse l’humanité. Son enseignement est, comme ses exemples, fécond. Mais l’humble ruisseau ne gagne rien à se mélanger aux eaux d’un grand fleuve : il s’y absorbe et s’y perd. Je ne me suis point laissé absorber. L’avenir dira si j’eus tort. »

Telle est la confession que l’artiste m’a faite. Puissé-je avoir gardé à la transcription que j’en donne quelque chose de la sonorité et du charme de sa conversation.

Thiébault-Sisson

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Appendix C

THE CHANGING FACE OF GODS

The following lecture, “The Changing Face of Gods” (Le Visage changeant des

Dieux), was delivered at the Académie de la Grande Chaumière by Antoine Bourdelle on

December 7, 1911. The text is included in Antoine Bourdelle, Cours & Leçons à l’Académie de la Grande Chaumière, Tome II, ed. Laure Dalon (Paris: Paris-Musées,

2007), 122-27.

Chapter I

The new cathedral, the new temple where the crowd will go, this will be the theater when it gathers all the arts into it.

Our crowds no longer besiege the old cathedrals, and these divine worlds of stone, like trees of another order saw an unending autumn that removed all of their most pure symbols, like so much dead foliage.

The great basilicas, these proud, sculpted immortals and their poor relatives, many of which are abandoned, always hold the celestial memory.

The great, sad presence is perhaps more divine, still, in people’s indifference.

The presence of God-Spirit is always evident there for all true thinkers.

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Chapter II

Phidias’ Zeus at the Temple of Olympia was seated, feet touching the ground, marble balanced and reaching the ceiling of the vast temple, with his forehead in eternity.

His proportion was thought, proportion was - in these times of heroic reason - the base of all expression.

Immense height of spirit!

Phidias’s Jupiter seemed to accept all the narrowness of the temple.

Any Athenian could be grateful to it for not making dust of masterpieces by waking from its divine and straightening its stocky torso.

If he inhaled a bit of his radiance into his great chest, as a man breathes pure air, the whole top would have wavered, and if he stood straight up, Athens would have lost this immense treasure of order, all the beauty of wisdom, all the measure of the genius of its race by the fall of the divine temple rivalling the Parthenon.

Chapter III

The Byzantine Greeks, constructors of Hagia Sophia, and then constructors- collaborators of our first cathedrals, kept the memory of Phidias’s Zeus.

The light of such a work had to illuminate all the Greeks thinkers throughout the centuries.

The great crucifix - teacher of Christians that they sculpted much later - was like a new incarnation of Zeus; they also saw it as immense, touching the high vault of the choir in deep cathedrals, with forehead torn by thorns.

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Times of admirable spirit, where expression rose as much from a sense of proportion as from a sense of lines!

Times gone, alas, calculating mind ending and contemporary man, taken into the crowd, lost the high memory.

What a gray harvest of low masterpieces! (It seems implausible, such a word for their masterpieces.)

If you prefer, I will say that in the establishment of things and beings there are diverse parts where everything contributes to everything, but there is always the driving unit and those that diminish; there is the organizing head and the performing members.

So stated, the sense of the word “low masterpieces” gives its key. They are the works by limbs that only receive a faraway storm from the head.

And I resume:

What a harvest of low, loud works: all these crucifixions smaller, then small, then tiny!

The symbol of greatest proportion - of a figure in agreement with his surroundings - is no more.

This divine science of measure, worn away more and more from stubborn artisans painting and sculpting small Christs - lamentable images that erase across time the great, sad walls of noble, silent naves.

The God whose stature - in addition to its happy pain, ennobled every shadow of the choir - no longer lives.

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The souls of seers keep it, immense and divine, and keep it still in themselves, but the crowd no longer knows it.

Little by little, the spirit is made a mob.

By moving away from the sources, the impurity of shadows invaded the human heart, through the soul that suffers a declining swing.

In the soft shadow of churches, they broke the immense gods, but not because they were all gold that is melted and sold, as was the Phidian Zeus. But simply because they impeded the desire for the diminished spirits to decorate the sublime nudity of vast cathedrals with infinite details. The vast cathedrals of which they completely lost incomparable sense.

The sovereign beauty of great, smooth, and silent walls terrified the small, chatty things that fill the diminished spirits, the grandeur offended the official crowds.

Here is all the drama for you, artists, the people who dream of the future.

The religion of beauty decreased. Man in a misguided troop is powerless to understand beauty, thus he hates the colossi!

It’s the murky absence of poetry in the forces of the surface that hid the gods from the view of the multitude.

Chapter IV

Yet there are always secret resistances, there are always several men in the darkest times who held the divine memories.

They go there in little troupes and they make new temples that belong to the ancient.

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The book restarts in spirit. Built and sculpted stone begins again to make concrete this spirit and the song, the immense music tries with Bachs, Beethovens to make anew the calculating sense reverberating in everything, the sublime hymn that births the right proportions because music is the science of numbers.

In sculpture - listen well - I do not speak only of the fold of a mouth, of the direction of a look, of tension on a brow, I busy myself with a higher eloquence that takes each of its human elements, even in immobile state, by their measured participation with the whole face that needs to support and contain [each part].

Contain, maintain, master, this is the order of builders.

It’s always from attempts to return to other temples, through the book, through form, through song and perhaps also through laws.

Each of these impulses would like to create the material for another Parthenon.

For the moment, it is not necessary to reflect on that. Humanity bubbles and transforms; it shows less spirit than the body taken in its mass, each current person feels the quality of other people’s impulses.

That made us a very disturbing monument!

To assume men ready for work, they would need to find a person ready to wake up, they would need furthermore a blue sky, an Acropolis, and the horizon.

But at least there is effort and all the principal impulses, all the abundant flow of forces goes toward a rediscovered temple: the living stream goes to the theater.

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The crowd meets there before the shadow of its desires, it searches there for elements of the word, it waits there for the innumerable voices of song and all its mixed- up dreams, of beauty, the epic and its own intimate dramas.

As for the monument itself that houses everything and needs to give it the image of its gods, does it at least have beauty? There, also, beauty is in the past.

Chapter V

An Athenian woman told me: “Certainly, in the London museums, Egyptians and

Assyrians appeared more grandiose through their sculptures than certain Parthenon friezes. They had a savage force, like an irresistible impulse, and admirable simplifications. But once the frieze of Cavaliers from the Parthenon is seen in place, under its interior wall and the metopes above their capitals and gods and heroes on their pediments, then the totality of this temple appears unequaled by any.”

The proportions of everything, its wisdom, the calm rhythm of the ensemble takes thought beyond sculptures, beyond architecture.

It’s this, the Parthenon, the entire field of marble columns that suddenly dominates our spirit.

But it reigns so thoroughly that it permeates you, it seems such a beauty that you feel touched by tears.

By art’s measure, it seems to be the ultimate moral temple.

Here it is: in life, in art, in love, in rediscovered spirit, the gift that brings balance.

Meditating on all this, for my contribution as a monumental sculptor to the theater under construction, this is why I often make a tour of the total blueprint. I often go to

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inspect the appearance of masses and the whole block before lightly undertaking even one single head from the bas-reliefs of the facade.

It’s with conscious will that I often make the voyage into the theatre for the work of [Auguste] Perret, the architect, and also [the voyage] inside me in order to put me in agreement with the whole of this firm architecture.

It is not necessary that any gesture, any plan, any shadow of sculptures obstruct any smooth wall or projection.

It is necessary that each face and marble figure - in addition to its gesture and contemplation - should know how to marry and to disseminate the structural speculation of the entire edifice.

If there is not interpenetration, if there is not a deep agreement between the silence of the walls and the active awakening of the sculptures, the chorale of stone or marble does not ascend from a single impulse, the supreme accord cannot be born.

Here is the order that is necessary [in large parts] to erect walls, columns, and sculptures; this order, alas, hardly has any more knights!

Shadows of sculptures still wander among the lonely ornamentors, these humble

[men] who carve facades “en plein air;” they know a little, those ones that we disdainfully call worker-carvers of stone, as the ornaments they ordain need to live in good friendship with the good peace of the walls.

That the architect and the monumental sculptor should know to keep the soul of the material - stone, marble, or granite - they will, thus, bring back to us simplicity, the holy goodness of beauty.

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After months of study, I didn’t want to address sculpture detached from its architectural tree, the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées.

I need to reconstruct in myself - unceasingly and mentally - the whole theater to find the sense of harmony of marbles that will be sculpted there.

There is no other means to make intimately rooted flowers blossom there. The bas-reliefs need to act in accordance with the walls, from their salient [nerves] of strong frames and the entirety of the whole great facade.

Sculpture and architecture need to live in perfect collaboration, from this discipline alone can beauty be reborn.

I had the right to forget it, this law of terrible art that saves the artists while torturing him! I could have fled it - this severe law - through the era of spineless sculpture and prideless spirit.

But how to not consider the rare help that is brought to me? How could I have not known to see the quality of construction of the monument, the quality of architecture and all the heart and soul brought to this work by men, who are not important to name?

To tackle the most noble debate of sculptural art - the debate which in all art is universal order - it is necessary to throw away all sculpture of our era.

To do this, monumental sculptor, you need to see that each figure’s detail should be harmonized to the whole - from them and from all the [sculptural] groups - that each group should be the expected flow of all others; that the whole sculpted form composes this concrete, immobile, and silent hymn that, being born only under these precise laws, always can shine in the eternal spirit.

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It does not matter if the crowd takes down your laws, beauty that appeared too simple in your complexity. Unlimited emotion measured by the good wisdom that wanted to lend you to the earth’s marbles for a human instant.

You have your own joy in yourself.

Your language is only heard in the best times of the crowd, but there is always some spirit that fully permeates you. That’s enough.

It’s even enough that you alone, you should know thyself.

Works only fit themselves completely for the sole initiates.

After this work in complete sculptural solitude, that this shadow of God deigns to help me! That at least you - marble blocks, intact blocks, you made of sparkling snow - I should know through simple forms, through logical constructions, to save you from shocked and ununified plans, from plans without simple order, for which the mountain did not make you!

Time knows how to sculpt your careers! I blessed the great art of the era over the rocks.

You can desire nothing purer than to be similar to the sculpted architectures that sometimes rise into the sky among the shepherds and goats: certain peaceful mountains.

You can conceive nothing grander than to very humbly copy - from afar, from the heart of our land - temples that are piled up, built, and sculpted by all the arms of the wind!

Immense circuses, cloud theaters where thunder sings and lightning trembles.

All of nature guides us.

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Chapitre I

La nouvelle cathédrale, le nouveau temple où ira la foule, ce sera le théâtre lorsqu’il réunira en lui tout l’art.

Nos foules n’assiègent plus les antiques cathédrales et ces divins mondes de pierre, comme des arbres d’un autre ordre ont vu un incessant automne leur enlever comme autant de feuillage mort tous leurs symboles les plus purs.

Les grandes basiliques, ces fières immortelles sculptées et leurs parents pauvres dont beaucoup sont abandonnés, gardent toujours le souvenir céleste.

La grande présence attristée est peut-être plus divine encore dans l’indifférence des hommes.

La présence du Dieu-Esprit y est toujours évidente pour tout véritable penseur.

Chapitre II

Le Zeus de Phidias au Temple d’Olympie était assis touchant des pieds le sol

équilibré de marbre et atteignant le toit du vaste temple, avec son front en plans d’éternité.

Sa proportion était une pensée, la proportion était dans ces temps de raison héroïque la base de toute expression.

Immense altitude d’esprit!

Le Jupiter de Phidias semblait accepter toute l’étroitesse du temple.

Tout Athénien pouvait lui être reconnaissant de n’en point faire une poussière de chefs-d’œuvre en s’éveillant de sa méditation divine, en redressant seulement son torse ramassé.

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S’il avait aspiré dans sa vaste poitrine un peu de son rayonnement comme un homme aspire l’air pur, tout le faîte en eût chancelé et, s’il s’était levé tout droit, Athènes eût perdu cet immense trésor de l’ordre, toute la beauté de sagesse, toute la mesure du génie de sa race par la chute du divin temple rival du Parthénon.

Chapitre III

Les Grecs byzantins, constructeurs de Sainte Sophie puis constructeurs- collaborateurs de nos premières cathédrales, gardèrent le souvenir du Zeus de Phidias.

La lumière d’une telle œuvre a dû, pendant des siècles, éclairer tous les penseurs grecs.

Le grand crucifié, l’instructeur des Chrétiens qu’ils eurent à sculpter plus tard, fut pour eux comme une nouvelle incarnation de Zeus, aussi le virent-ils immense, touchant du front tout déchiré d’épines la haute voûte du chœur dans les cathédrales profondes.

Temps d’esprit admirable où l’expression montait autant du sens des proportions que du sens des lignes!

Temps révolus, hélas, esprit calculateur enfin et dont l’homme actuel, pris dans sa foule, a perdu la haute mémoire.

Quelle grise moisson de bas chefs-d’œuvre! (Cela semble invraisemblable, un tel mot à leurs chefs-d’œuvre.)

Si l’on préfère, je dirais que dans la constitution des choses et des êtres, il y a les parties diverses, dont toutes concourent au tout mais il y a toujours la cellule motrice et celles qui abaissent; il y a la tête ordonnatrice et les membres exécutants.

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Ainsi posé, le sens du mot « bas chefs-d’œuvre » donne sa clef. Ils sont œuvres des membres qui ne reçoivent du front qu’un [orage] assez lointain.

Et je reprends:

Quelle moisson de basses œuvres fortes tous ces crucifiés moins grands puis petits puis tout petits!

Le symbole de la haute proportion d’une figure en raison de son entour n’est plus.

Cette science divine de la mesure, s’effaçant de plus en plus, de tenaces artisans peignirent et sculptèrent des petits Christs, des lamentables images qu’écrasent tout au long du temps les grands murs attristés de nobles nefs silencieuses.

On ne vit plus le Dieu dont la stature, en plus de sa douleur heureuse, ennoblissant toute l’ombre du chœur.

Des âmes de voyants le gardaient immense et divin et le gardent encore en elles mais la foule ne le sait plus.

Peu à peu, l’esprit s’est fait foule.

En s’éloignant des sources, l’impureté des ombres a envahi le cœur humain par l’âme qui subit une oscillation de déclin.

Dans l’ombre douce des églises, on a brisé les dieux immenses mais non pas parce qu’ils étaient tous de matière d’or qui se fond et qui se vend, ainsi qu’était le Zeus de Phidias mais parce que, simplement, ils entravaient le désir qu’avaient les esprits amoindris d’orner d’une infinité de détails la sublime nudité des vastes cathédrales dont ils ont tous perdu l’incomparable sens.

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La beauté souveraine des grands murs lisses et silencieux épouvantait les petites choses bavardes qui emplissaient les esprits amoindris, les grandeurs offusquant les foules officielles.

Voilà, pour vous, artistes, le peuple où rêve l’avenir, tout le drame.

La religion de beauté a décru. L’homme en troupe mal dirigé est impuissant à comprendre la beauté, alors il hait les colosses!

C’est l’absence obscure de poésie dans les forces en surface qui a voilé les dieux pour le regard des multitudes.

Chapitre IV

Or, il y a toujours des résistances secrètes, il y a toujours dans les temps les plus noirs quelques hommes qui ont gardé les souvenirs divins.

Ils s’en vont, par petites troupes, et ils font des temples nouveaux qui s’apparentent aux anciens.

Le livre, recommence à l’esprit. La pierre bâtie et sculptée recommence à rendre concret cet esprit et le chant, la musique immense s’essaye avec les Bach, les Beethoven

à faire de nouveau retentir en tous le sens calculateur, l’hymne sublime qui naît des justes proportions car la musique est la science des nombres.

En sculpture, entendez bien, je ne parle pas seulement du pli d’une bouche, de la direction d’un regard, d’une crispation sur un front, je m’occupe de l’éloquence plus haute que prend chacun de ses éléments humains, même à l’état immobile, par leur participation mesurée à l’ensemble du visage qui les doit supporter, qui les doit contenir.

Contenir, maintenir, maîtriser, voilà l’ordre des constructeurs.

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C’est donc toujours des tentatives vers le retour à d’autres temples, par le livre, par la forme, par le chant et peut-être aussi par les lois.

Chacun de ses élans voudrait créer les matériaux d’un autre Parthénon.

Pour le moment, il n’y faut pas songer. L’humanité bouillonne et se transforme; elle montre moins d’esprit que de corps pris en sa masse, chaque peuple actuel ressent la qualité d’élan des autres peuples.

Cela nous crée un très troublant monument!

À supposer des hommes prêts à l’œuvre, il leur faudrait trouver un peuple prêt à en prendre conscience, il leur faudrait en plus un ciel constant, une Acropole et l’horizon.

Mais, au moins, il y a effort et tout le principal élan, tout le flot abondant des forces va vers un temple retrouvé: le flot vivant va au théâtre.

La foule là se retrouve devant l’ombre de ses désirs, elle y cherche des éléments du verbe, elle y attend la voix innombrable du chant et tous ses rêves si mêlés, la prière du beau, l’épopée et ses propres drames intimes.

Mais, quant au monument lui-même qui abrite le tout et qui doit lui donner l’image de ses dieux, a-t-il au moins de la beauté? Là aussi, la beauté est dans le passé.

Chapitre V

Une femme, une Athénienne me disait: « Certes, dans les musées de Londres, les

Égyptiens, les Assyriens apparaissent par leurs sculptures plus grandioses que certaines frises du Parthénon. Ils ont une force barbare comme un irrésistible élan et des simplifications admirables. Mais, dès que la frise des Cavaliers du Parthénon est vue en

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place, sur son mur intérieur et les métopes au-dessus de leurs chapiteaux et les dieux et les héros sur leurs frontons, alors la totalité de ce temple apparaît inégalée par aucun. »

Les proportions du tout, sa sagesse, le rythme calme de l’ensemble, emportent la pensée au-delà des sculptures, au-delà de l’architecture.

C’est lui, le Parthénon, le champ entier des colonnes de marbre qui tout à coup domine notre esprit.

Mais il règne si doublement qu’il vous pénètre, il semble d’une telle beauté que l’on se sent touché aux larmes.

Il semble être par la mesure d’art, le temple par excellence moral.

Voilà, dans la vie, dans l’art, dans l’amour, dans l’esprit retrouvé le don qu’apporte l’équilibre.

Voilà pourquoi, méditant tout cela, pour mon apport de statuaire au théâtre qui se construit, je fais souvent le tour du plan total, je vais souvent toiser l’aspect des masses et le bloc tout entier avant d’entreprendre à la légère même une seule des têtes des bas- reliefs de la façade.

C’est avec une volonté consciente que je fais souvent le voyage dans le théâtre pour les travaux de Perret, l’architecte, et aussi au-dedans de moi pour me mettre en rapport avec l’entour de cette ferme architecture.

Il ne faut pas qu’aucun geste, qu’aucun plan, qu’aucune ombre des sculptures n’offusque aucune muraille lisse, aucune saillie.

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Il faut que chaque visage, que chaque figure de marbre, en plus de son geste et de sa méditation, sache épouser et comme propager la spéculation structurale de l’édifice tout entier.

S’il n’y a pas interpénétration, s’il n’y a pas une entente profonde entre le silence des murs et l’éveil actif des sculptures, le choral de pierre ou de marbre ne monte pas d’un seul élan, l’accord suprême ne peut naître.

Voilà l’ordre qu’il faut au [grand] d’ériger murailles, colonnes et sculptures; cet ordre, hélas, n’a guère plus de chevaliers!

Des ombres de sculpteurs errent encore parmi les seuls ornemanistes, ces humbles qui taillent en plein air les façades, ils connaissent un peu, ceux-là qu’on nomme dédaigneusement ouvriers tailleurs de pierre, que les ornements qu’ils ordonnent doivent vivre en bonne amitié avec la bonne paix des murs.

Que l’architecte, que la statuaire sachent garder en eux l’âme de la matière, pierre ou marbre ou granit, ils nous ramèneront ainsi la simplicité, la bonté sainte de la beauté.

Depuis des mois d’étude, je n’ai pas voulu aborder la sculpture détachée de son arbre architectural, le Théâtre des Champs-Élysées.

Je dois en moi reconstruite sans cesse, mentalement, tout le théâtre pour y trouver le sens d’harmonie des marbres qui y seront sculptés.

Il n’est pas un autre moyen pour y faire fleurir des fleurs intimement enracinées.

Les bas-reliefs doivent agir dans l’ordre des murailles, de leurs [nerfs] saillants des fortes ossatures et de tout le plein de la grande façade entière.

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La sculpture et l’architecture doivent vivre en collaboration parfaite, de cette discipline seule peut renaître de la beauté.

J’avais le droit de l’oublier, cette loi d’art terrible qui sauve l’artiste en le torturant! J’aurais pu la fuir, cette loi sévère par ces temps de sculpture veule et d’esprit sans fierté.

Mais comment ne pas tenir compte de l’aide rare qu’on m’apporte? Comment n’aurais-je pas su voir la qualité de construction du monument, la qualité d’architecture et tout le cœur et toute l’âme apportés à cette œuvre par des hommes qu’il n’est point urgent de nommer?

Pour s’attaquer au plus noble débat de l’art sculptural, au débat qui dans tout art est d’ordre universel, il faut jeter à bas toute la sculpture de notre temps.

Pour faire cela, statuaire, tu dois voir pour chaque détail des figures qu’il soit harmonisé au tout, d’elles et de tous les groupes, que chaque groupe soit le déroulement attendu de tous les autres et que toute la forme sculptée compose cet hymne concret immobile et silencieux qui, naissant seulement sous ces précises lois, peut rayonner toujours dans l’esprit éternel.

Cela ne fait rien si la foule [prend] en bas de tes lois, beauté qui apparaît toute simple en ta complexité. Émotion illimitée parce que mesurée par la bonne sagesse qui voulut te prêter pour un instant humain aux marbres de la terre.

Tu as ta joie propre en toi-même.

Ton langage, on ne l’entend qu’aux belles heures de la foule mais il y a toujours quelque esprit qui te pénètre pleinement, cela suffit.

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Il suffit même que toi seule, tu aies conscience de toi.

Les œuvres ne s’adaptent absolument qu’aux seuls initiés.

Après ce travail en soi-même, en pleine solitude sculpturale, que cette ombre de

Dieu daigne me secourir! Que du moins, vous, blocs de marbre, blocs intacts, vous, faits de neige étincelante, je sache par des formes simples, par des constructions logiques, vous épargner des sculptures en plans choqués, désunis, des plans sans ordre simple pour lesquels la montagne ne vous fit pas!

Le temps sait sculpter vos carrières! J’ai béni le grand art du temps sur les rochers.

On ne peut rien désirer de plus pur que de s’apparenter aux architectures sculptées que dressent parfois dans le ciel parmi les pâtres et les chèvres certaines montagnes paisibles.

On ne peut rien concevoir de plus grand que de copier très humblement, de loin, du cœur de notre terre, les temples entassés, bâtis, sculptés par tous les bras du vent!

Cirques immenses, théâtres de nuages où le tonnerre chante et où tremble l’éclair.

Toute la nature nous guide.

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Appendix D

SHELTER FOR THE FLOCK AT THE ROCK OF ANGLAR

The following lecture, “Shelter for the Flock at the Rock of Anglar” (L’Abri pour les troupeaux au Roc d’Anglar), was delivered at the Académie de la Grande Chaumière by Antoine Bourdelle on December 29, 1911. The text is included in Antoine Bourdelle,

Cours & Leçons à l’Académie de la Grande Chaumière, Tome II, ed. Laure Dalon (Paris:

Paris-Musées, 2007), 140-44.

I - Sheep Barn on the Rise of the Rock of Anglar

In my land of Aveyron - a lively river that runs while singing on the rock and completely green with boughs - the pedestrian and animal routes and the train tracks are carved like corridors into the rocks. You follow walls of great, piled up rocks. These sunk routes with azure-crowned walls often lead onto the shoulders of hills. Suddenly from there, if I dare say, from an infinite distance - but as precise as bas-reliefs or Assyrian groups - appear the divine and icy Pyrenees.

Flint covers the routes. Oaks raise themselves up here and there with their admirable and noble foliage sprouting like ancient forged iron.

All of a sudden, when exiting successive tunnels, as if escaped from the shadowy grips of sunlit mountains, you glimpse a small town of two-thousand souls: the ancient city, the Romanesque and Gothic city, perhaps most curious in France - Saint-Antonin.

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City Hall, or “Maison Commune,” is an unspeakable masterpiece.

It’s the purest Byzantine Roman, everything there is measured in boldness. It’s a spring of austere lines, it’s the summer of the human spirit. There is the interior of the tower at the top, the hall of arrow-slits, which is as sublime as you can touch. This hall rains divine drops on you with full stones, you suffocate from such beauty. And so, what is this hall? Oh, all of this is simple. It is a very small, very narrow rectangle, with thick seats of hard, local stone. The mountains gave their most tenacious bones to construct this harmonious organism. With long and vertical slots, each arrow-slit in the wall is set in two columns, all set in square beams. The measure is so accurate: the order between the arrow-slits, the simple pillars that set the arrow-slits and the lintel supported by these pillars. All this is so naked and with such cohesion that it feels impossible that the warriors, the armed men placed there in their armor framed with these strong pillars of reason should not be heroes.

Powers of holy rightness, this stone resists time; it seems to understand that it holds in its solid, belfry-beating heart the law of numbers, which are the sun of the spirit.

The whole city is full of masterpieces: arcades of doors, houses suspended on pillars, winding alleys with a whim of a lively herd. The genius here is perpetually smiling, it has the grace of heroes.

This city which lasts has the beautiful Aveyron River undulating past, it skirts a side of fortified walls; its water promptly trembles on the face of rocks and hardy poplars that border it, and above a sky of azure blue to brighten the washing of laundresses, who beat their laundry on everything to make it white.

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It’s above this town that the Rock of Anglar raises itself on the other side of the blue river; on the other side of the town, there is the Mountain of Calvary, the mountain listens if it rains and the plateaus of bosc trees, heights all dotted with abandoned heritage; in these half-dead residences there are adorable constructions, ovens to cook bread which are worthy of being adored. It’s all the wheat of fields; it’s all the bread of the human family; it’s all the fire of the forest - males kneaded in total love, all the healthy hunger of laborers and shepherds that created this simple art, like a flower of crowns.

The Rock of Anglar projects over everything; it is set up across the whole line and above the desert of high plateaus where the vast herds split up, overseen by shepherds.

This high where the pebbles fight with the grass seems to be so advanced and so transported with all of its combined soul over the high edge of its immense wall, in order to see everything small and everything gathered below, everything closed together like another herd around its shepherd: the church, the small, admirable town.

I ascended the Rock of Anglar. Silence welcomed me, each beating of my heart calmed with the view over this noble solitude. But the desert of these plateaus enlarged my disorder infinitely. The peace of elements boil when entering into our human soul; it makes an impossible science that takes view of our labors when entering into us.

Leaning over the summit of rocks that form the bulk of Anglar, I saw the adorable town, like a barque near the river, a very old barque with multiple roofs. Below, blue moving with the river, above, blue wandering with the sky: everywhere the horizons of hard rocks and short, rare, and fragrant boxwoods and I walked into this desert. Never did

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I feel less alone. Beauty hastening towards me from everywhere; but it came seriously, with a slow, pure smile. Furthermore, it had a modest, country look and I felt its grandeur.

II - The Sheep Park and the Shelter of Stones

I found the trace of men from unknown times; men who had thought and laid their hearts on these stones. So behold, they set the efforts of their antique spirit here.

First, I saw the beautiful order of men’s hands, which had arranged an unspeakably natural circle of stone. Without displacing the surrounding order – the work of boulders or effort of the gods – they had put a vast enclosure of rocks in order. Hard work with gentle thought. Such weighty rocks built up with great strength to shelter the herd in an envelope of security and calmness. A circular coat of rock to save the delicious sheep, as quickly calmed as terrified, from rays [of sunlight] or a storm’s darkness. From this enclosure girded with hard rocks, it looks like man’s hand had lovingly struck the door of the earth. [The earth] had patiently and slowly removed flints and the ground was returned and the earth was rediscovered. The sphere’s maternal heart had the charming complexion of a happy mother next to the soft one who knew how to find her breast.

The [mater]’s complexion was burning, as if flushed with love. Oh, the noble earth of the mountain, oh sacred breast - immortal flesh that night will know, for space will change it into [a] star that guides other spirits that I would like to know!

Where are the sheep? Gone. Where? I don’t know that myself. I am a man of marble, a man isolated in the crowd of cities. Earth, I return to you hardly awakened from so many hard dreams.

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The shepherds, where are they, those who I saw here when I was twenty? Fleeing under the black cloud, under the wind that threw the stones, with the entire herd enveloped and abducted.

I know nothing of that. The weather is grey, it’s daytime, and I am alone.

I circle the park - so noble with a magnificent entrance of straight stones - and after some blackberry bushes, I see [something] like the threshold, [something] like a temple entrance. Here the charming grass sprouted and all the soil was silent. Not a whisper is in the sky and the threshold is divinely alone.

What is this monument? As though it is naked, as though it is one! As though it is simple! Ah! Undoubtedly it’s like the earth picked up all the stones of the enclosure that covered its breast, and with this hard coat she knew how to suggest to men the best way to gather right here. Yes, earth, I see it! It’s that when you will no longer understand, when they no longer want your heart and your flesh and such beautiful milk from your breast – little by little, slowly and without crying or saying anything, you take back the folds of your coat, you will smooth yourself over with the necessary silence.

Oh, I believe I hear better! It’s all the weather that space here leaves to men. It’s all this extensive desert that made the laborer or the shepherd or the mason shepherd - I don’t know who, I don’t know what – think and assemble so well your wall around this sublime doorway.

Squared and surmounted door, overset with a large stone plate that extends out a little bit, as if two whole trees are set below. Placed side by side, they sustain the weight of the wall’s height above the portico.

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I enter, one of the door clappers is ajar. Buildings of solitude always have their threshold half open. There is no human that lives within, but it is certain that there is somebody there. Who is it? Although everyone feels it, the unknown is unnamed.

I entered.

But all of a sudden, I saw too much or I saw nothing. I had my eyes veiled with tears. Oh miracle of proportions! Apollo, where are your herds, where is your lonely, peasant lyre? What has become of your voice?

The interior was a rectangle so beautiful, the walls were so soft, so ample, and so straight, their length by their height, the door was so large for their size.

Throughout the whole interior, the base of the walls had a circular bench. The walls were set with arrow-slits that narrowed towards the outside. All the stone is dry, all the stone is placed upon other stones without anything other than itself to hold it. It is set there as though the right number is there for the precise total. It’s the spirit of the space that will tighten the stones. It’s sublime usefulness. It’s the monument, at once furtive and immortal. It’s the splendor of reason.

And I left, full of the abyss. I saw the gods, I cried from being burned by their light.

What remains to understand the impulse of the gods? What remains on these rocks?

Sometimes a whole cloud of crows brings down their noble black wings and their shadowy cries on the roof, on such soft tiles.

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I sometimes see a goat. Some greedy and shy rams and ewes - because the great herds have left - come to graze a bit of sublime grass. And then all is done, the desert covers the gods again. Alas! it comes upon men with great steps! You artists, the last heroes, you fight against the invading desert. So construct in dry stone - without mud, without mortar - to retain it, held alone by their heroic equilibrium.

I – L’étable à moutons sur la hauteur du Roc d’Anglar

Dans mon pays d’Aveyron, un fleuve vif qui court en chantant sur le roc et tout verdoyé de ramures, les routes des piétons et des bêtes, les voies des trains sont taillées comme des couloirs dans les rochers, on longe des murs de grands rocs entassés. Ces routes enfoncées aux murailles couronnées d’azur aboutissent souvent sur des épaules de collines, si j’ose dire, et de là soudain, à des distances infinies mais précises tels des bas- reliefs ou des groupes assyriens, apparaissent les Pyrénées divines et glacées.

La pierre à feu sable les routes. Les chênes s’érigent de-ci, de-là avec leurs admirables feuillages nobles poussant comme d’antiques fers forgés.

Tout un coup, au sortir de tunnels successifs, comme échappés aux étreintes d’ombre de montagnes ensoleillées, on aperçoit une petite ville de deux mille âmes, la ville antique, la ville romane et gothique la plus curieuse de France peut-être, Saint-

Antonin.

L’Hôtel de Ville ou Maison Commune est un indicible chef-d’œuvre.

C’est du roman byzantin le plus pur, tout y est mesuré dans l’audace. C’est un printemps de lignes austères, c’est l’été de l’esprit humain. Il y a l’intérieur de la tour dans le haut, la salle des meurtrières qui est du sublime qu’on touche, cette salle vous

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pleut du divin à pleines pierres, on suffoque de tant de beauté. Et qu’est donc cette salle?

Oh, tout cela est simple. Elle est un tout petit, un tout étroit rectangle, en assises épaisses de pierre dure du pays. Les montagnes ont donné leurs os les plus tenaces pour construire cet organisme harmonieux. Chaque meurtrière des murs, en fente longue et verticale, est enchâssée en deux colonnes, dressées toutes en poutres carrées. La mesure est si juste, l’ordre entre les meurtrières, les piliers simples les enchâssant et le linteau supporté par ces piliers, tout cela est si nu, d’une cohésion telle qu’on sent impossible que les guerriers, que les hommes d’armes incrustés là-dedans dans leurs armures encadrées de ces durs piliers de raison ne soient pas des héros.

Puissances des justesses saintes, cette pierre résiste au temps; elle semble comprendre qu’elle garde en son cœur solide qui ne bat qu’avec son beffroi, qu’elle garde la loi des nombres qui sont le soleil de l’esprit.

Toute la ville est pleine de chefs-d’œuvre: arcades des portes, maisons suspendues sur piliers, ruelles tortueuses d’un caprice de vif troupeau. Le génie ici est en perpétuel sourire, il a la grâce des héros.

Cette ville qui dure a pour l’ondoyer le beau fleuve Aveyron, il contourne un côté des murs fortifiés; son eau très prompte tremble sur le visage des rochers, des peupliers hardis qui la bordent et sur un ciel d’un bleu d’azur à azurer le linge des laveuses qui frappent tout cela pour en faire du linge blanc.

C’est au-dessus de cette ville que s’érige le roc d’Anglar sur l’autre bord du fleuve bleu; aux autres entours de la ville, il y a le Mont du Calvaire, le mont écoute s’il pleut et les causses du Bosc, hauteurs toutes parsemées d’héritages abandonnés; dans ces

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demeures à mi mortes il y a des constructions adorables, des fours à cuire le pain qui sont dignes d’être adorés. C’est tout le blé des champs; c’est tout le pain de la famille humaine; c’est tout le feu de la forêt, pétris mâles dans tout l’amour, toute la faim saine des laboureurs et des bergers qui ont créé cet art simple comme une fleur des cimes.

Le roc d’Anglar surplombe le tout; il s’est dressé sur toute sa ligne, tout le désert des hauts plateaux où se divisent les vastes troupeaux, surmontés des bergers. Ce haut plateau où les cailloux le disputent à l’herbe semble s’être tant avancé, tant transporté, avec toute son âme solidaire, sur le haut bord de son immense mur, pour voir en bas toute petite et toute ramassée, toute serrée comme un autre troupeau autour de son berger, l’église, la petite ville admirable.

Je suis remonté sur le Rocher d’Anglar. Le silence m’avait reçu, chaque tumulte de mon cœur s’apaisant au regard sur lui de cette noble solitude mais le désert de ces plateaux agrandissait mon trouble à l’infini. La paix des éléments bouillonne en entrant dans notre âme humaine; elle fait comme la science impossible qui, pour entrer en nous, prend visage de nos labeurs.

Penché à la cime des rocs qui forment la masse d’Anglar, je voyais la ville adorable comme une barque près du fleuve, une barque très ancienne, une barque à multiples toits. En bas, le bleu mouvant du fleuve, en haut le bleu errant du ciel: à tous les horizons des rocs durs et des buis courts et rares et odorants et j’ai marché dans ce désert.

Jamais je ne m’étais senti moins seul. La beauté accourait vers moi de toutes parts mais, grave, avec un lent sourire pur, et plus elle avait l’air paysanne et modeste et plus je sentais sa grandeur.

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II – Le Parc à moutons et l’abri de pierres

J’ai trouvé la trace de l’homme, des hommes qui, qui sait quand, avaient pensé et posé là, sur ces pierres, leur cœur. Alors voilà que se dressait ici l’effort de leur antique esprit.

D’abord dans un indicible cirque naturel des pierres comme rangées, je vis le bel ordre de la main de l’homme qui, sans déplacer presque l’ordre d’entour, du travail des rochers ou de l’effort des dieux, avait dressé en ordre tout un vaste enclos de rochers.

Travail rude dans une pensée de douceur. Rocs si pesants dressés à grande force, en forme enveloppante de sécurité et de calme, pour y abriter le troupeau. Manteau circulaire de roc pour y sauver des rayons ou des noirceurs d’orage les délicieux moutons si vite calmes, comme aussitôt épouvantés. De cet enclos ceint de rocs durs, tendrement on dirait la main de l’homme avait frappé à la porte de la terre, elle avait ôté les silex, patiemment, longuement et le sol était revenu et la terre était retrouvée. Le cœur maternel de la sphère donnait son teint charmant de mère heureuse près de l’homme attendri qui savait retrouver son sein.

Le teint de la [mater] était ardent, come empourpré d’amour. Ô la noble terre de la montagne, ô sein sacré, chair immortelle que la nuit saura pour l’espace changer en

étoile qui guide d’autres esprits que je voudrais savoir!

Les moutons, où sont-ils? Partis. Où? Je ne sais pas cela, moi. Je suis l’homme du marbre, l’homme isolé dans la foule des villes. Terre, je te reviens à peine éveillé de tant de rêves durs.

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Les bergers, où sont-ils, ceux que je vis ici lorsque j’avais vingt ans? Fuyant sous le nuage noir, sous le vent qui jetait des pierres avec tout le troupeau enveloppé, enlevé.

Je n’en sais rien. Le temps est gris et c’est le jour et je suis seul.

Je contourne le parc si noble à magnifique entrée de pierres droites et, après des groupes de ronces, je vois comme le seuil, comme l’accueil d’un temple. Ici la pelouse a poussé, l’herbe est charmante, le sol tout uni fait silence. Pas un souffle n’est dans le ciel, le seuil est divinement seul.

Qu’est-ce ce monument? Comme il est nu, comme il est un! Comme il est simple!

Ah! C’est sans doute que la terre a ramassé toutes les pierres de l’enclos qui recouvraient son sein, et de ce manteau dur, elle a su suggérer à l’homme de le bien ramasser ici tout à côté. Oui, terre, je le vois! C’est que, quand tu ne seras plus comprise, quand on ne voudra plus ton cœur et ta chair et le lait si beau de ton sein, un à un, lentement, sans un cri, sans rien dire, tu reprendras les plis de ton manteau, tu referas sur toi le silence qu’il faut.

Ou bien, ô je crois mieux entendre! C’est tout ce temps que l’espace ici laisse à l’homme. C’est tout ce désert étendu qui a fait que le laboureur ou le pâtre ou le maçon berger, je ne sais qui, je ne sais quoi, a pensé, a si bien assemblé ton mur sur cette porte si sublime.

Porte carrée, surmontée, surfaite d’un large galet plat qui dépasse un peu comme un tout deux arbres au-dessous se sont couchés, étendus côte à côte ils soutiennent le poids du haut du mur au-dessus du portique.

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J’entre, l’un des battants est entr’ouvert. Toujours les constructions des solitudes ont leur seuil entr’ouvert. Il n’y a pas d’humain qui habite dedans mais il est sûr qu’il y a là quelqu’un. Qui est-ce? Que chacun le sente, l’inconnu n’est pas dénommé.

J’entrai.

Mais, tout à coup, je vis trop ou je ne vis rien. J’avais mes yeux voilés de larmes.

Ô miracle des proportions! Apollon, où sont tes troupeaux, où est ta lyre de paysan solitaire? Qu’est devenue ta voix?

L’intérieur était un rectangle si beau, les murs étaient si doux, si amples et si justes, leur longueur pour leur hauteur, la porte était si bien ouverte pour leur quantité.

Tout à l’entour intérieur, la base des murailles était en banc circulaire, les murailles étaient trouées de meurtrières, s’étrécissant vers le dehors. Toute la pierre est sèche, toute la pierre est posée sur les autres pierres, sans rien qu’elle-même pour la tenir, elle est posée là, comme un nombre juste est là pour le total précis. C’est l’esprit de l’espace qui resserrera ainsi les pierres. C’est l’utile sublime. C’est le monument, à la fois furtif et immortel. C’est la splendeur de la raison.

Et je suis parti plein d’abîme. J’ai vu les dieux, j’ai pleuré d’être brûlé par leur lumière.

Que reste-il pour entendre l’élan des dieux? Que reste-il sur ces rochers?

Parfois tout un nuage de corbeaux abat ses nobles ailes noirs et ses cris d’ombre sur le toit, en tuiles si douces.

Je vis quelquefois une chèvre. Quelques béliers et des brebis gourmandes et peureuses, car les grands troupeaux sont partis, viennent brouter un peu d’herbe sublime.

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Et puis tout est fini, le désert recouvre les dieux. Hélas! il vient à grands pas sur les hommes! Artistes, vous, les derniers héros, vous luttez contre l’envahissant désert.

Construisez donc, en pierres sèches, sans boue, sans mortier pour les retenir, tenant seules par leur héroïque équilibre.

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Appendix E

THE LAWS OF BAS-RELIEF/PENSIVE APOLLO AND THE MUSES

The following lecture, “The Laws of Bas-Relief/Pensive Apollo and the Muses”

(Les Lois du Bas-Relief/Apollon Pensif et Les Muses), was delivered at the Académie de la Grande Chaumière by Antoine Bourdelle on March 15, 1912. The text is included in

Antoine Bourdelle, Cours & Leçons à l’Académie de la Grande Chaumière, Tome II, ed.

Laure Dalon (Paris: Paris-Musées, 2007), 200-3.

I

I have 21 figures to sculpt into hard marble for the facade of the Théâtre des

Champs-Elysées.

I begin from a shameful epoch where all sculpted work is not coherent with its supporting walls or pedestals, therefore my work to create unity of figures in all the walls is uneasy.

It’s necessary to break with the entire epoch that goes into sculptural art as

Breughel’s blind go. It’s necessary to satisfy my instinct of measure that it should be the wall itself that seems to move through essentially designated places. It should be the wall itself that awakens from its status as a wall into sculpted human figures - figures of which none break the dignity of the whole wall into dislocated planes.

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Can the figures be composed for themselves alone, and furthermore, can they also compose the surrounding wall for their immediate setting?

Certainly, you can compose them on these two harmonies. But the great composition is that each relief should have its two figures composed to harmonize each other, and both to the whole architecture.

This singularly illuminates the sculpted human form as soon as it strongly impresses itself, fully extended into light, from its marriage with the walls.

Detail informs masses.

Shadows measure the total clarity of walls.

Everything increases from being sculpted. Each formal trait is illuminated. Each particular detail feels the effect of the built monument’s general order, because they must borrow the manners of its walls to live in harmonious rapport.

II

The subjects of the bas-reliefs are imposed by the organization of this double theater: an epic and lyric theater and a comedy theater.

Additionally, there are one or several art galleries.

Therefore I had to remind and inscribe all that on the facade and I packed the five bas-reliefs that surmount the public side entrances like a little marble book that explained the interior soul through these six sculpted figures.

The difficulty of chaining everything in the same sculptural order remained, the graceful subjects covered in the same strong plane as the tragic subjects. I had to look at

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life a lot in order to see that it put everything, with perfect parity, in its powerful impulses.

And I reviewed all study of my life. My debut works tendered some smiles from me, laughs even, but I rejected them all.

The two comedies do not laugh brightly, their interior laugh dominates; there is irony and the knowledge of my life now. Tears and laughter are the two poles that the same axis supports.

And it’s especially the plane that illuminates - it’s the light that laughs, marble repels the eternal laugh of two mouths. It’s better to keep the calm gaps between smiles that let the remaining planes laugh better in their fullness of sun.

Music was in the marble. It was worth respecting; a faun in the sky made his rough syrinx sing. He hears the song fly away!

The modern soul embraces the frail violin, and musician - through the tumult of great bends that turned around her - gives [the violin] trouble and torment that whirls within the marble tears.

The dance is perhaps soft, but she is serious!

As if she is in meditation, at least I had wanted that.

The marble is resistant to the dance: as you see, Isadora bending and turning her fine, firm head. The eyes for dancing are within, in her own emotion.

Her hands graze the marble sky, they seem to die and their life flies away in their crammed planes.

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He - the dancer, a Nijinsky - tears at the marble that he still holds with wild impulse, his bony feet pushing away from the ground but the block will hold back this man who carries the winged spirit of birds in himself.

Architecture, Sculpture, these two figures seem found fully drawn by blocks. The quarrymen picked them up, they say the depth of their destiny with marble, [destiny] which is the order of the mountain and the all-blond earth.

Here the movements and the planes, all is interlaced; they are very soft in the marble, they are its older girls.

Tragedy is the highest summit of effort.

Passing, you can see yourself, the human subject; all art speaks to the world, but we sculptors, we see the tragedy of masses, we see how intense is the epic that I could impose on planes!

The immolator is there for the crowd; he is going to kill beauty to appease the gods and save the fatherland if he submits to them favorably.

For us, tragedy is another; for us, the immolator is the monumental sculptor, he disembowels the virgin marble. What spirit will he pull from it?

Will it be vanity for man? And if it was a miserable defeat? And if he pits and deforms the marble, if he defeats the flesh of mountains without having unchained from it the spirit into the light?

Bite my awl into this beautiful, snowy flesh and do not fix there only shadows by fair hollows, for it is necessary for us to explain the embrace of lights and [you] should know how to grant the sacrifice of the human form’s details on the altar of the whole

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temple and on the people of the great army of walls. Here is the true tragedy, it’s the epic of sculpture that I have tried to set there.

III

But in the top of the central body - in the frieze which looks for the sky and which escapes from the alley’s trees - work took full development.

Apollo meditates towards the center, a hand at rest on lyre chords. He sings for the harmonized calm of the blocks.

He precisely imagines the great winged image that surrounds him with its wings and which opens its simple arms; its straight and smooth arms with strong hands open - with their ten smooth fingers - its two hands placed on the wings and which let the great rhythm go beyond the limits of the theater, beyond the commotion of walls, beyond the great, sculpted planes.

And this great image that the face touches - bordering on the face of god - it’s what he sees in his thought. It’s Apollo’s idea exteriorized in form, it’s the test that makes a sculptor try an elemental song that man hears not through the sense of hearing, but with the hearing of the spirit.

And the Muses are there.

They have completely forgotten the symbols that designate them to the crowd.

But they see the god thinking!

One of them is near Apollo: she presses against the wall of wings, of the built hymn that I try and it’s not for mankind that I make her tremble.

She has trouble with her proportions next to the god.

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She contracts all her planes and from that the god’s thought still ascends.

And the other Muses hasten from both sides, from the bottom and even the top and the shadows of the cornice.

The marble of the walls seems to be assembled to come running and celebrate the god.

With the movement of planes, the shaking of lines, the spin of light and shadow, you read the desire of the offering.

The human face fully lent with the female’s whole body, but the laws of marble, distance, and height came and here it is that measure alone tied plane over plane and that this frieze is even more a wall that flourishes as a humanity that tries under a stone mask.

Marble and marble alone, the pure marble by law of construction of numbers, here is the tool, the divine instrument.

The wholly sacred lyre sent by the planet and snatched by man at the mountain of light to sing of what elevates man, to sing of the conqueror of Pan and the charmer of gods, to sing of the pensive sun, and here is what I attempted.

I

J’ai vingt et une figures à sculpter dans un marbre dur pour la façade du Théâtre des Champs-Élysées.

Je pars d’une époque de honte où toute œuvre sculptée n’est pas cohérente avec ses supports murs ou piédestaux, aussi mon travail pour créer l’unité des figures dans le tout des murs est malaisé.

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Il faut, rompant avec toute l’époque qui va en art sculptural ainsi que vont les aveugles de Bruegel, il faut pour satisfaire mon instinct de mesure que ce soit le mur lui- même qui, par endroits essentiellement désignés, semble s’émouvoir, s’éveiller de son

état de mur en figures humaines sculptées, figures dont nulle ne rompt en plans trop disloqués la dignité de la muraille entière.

Les figures peuvent-elles être composées seulement pour elles-mêmes et encore, en plus, peuvent-elles se composer aussi pour leur cadre immédiat, la muraille de leur entour?

Certes, on peut les composer ainsi, sur ces deux harmonies mais la grande composition, c’est que chaque relief ait ses deux figures composées pour l’harmoniser chacune et toutes deux à toute l’architecture.

Cela éclaire singulièrement la forme humaine sculptée dès qu’elle s’impressionne fortement de son mariage avec les murs tout étendus dans la lumière.

Le détail s’informe des masses.

Les ombres se mesurent aux clartés totales des murs.

Tout s’en augmente, de l’être sculpté. Chaque trait de la forme s’éclaire. Chaque détail particulier se ressent de l’ordre général de tout le monument bâti car ils doivent lui emprunter de ses façons de murs pour vivre en rapports d’harmonie.

II

Les sujets dont traitent les bas-reliefs sont imposés par l’organisme de ce double théâtre, un théâtre épique et lyrique et un théâtre de comédie.

Il y a en plus une ou plusieurs salles d’exposition d’art.

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J’avais donc à rappeler, à inscrire tout cela sur la façade et j’ai chargé les cinq bas-reliefs qui surmonteront les entrées des bas-côtés d’ouvrir au public comme un petit livre de marbre expliquant l’âme intérieure par ces six figures sculptées.

Restait la difficulté d’enchaîner tout dans le même ordre sculptural, les sujets de grâce traités dans le même plan fort que les sujets tragiques. J’ai eu beaucoup à regarder la vie pour voir dans elle qu’elle met tout dans son puissant élan avec égalité parfaite.

Et j’ai revu toute l’étude de ma vie. Mes travaux de débuts m’ont tendu quelques sourires, des rires mêmes, mais je les ai tous écartés.

Les deux comédies ne rient pas en éclat, leur rire intérieur se domine; il y a l’ironie et la connaissance de ma vie d’à présent. Les larmes et le rire sont les deux pôles qu’un même axe soutient.

Et c’est surtout le plan qui s’illumine, c’est de la lumière qui rit, le marbre a repoussé le rire éternel de deux bouches pour mieux garder les trouées calmes des sourires qui laissent mieux rire les plans laissés ainsi dans leur plein de soleil.

La musique était dans le marbre. Il a fallu le respecter; un faune dans le ciel a fait chanter sa syrinx rude: il entend s’envoler le chant!

L’âme moderne étreint le frêle violon et la musicienne par le tumulte des grands plis qui tournoient autour d’elle donne le trouble, le tourment qui tournoie dans les pleurs du marbre.

La danse est peut-être douce mais qu’elle est grave!

Elle est comme en méditation, du moins j’aurais voulu cela.

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Le marbre est rebelle à la danse, aussi voyez, Isadora penchant et renversant sa fine tête ferme, les yeux pour danser en dedans, en sa propre émotion.

Ses mains frôlent le ciel du marbre, elles semblent mourir et leur vie s’envoler dans leurs plans bien tassés.

Lui, le danseur, un Nijinski, s’arrache avec un élan sauvage au marbre qui le garde encore, ses pieds osseux repoussent loin le sol mais le bloc retiendra cet homme qui porte en lui le génie ailé des oiseaux.

L’Architecture, La Sculpture, ces deux figures semblent trouvées toutes dessinées par les blocs. Les carriers les ont ramassées, elles font dire au marbre le profond de sa destinée qui est l’ordre de la montagne et de la terre toute blonde.

Ici, les mouvements, les plans, tout est entrelacé; elles sont très douces au marbre, elles sont ses filles aînées.

La tragédie est le haut sommet de l’effort.

Passant, tu peux voir, toi, le sujet humain; tout art parle pourtant le monde, mais nous, sculpteurs, voyons la tragédie des masses, voyons quelle est l’intensité de l’épopée que je pus imposer aux plans!

L’immolateur est là pour la foule; il va égorger la beauté pour apaiser les dieux et sauver la patrie s’il se les rend propices.

Pour nous, la tragédie est autre; l’immolateur est pour nous le statuaire, il éventre le marbre vierge. Quel esprit en tirera-t-il?

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Sera-t-il un orgueil pour l’homme? Et si c’était une misérable défaite? Et s’il troue le marbre et le déforme, s’il défait la chair des montagnes sans en avoir désenchaîné l’esprit dans la lumière?

Mords mon poinçon dans cette belle chair neigeuse et n’y fixe par des creux justes que les ombres qu’il faut pour nous expliquer l’étreinte des lumières et sachez consentir les sacrifices des détails de la forme humaine sur l’autel du temple entier sur le peuple de la grande armée des murailles. Voilà la tragédie vraie, c’est l’épopée de la sculpture que j’ai là tenté de fixer.

III

Mains, dans le haut du corps central, dans la frise qui cherche le ciel et qui

échappe aux arbres de l’allée, le travail a pris tout l’essor.

Apollon médite vers le centre, une main au repos aux cordes de la lyre. Il chante pour le calme harmonisé des blocs.

Il pense exactement la grande image ailée qui l’environne de ses ailes et qui ouvre ses bras simples, ses bras droits et unis aux fortes mains ouvertes avec tous leurs dix doigts unis, ses deux mains posées sur les ailes et qui laissent aller le grand rythme au- delà des limites qui forment le théâtre, au-delà de l’émoi des murs, au-delà des grands plans sculptés.

Et cette image grande dont le visage touche, avoisine le front du dieu, c’est ce qu’il voit dans sa pensée, c’est l’idée d’Apollon extériorisée dans la forme, c’est l’essai que fait un sculpteur pour tenter un chant d’éléments que l’homme entend, non pas par les sens de l’oreille mais avec l’ouïe de l’esprit.

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Et les Muses sont là.

Elles ont toutes oublié les symboles qui les désignent à la foule.

Mais elles voient penser le dieu!

L’une d’elles est près d’Apollon, elle s’appuie contre le mur des ailes, de l’hymne bâti que j’essaie et ce n’est pas pour moi, hommes, que je la fais trembler.

Mais elle a le trouble de sa proportion près du dieu.

Elle contracte tous ses plans et de cela la pensée du dieu monte encore.

Et les autres muses accourent, des deux côtés, et puis du bas et même des hauteurs et des ombres de la corniche.

Le marbre des murailles semble s’être assemblé pour accourir fêter le dieu.

Au mouvement des plans, aux secousses des lignes, au tournoiement des clartés et des ombres, on lit le désir de l’offrande.

Le visage humain prêta tout avec tout du corps de la femme mais la loi du marbre est venue et la loi de distance et la loi de hauteur et voilà que la mesure seule a lié le plan sur le plan et que cette frise est bien plus un mur qui fleurit qu’une humanité qui s’essaie sous un masque de pierre.

Le marbre, le marbre seul, le marbre pur par la loi de construction des nombres, voilà l’outil, l’instrument divin.

La lyre toute sacrée envoyée par la planète et arrachée par l’homme à la montagne de lumière pour chanter ce qui hausse l’homme, pour chanter le vainqueur de Pan et le charmeur des dieux, pour chanter le soleil pensif, et voilà ce que j’ai tenté.

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Appendix F

THE NATIVE EARTH: MONS-ALBANUS IN TARN-ET-GARONNE

The following text is from Antoine Bourdelle, L’Œuvre d’Antoine Bourdelle

(Paris: Librairie de France, 1925-1930), 15-43.

The Native Earth

Mons-Albanus in Tarn-et-Garonne

The Historic Parts of Its Foundation that Can be Recovered from Long Ago

I

On the faith of ancient legends, the city of Montauban appears to have been constructed following the borders of old earth occupied by the Gallic tribe of “Tasconi” - a tribe cited by Pliny. The name “Tescou” - borne by the small stream that passes through the city and empties into the River Tarn - strikes me as being a call of the ancient name, like an echo.

Tasconi: This Gaulish tribe had had there its “Oppidum” (fortified capital). It appears that it’s this whole ancient Gallic earth that finally [became] our city, having passed well though transformations and after having borne enough rough baptisms. It had slowly formed our Cradle City, our old city with the tint of faded roses, our City towards which our admiring soul, our filial veneration straightens like eternally verdant branches.

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II

This Gallic tribe of Tasconi had existed on this soil where there was, from the 9th century, the town of “Mons-Auréolus,” which was also named “Montauriol.”

At the end of the 10th century the City - which certain documents still designate below the status of town - took the name of “Saint-Théodard” from the name of the founding monk of the monastery (Montauriol Abbey). The Montauriol name was not erased.

Finally in 1314 the inhabitants of “Saint-Théodard-Montauriol,” angered with the lordly rights of the monks, pleaded for the protection of Alphonse Jourdain, Count of

Toulouse.

Without opposing the privileges of the monastery, Alphonse Jourdain permitted the inhabitants of Montauriol to establish themselves around his castle: the peasants and artisans hastened there. They constructed houses and thus raised, little by little, a city that the Count of Toulouse and his son, Raymond de Saint-Gilles, protected with their power.

In the act of concession that they made to those who deserted the town of Saint-

Théodard-Montauriol, the Count of Toulouse and his son gave the new city the name

“Mons Albanus.”

It is believed that this name was given as allusion to the blessing and abundance of willow trees in the land, this tree with sky sap as luminous as fine water.

In our old Langue d’Oc we call our city “Mount des Albas” or more simply

“Mount-Albas,” more commonly “Mountalba,” from which was formed the current,

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simplified name of Montauban. It’s wished that we would also be the mountain of dawn

(Mont de l’aube) or the white mountain (Mont blanc).

If noble Provence has clarity, order, and the juice of the Greek olive, we ourselves have the silver light of the willow leaves and the bright gold of the stalks that carry the subtle leaves.

Our willows shepherd our riverbanks with their great, clear bouquets, collared around the shores and all alike in the mists that climb from the waves.

Here is the slightly bitter flavor, the brief piece of poetry that inspired me through the years: the soft willows of our land and the coat of arms of our fair city, which has the willow under the [Fleur-de-]Lys; the willow that is called “Alba” in Languedocien.

The Willow Tree

An old willow tree stirs in my thoughts / The bitter charm of reborn regret, / Such an ancestor, its flourishing hymns / Adorn its voice with my past beauty. // Its grey bouquet falls slowly to me, / And so rustling is their soft foliation, / That my silence has this fate, to hear / Their words, blooming in the taken boughs. // Pensive tree, burst heart, old willow, / Shadow of the dawn where the astral swarm fled, / Nimbus brightening the old, ancestral mountain, / Look! Your grayness is fresh on my shoulder. // Your ash is fine on our whitening brows / And receiving grace in your willows, / I have your coat-of-arms of leaves over my days, / Old homeland, where our springs fell.

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Montauban, Its Surroundings

II

It’s in this corner of French earth with shade full of light - in this old city with buildings the color of Autumn, on this earth reddened by vines, illuminated with the nocturnal fire of potters, totally gilded by its burning sunlight and by beautiful, full fruits

- that my childhood was shaped.

For me, if we must be reincarnated one day, I don’t want any other cradle than our city.

Our Montauban, mutilated alas! its immediate surroundings and miraculous continuation through the rocky chasms of the Tarn and over the mountains of Aveyron; such a unique landscape in the world!

And you, our old [Montauban] so clear! What noble and soothing face you hold!

What high bearing you have, although so stripped of your joyous pride of olden days! Of your Chapel and the Portico, on the old bridge of Philippe le Bel, despite the loan hiatus that was sealed on one of the sides, from such high purity of your great Saint-Jacque de

Pourpre.

Despite all the levelling, all these disgraces that have been imposed upon you; although the shepherds of plans - your great builders - are dead, those who led the great, sweet herds of your building bricks; despite the absence, alas! of your masters of ancient works - these philosophers, conductors of such well-joined bases, built of such high discourse, assembled as well as thinking herds, as well as herds in herds assembled in the wisdom that are your venerable brick walls - despite your bereavements, despite such

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horrible abuses, you remain for us the old, lovable city, our city of the heart, the Antique,

Venerated Mother.

The Legend Close to History

Renaud de Montauban

I

The texts that I was able to find that deal with the origins of my native soil carry a sort of raw flavor. A powerful perfume of legend persists in them across the centuries.

If the recovered documents are sometimes connected, they are like branches from the same tree: all brothers though dissimilar, all foliaged by a unique trunk.

Having long carried the ancient sap of our sober and abrupt Epics, the tone of my recitation will undoubtedly carry a bit of an accent of the tree in its entirety.

It will be affected by the voice and - responding closely to it - also the echo of the old legendary songs that the weaver, vintner, and master fisher, my admirable grandfather

Salvy Reille, chanted in the country style with his splendid voice and grandiose accent.

In shadow, around the slow flight of the deep gesture of the “Quatre Fils Aymon” or “Aimon” (movement attributed to the powerful poet, Huon de Villeneuve, 13th c.), in the shadow of those high stanzas of Christians rhapsodies is housed a robust, Hugo-like poem owed to a poet born close to the glow of our snow-capped summits: a poem by

Napoléon Peyrat, called “Napol le Pyrénéen.”

I cite from this poem one of the premiere stanzas: that which refers to our Legend of the so-called head of Montauban, or the head of Renaud.

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Charlemagne, Roland, Renaud de Montauban

Are on horseback; large Turpin, staggering

On his saddle, accompanies them.

They touched the bones of Saint-Rocamadour,

But from white [Mount] Canigou to the willows of the Adour [River]

The Moors fled towards Spain.

It’s through the muted voice of Jules Tellier (whom I met two or three times during his very short life) that I heard the robust stanzas of this beautiful, forgotten poet overlap.

Here we are in full legend.

II

The Head Built into our Walls

On the free land of Cantaloube that was the possession of three Montauriol knights - which were the two brothers Raymond Amiel and Bernard Raymond and their cousin Pierre de Penne - land where they had a castle, a new town with the name

MONTAURIOL was constructed around 1100 by Alphonse Jourdain, Count of Toulouse.

Evidence suggests that the County manor was under construction around 1145.

The foundations of this “castellare,” or fortified castle, are preserved.

Some foundation walls and underground structures of the old County manor remain. On the vast wall - all in clinker bricks that watch the Tarn River roll its clayish waters almost to the height of our antique bridge’s apron – someone embedded a sculpted stone with a massive, high-relief, frontal warrior’s head. Since ancient times, the

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townspeople have called it “Head of Renaud,” undoubtedly in remembrance of the brave companion of Roland.

When I was a child, I was shown this head one day and was told, mysteriously:

“Montauban is here. As long as you have not seen this head, you cannot say that you know Montauban.” It is certainly a strong shortcut of [the] legend.

What is the exact history of this head and these walls, with their changing directions and movements according to the convulsions of the earth and under the effort of brutal sieges? Where is the true history of these old walls that resisted cannons?

III

The Stone Called Montauban

The Face of Renaud the Knight

The head called Renaud de Montauban would be the brave Renaud, Roland’s companion. This tall stone face comes out strongly in deep relief, carved in its block of rock.

This head is held in our rough architecture and, as the legend has it, it looks like it’s trying hard to escape: like the head of a warrior who is trying to leave by too narrow a gallery, it appears completely encircled in the rough and tall brick wall, completely formed in arcades that are held by powerful buttressing.

The style of this sculpture is what prevailed from the year 1000 until the end of the 12th century: [an] epoch of art admirable above others.

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If this face is prisoner in the high wall, if it is bruised by time, its lineage is so sovereign that the wounds and number of days or length of time no longer count in its destiny: It thinks beyond the crowds that no longer read its laws.

For so many centuries men passed blind on the bridge, without suspecting that an unutterable dawn trembled in this stone, caught in the countless assault of bricks and the powerless shadow under the arches of the old bridge.

Certainly those who know the legend are happy to tell it. Who is not moved by legends?

But the order of stone’s laws, the complete sense of the mysteries of its constructed thought, the prophecy of its revealed planes - all this is beyond the crowds.

This sculpture eludes material looks.

The Spirit protected this work.

The soul of a knight perhaps assisted by Pallas. Did she watch over him? Who will know?

Therefore in all spaces the mind comes to entrust an immortal flame on the rock mixed with reason and faith.

The altitude of such fires defends from the hordes of men who destroy anything that is beyond their hostile dullness!

Miraculously, they remain defenders!

They recently repaired the wall’s honor around this stone. It was time … They salvaged debris and the light read over all of them.

The flame always illuminates.

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The head of Renaud carries in itself the spirit of chivalry.

The steel that carved this stone was soaked in the stream of faith. It was steel of unchanging purity and the markings of this stone carry upon them this ineffable armor, completely adorned with eternal calculations.

The whole ensemble is made of harmonies and a unity of veiled virtues. The stripping of this science clothes the genius of an immense grandeur.

This head is from Austere times where all Material preserved the root energy, the hero remained rock, kiln-hardened brick grew the clay’s resistance through fire and kept the memory of the groove-slanted planes in its seams that are clad with large slopes of mortar.

In those times, art’s aim was powerful and the conceptual plane was elevated. It is necessary that we know this because the witnesses that I see there – constructed and set upright in stone - proclaim it unanimously in my half-petrified view.

In these times of communal spirit and deep initiations, the works of the forge - just as much as in stone art - left haughty and stiff iron impassable when it was necessary to bar the city gates.

Work went straight to action: The useless dared not flourish.

I speak not of High Gothic and even less of its agony in the low period. Indeed I speak of Romanesque art, which is similar to the [head of] Renaud de Montauban.

Romanesque Art, honor of human thought, fruit of superhuman advice.

In eras without high laws, we see lies everywhere.

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Alas! Hesitation comes to enfeeble certainty and disasters of ugliness are in all of our towns.

And you, oh simple stone, I take you completely into my soul; Stone holding in you the law of great works and the law of the whole manor.

Above all else, a moving ruin. Great, mutilated witness of our great art of the past.

I take you in spirit, to better fathom you.

I needed to put you back on the plan of the past.

And I want to honor you as much our current indiscipline allows it.

Your block is not very large.

The corners are not intact – one, broken, shirks the whole - but your noble sum does without the missing pieces.

Such unity in the joy that you carry!

You are carved in fullness. Your dimensions created with quality.

You always trouble me.

In times past it was through your legend. Now I ensure my thoughts on your constructed fact. On your scent of eternal gait, which can run through all centuries and will exhaust all time.

IV

The Stone called Montauban On-Site

The Renaud Stone

Admirable, solitary block, in my town you are very little, as you would be for every town: Nobody sees you for you.

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All those who move towards you do it to speak of the legend that animates you: they classify you and search for your birthday, birth year, and birth century. They smell the torment of battle swords upon you.

But I am your prisoner. You are the example for me. I see you outside of time.

For me, your battles are spiritual: Your legend is eternal to me.

When MONT-ALBAS was born anew from SAINT-THEODARD-

MONTAURIOL, you counted as “Head of Paladin” for the insider who carved you on- site! Your destiny was born from the level of contemporary souls - all the rising walls awaited you. The journeyman sculptor, some friend of Roland the Brave, composed his sword on you and forged his sword on your laws. He remade your beautiful plans that were inclined by the longsword’s slope.

We no longer come to pray to these sorts of laws. We have long forgotten that the course was made over the nobility of soul and that the orb of a large, pure brow in stone purity was imagined in the interior nave of a master initiated by the heart.

But these are the immortal laws.

Angular stone of my city. Your creator formed you on the riverbanks, near the winding waters, smeared from tawny winter waters and purple summer waters under our azure suns. Our Tarn carries silt.

The old bridge did not assist in your birth, the foundation of your high “Gastel-

Nyo” was embedded in the rural land.

Since we hid your foundations, we filled in your magnificent ravines. We set your hero doors at everyone’s level!

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The old county chateau suffocates and you would like to escape: your push strikes my heart.

I hear the old “langage d’Oc” and the Latin speech around the cuts of your stone, and the Greek language would not be surprising next to your pure discipline:

Who sculpted you? …

Great stone master, Renaud de Montauban, you hold these thoughts within. All forces link themselves in your simplicity.

While I want to say it, we cannot believe that the visionary who created you thought all of these things when he simply shaped you! But these forces were in his scientific order.

An essential plan holds everything. Good sense set upon the spirit flourished in the masters of the work.

These masters kept the heritage that we ordered them to save.

Small stone of Renaud, brave stone completely alone, isolated, and clear in my thoughts.

You appear completely bare when viewed: You are, however, supremely armed.

As for myself, I have removed you from the wall and laid you freely on the pure block of sculptors’ knowledge.

I saw your weight and your measurement.

I turn you on all sides. I see the Epic living in you! The permanent Epic of sculptors.

Oh, this stone thought and its action in stillness!

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Oh calm storm of spirit, what softness in expanse and depth, beyond the limits of your form. Storm of thinkers, petrified in the serenity of the rock.

Rock of the knight, your profiles are the clear swords that right the wrongs of men. Your profiles are fastened between the turning of worlds and enchained like the spiral that stands out from the clepsydra marking the hour and like the rod fixed to the sundial. When the sun reaches you, you speak like our dial in Montauban - [the one] at the church of Saint-Joseph, the dial that has written under its twelve divisions: “UNA

TIBI” … one single hour … for you! To those who decipher you, stone of the paladin, you also say: one single hour.

V

One Single Hour!

Art has only one single hour: it’s its hour of truth.

Here we call it by its inner name: This single hour ? It’s the hour of beauty!

Art, is it not a glimmer that could keep us in our first innocence?

We tried the sin of knowledge.

And could it not be that man half-awake at birth could feel, obscurely but surely, the Creator’s work that formed him from Clay? When man in his art restarts the sense of universal order, could it not be that he rehears in unspeakable storm – in his perishable clay – the immortal laws in action?

Any creator of beauty who hears voices!

But could that not be the one that remembers the Immortal Sculptor?

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Rock of the knight: the arc of your forehead and your cheeks have this weight- bearing momentum that the Romanesque vaults have. [The Romanesque vaults are] always ready to dash forward and concentrate their litter collection upon themselves.

This high, authentic Romanesque [style] that you find in crypts where the swords of heroes and, sometimes, peaceful skeletons are. These great structural swords, as right and as sharp as they are inalterable and unbreakable …

VI

THE VIEW BEYOND OUR EYES

My thoughts rest upon you, rock cube. Face carved with the knight. Human face of Montauban! But finally, what is your mystery?

Not your legend! … What is your stone mystery? What is the law of your sculptor? …

It mustn’t be that we believe I am writing a legend of the stone:

That would be total error.

Indeed, it’s the rock that I weigh: the block alone, the pure rock. It is only the art of the “statuaire” that I analyze by turning the rock on all sides in my mind.

ISIS

HERMETIC ARTS

SCULPTURE

THE ARCHITECTURAL SCULPTOR

The austere art of sculpture, the art of the great “statuaire” is a closed art.

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Art establishes this thought on sculpture; [this thought] that took Beethoven to the inscription of the hidden Goddess, the indecipherable Isis:

“I am all that is / All that was / And all that will be. / No mortal man / Lifted my veil.”

Yes, the sculpted stone is all that is, all that was, and all that will be when beauty is eternally drawn on it!

The weft of your veil is not made from what common folk think.

The naked stone - our Renaud de Montauban - is covered with only its beauty.

That is beyond legend.

This plan is above legend.

I do not write this book as much as I construct it.

These chapters or periods are rather imagined as foundations - less designed in writer’s care than in architect’s concept: all the written periods lay themselves here like blocks upon blocks and each layer being active workers. All of these blocks will be powerful.

HEAR US:

My sculpture and I, we assume the task of not letting the stylus betray the great drawings of architectural sculpture for an instant.

I keep my stylus - the intimate brother of the chisel - full of ink.

Naturally they will put up the stone drawings, and the quick strokes of fresco in the mortar on the wall. And it’s from the same soul and same hand that they could bite bronze again if the alloy betrayed the fire.

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The law that I brought into myself that made me be against the student and poorly designed schools all my life. My law is resistant to all still-life and throws me fully into living and logical drawings: It’s this force that keeps me a Worker-Constructor-Statuaire.

VII

LIKE THE PROJECT CONDUCTOR, WE WISH TO KEEP ONLY THE

CHARACTER OF A MASTER WORKER AT OUR WORK SITES.

And I will use this genre of self-taught, sculptural writing within the essential subjects - subjects that will be named “active powers.”

Thus we fit into the spirit of the stone. I turn and scrutinize its body, its law, its soul, its structural destiny.

I must remain statuaire, architect, and builder of walls in the present setting.

It’s with mortar as much as ink that my hands need to be covered: We stay close to the earth, close to rock quarries, close to the foundry fires – near the crucibles from which runs the light of that devouring lava that the Ancients named Corinthian Bronze.

The statuaire’s iron mass and the trowel for the foundations; the potter’s all-red and rustic clay; the pots of whitewash for the constructed fresco: here are our most common arts.

Go, Chief Knight. Go, great face of Renaud – the head called “Montauban.”

I put you back into your wall and your proud solitude, into your ordained mountain’s perfume.

Near you, we see the dazzling Pyrénées in the divine distance, and they brighten my eyes less than you do.

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LA TERRE NATALE

MONS-ALBANUS EN TARNE-ET-GARONNE

LES PARTS HISTORIQUES DE SA FONDATION QU’ON PEUT RETROUVER

ASSEZ LOIN DANS LE TEMPS

I

Sur la foi d’Antiques Légendes, la Ville de Montauban nous apparaît avoir été construite tout contre la limite du vieux sol qu’occupa la tribu Gauloise des Tasconi, tribu citée par Pline. Le nom de Tescou que porte le petit cours d’eau qui passe dans la Ville et se jette dans la rivière Tarn, ce nom me frappe comme étant un appel, comme un écho, du nom ancien.

Tasconi: Cette tribu Gauloise aurait eu là son Oppidum (chef-lieu fortifié). Il apparaît que c’est tout contre cette Antique terre Gauloise, qu’enfin, notre cité, passée par bien des transformations et après avoir supporté d’assez rudes baptêmes, nous aurait lentement formé notre Ville Berceau, notre vieille cité au teint de roses fanées, notre Cité vers laquelle se tendent comme rameaux éternellement verdoyants toute notre âme admirative, notre filiale vénération.

II

Cette tribu Gauloise de Tasconi, aurait donc existé sur ce sol où fut au IXe siècle le bourg de Mons-Auréolus qu’on trouve également à cette même époque nettement nommé Montauriol.

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A la fin du Xe siècle la Ville, que certains documents désignent encore sous la condition de Bourg, prend le nom de Saint-Théodard, du nom du Moine Fondateur du

Monastère. Le nom de Montauriol n’en est pas effacé.

Enfin en 1314, les habitants de Saint-Théodard-Montauriol irrités des droits seigneuriaux de Moines, implorèrent la protection d’Alphonse Jourdain, Comte de

Toulouse.

Alphonse Jourdain, sans combattre les privilèges du Monastère, permit aux habitants de Montauriol de s’établir autour de son propre Château: les paysans, les artisans accoururent. Ils construisirent des maisons et ainsi s’éleva peu à peu une ville que le Comte de Toulouse et son fils, Raymond de Saint-Gilles, protégèrent de leur puissance.

Dans l’acte de concession qu’ils firent à ceux qui désertèrent le bourg de Saint-

Théodard-Montauriol, le comte de Toulouse et son fils donnèrent à la nouvelle ville le nom de Mons Albanus.

On croit que ce nom fut donné par allusion à la grâce et à l’abondance du Saule dans le pays, de cet arbre à sève de ciel, aussi lumineux que l’eau fine.

Dans notre Langue Antique d’Oc, nous nommons notre ville: MOUNT DES

ALBAS, ou plus simplement MOUNT-ALBAS, plus communément Mountalba d’où s’est formé dès le passé l’actuel nom simplifié de Montauban. On veut que nous soyons aussi le Mont de l’aube ou le Mont blanc.

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Si la Provence, toute noble, a la clarté, l’ordre, le suc de l’olivier Grec, nous avons, nous, la lumière argentée de la feuillée du Saule, et l’or éclatant des tigelles qui portent la feuillée subtile.

Nos Saulaies escortent nos rives de leurs grands bouquets clairs, placés en colliers aux rivages et tout pareils à des buées qui monteraient des ondes.

Voici, de saveur un peu âpre, la brève pièce de vers que m’inspirèrent il y a des ans, les doux saules de notre terre et la BLASON de notre bonne Ville qui porte sous des

LYS, le Saule – lequel prend le nom, ALBA, en Languedocien.

LE SAULE

Un saule ancien suscite en ma pensée / Le charme amer du regret renaissant, / Tel un

Aïeul, ses hymnes fleurissant / Orne ses voix de ma beauté passée. // Ils tombent lents en moi ses bouquets gris, / Et si bruissant est leur feuillaison tendre, / Que mon silence a ce destin, d’entendre / Leurs dits, éclos, dans les ramures pris. // Arbre pensif, cœur éclaté, vieux saule, / Ombre de l’aube où fuit l’essaim astral, / Nimbe azurant le vieux mont ancestral, / Vois! ta grisaille est douce à mon épaule. // Ta cendre est fine à nos front blanchissants / Et recevant la grâce en tes Saulaies, / J’ai sur mes jours, ton BLASON de feuillées, / Vieille patrie où neigent nos printemps.

MONTAUBAN

SES ENTOURS

II

C’est dans ce coin de terre Française aux ombrages pleins de lueurs, dans cette vieille Ville aux constructions couleurs d’Automne; sur cette terre empourprée par les

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vignes, illuminée des feux nocturnes des Potiers, toute dorée par son soleil ardent et par les beaux fruits pleins, que mon enfance s’est formée.

Pour moi, si nous devons renaître un jour je ne veux pas d’autre berceau que notre

Ville.

Notre Montauban, mutilé hélas! son entour immédiat et sa suite miraculeuse par les gouffres rocheux du Tarn et sur les Monts de l’Aveyron; quel pays unique au monde!

Et toi, notre vieux Mont si clair! quel noble et reposant visage tu as su te garder! quel haut maintien tu as, quoique tant dépouillé de tes fiers joyaux des vieux temps! de ta

Chapelle et du Portique, sur le vieux pont de Philippe le Bel, malgré l’hiatus d’emprunt qu’on a scellé sur un des flancs, d’une pureté si hautaine de ton grand Saint-Jacques de

Pourpre.

Malgré tous les nivellements, toutes ces hontes que l’on t’a imposées; bien que les

Bergers des plans, tes grands bâtisseurs, soient morts, qui conduisaient les grands troupeaux doux de tes briques constructrices; malgré l’Absence, hélas! de tes Maîtres d’œuvre anciens, ces philosophes, conducteurs de tant d’assises bien rejointes, bâtissant de si hauts discours, bien assemblés ainsi que des troupeaux pensants, ainsi que troupeaux en troupeaux assemblés en sagesse que sont tes vénérables murs de briques; malgré tes deuils, malgré tant d’affreuses injures, tu sais rester pour nous la vieille patrie adorable, notre vile du cœur, L’ANTIQUE MAMAN VÉNÉRÉE.

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LA LÉGENDE PRÈS DE L’HISTOIRE

RENAUD DE MONTAUBAN

I

Les textes que j’ai pu trouver, traitant des origines de ma terre natale, gardent une sorte de saveur âpre. Un puissant parfum de légende persiste en eux à travers les siècles.

Si les documents retrouvés se rejoignent parfois, ils le font à la manière des rameaux d’un même arbre, tous frères quoique dissemblables, tous feuillagés par l‘unique fût.

Ayant longtemps porté en moi l’antique sève de nos Epopées sobres, abruptes, le ton de mon récit gardera quelque accent, sans doute, de l’arbre en son entier.

Il en ressentira les voix, et, lui répondant de très près, l’écho aussi des vieux chants légendaires, que le Tisserand-Vigneron et maître pêcheur, mon admirable grand- père Salvy Reille, psalmodiait à la mode paysanne de sa splendide voix et d’un si grandiose accent.

Dans l’ombre, autour du lent envol du geste profonde des QUATRE FILS

AYMON ou AIMON (geste attribuée au puissant trouveur, HUON DE VILLENEUVE,

XIIIe siècle), à l’ombre de ces hautes strophes des Rhapsodes chrétiens, s’abrite un robuste poème Hugolien, dû au poète né proche des lueurs de nos sommets de neige: poème par NAPOLÉON PEYRAT, dit NAPOL LE PYRÉNÉEN.

Je cite de ce poème une des premières strophes: celle se rapportant à notre

Légende de la tête dite de MONTAUBAN ou tête de RENAUD.

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Charlemagne, Roland, Renaud de Montauban

Sont à cheval; le gros Turpin, en titubant

Sur sa selle, les accompagne.

Ils ont touché les os de Saint-Rocamadour,

Mais du Canigou blanc aux saules de l’Ardour

Les Maures ont fui vers l’Espagne.

C’est par JULES TELLIER (que je rencontrai deux ou trois fois au courant de sa vie si brève), que j’entendis chevaucher, dans sa voix assourdie, les robustes strophes de ce beau poète oublié.

Nous voilà en pleine LÉGENDE.

II

LA TÊTE BÂTIE DANS NOS MURS

Sur l’alleu de CANTALOUBE, qui était possession des trois chevaliers de

Montauriol, lesquels étaient les deux frères, Raymond Amiel et Bernard Raymond, et

Pierre de Penne leur cousin, terre où ils avaient un château, fût construit vers 1100 par

Alphonse Jourdain, comte de Toulouse, une nouvelle ville qu’il nomma MONTAURIOL.

On croit avoir des preuves que le manoir comtal était en construction vers 1145.

Ce castellare, ou château fort, a conservé ses fondations.

Du vieux manoir comtal il reste quelques murs de base, quelques bâtisses souterraines et, sur le vaste mur, tout en briques ferrées, qui regarde le fleuve TARN rouler ses eaux argileuses, tout presque à hauteur du tablier de notre antique pont, on enchâssa une pierre sculptée, donnant, en haut-relief et de face, une massive tête de

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guerrier que, dès les temps anciens, le peuple de la cité appela: TÊTE DE RENAUD, en souvenir sans doute du preux, compagnon de Roland.

Lorsque j’étais enfant, on me montra un jour cette tête, en me disant, mystérieusement: “C’EST LA MONTAUBAN. Tant qu’on n’a pas vu cette tête, on ne peut dire qu’on connait Montauban”. Certes, c’est là un fort raccourci de Légende.

Quelle est l’histoire exacte de cette tête et de ces murs, avec leurs directions, leurs mouvements, changés selon les convulsions des terres, sous l’effort des sièges brutaux?

Où est l’histoire vraie de ces vieux murs qui résistèrent aux canons?

III

LA PIERRE DITE MONTAUBAN

LA FACE DU CHEVALIER RENAUD

La tête dite de Renaud de Montauban, serait le Preux Renaud, compagnon de

Roland. Cette haute face de pierre sort en force en épais relief taillé en son bloc de rocher.

Cette tête est tenue dans notre rude architecture et, comme le veut la légende, elle donne l’émoi d’un immense effort d’évasion: elle apparaît, telle la tête d’un guerrier qui tente une sortie par une galerie trop étroite, tout enserré dans la rude et haute muraille de brique toute façonnée en arcades, elles-mêmes tenues de puissants contreforts.

Le style de cette sculpture est de celui qui règne de l’an mille jusqu’à la fin du

XIIe siècle: époque d’art admirable entre toutes.

Si cette face est prisonnière dans la haute muraille, si elle est meurtrie par le temps, sa lignée est si souveraine que les blessures, que le nombre de jours, ou espaces de

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temps ne comptent plus dans son destin: ELLE SONGE AU DELA DES FOULES QUI

NE LISENT PLUS DANS SES LOIS.

Les hommes, depuis tant de siècles, passent aveugles sur le pont, sans se douter qu’une aube indicible frissonne en cette pierre, prise dans l’innombrable assaut des briques et dans toute l’ombre impuissante dessous les arches du vieux pont.

Certes, ceux qui connaissent la Légende sont heureux de pouvoir la dire. Qui n’est pas ému des Légendes?

Mais l’ordre des lois de la pierre, le sens plénier des mystères de sa pensée construite, la PROPHÉTIE DE SES PLANS RÉVÉLÉS, tout cela est au loin des foules.

Cette sculpture échappe au regard matériel.

L’ESPRIT a protégé cette œuvre.

L’âme d’un CHEVALIER, secondée de PALAS peut-être, veillait sur elle? Qui le saura?

C’est ainsi que, d’espace en espace, L’ESPRIT vient confier, au roc de la raison et de la foi mêlées, un FLAMBEAU IMMORTEL.

L’altitude de tels feux les défend des hordes des hommes, qui détruisent, aux alentours, tout ce qui est moins loin de leur platitude assaillante!

Miraculeusement, il demeure des DÉFENSEURS!

On a refait tout récemment l’honneur des murs autour de cette pierre. IL ÉTAIT

TEMPS… On sauve des débris, et le voyant lit sur eux tout l’ensemble.

LE FLAMBEAU ÉCLAIRE DONC TOUJOURS.

La tête de RENAUD porte en elle l’esprit de la CHAVALERIE.

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L’acier qui tailla cette pierre fut trempé dans le flot de la foi. Il fut l’acier de candeur immuable et les tracés de cette pierre portent sur eux cette armure ineffable toute parée de calculs éternels.

Tout l’ensemble est fait de concordes, d’unité de vertus voilées. Le dépouillé de cette science vêt le génie d’une immense grandeur.

Cette tête est du temps Austère où tout Matériau employé savait garder l’ÉNERGIE D’ORIGINE, où le héros restait rocher, où la brique endurcie dans l’incendie des fours savait grandir de par le feu la résistance des argiles et garder dans ses joints ferrés aux larges pentes des mortiers, le souvenir des plans inclinés des sillons.

En ce temps-là, la visée d’art était puissante, le plan de concept élevé, il faut bien que nous le sachions car, les témoins que je vois là, construits, tout dressés dans la pierre, le proclament tous unanimes dans mon regard quasi pétrifié.

En ces temps de communauté d’esprits. En ces temps d’initiations profondes, tout autant qu’en l’art de la pierre, les ouvrages de forge, laissaient le fer hautain, et roide, infranchissable avant tout quand il faillait barrer les portes d’une ville.

L’Œuvre allait droit à son action: L’INUTILE N’OSAIT FLEURIR.

Je ne parle pas du haut gothique, bien môns encore de son agonie en basse

époque, mais bien de l’art Roman, auquel Art le RENAUD de Montauban s’apparente.

De l’art Roman, honneur de la pensée humaine, fruit du CONSEIL des Sur-Humains.

Aux époques sans lois hautes nous voyons partout des mensonges.

L’hésitation hélas! vient amollir les certitudes et les désastres de laideur sont en toutes nos villes.

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Aussi toi, ô pierre si simple, je t’ai repise entière en mon âme; Pierre tenant en toi toute la loi d’un grand ouvrage, la loi du MANOIR tout entier.

Ruine entre toutes émouvante. GRAND TÉMOIN MUTILÉ DE NOS GRANDES

ARTS PASSÉS.

Je t’ai prise en esprit pour bien me pénétrer de toi.

J’ai dû te replacer sur le plan du passé.

Et je veux t’honorer, autant que le permet notre indiscipline actuelle.

Ton bloc n’est pas très grand.

Les angles n’en sont pas intacts, l’un deux, brisé, se dérobe à l’ensemble, mais ton noble total se passe des morceaux manquants.

Quelle unité dans l’élan que tu portes!

Tu es taillée en plénitude. Tes dimensions se créent EN QUALITÉ.

Tu me troubles toujours.

C’était jadis par ta LÉGENDE, et maintenant j’assure ma pensée sur ta réalité construite. Sur ton odeur d’éternelle démarche, qui peut parcourir tous les siècles, qui

épuisera tous les temps.

IV

LA PIERRE DITE MONTAUBAN, SUR LE CHANTIER

LA PIERRE RENAUD

Admirable bloc solitaire, tu es, dans ma ville, et tu serais, pour toute ville de nos temps, bien peu de chose: Personne ne te voit pour TOI.

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Tous ceux qui se portent vers toi, le font pour dire la LÉGENDE qui s’anime de toi: On te classe, on cherche ton jour, ton année, ton siècle de naissance, on respire sur toi les affres des glaives de Combat.

Mais moi je suis ton PRISONNIER. Tu es pour moi, L’EXEMPLE. Je te vois au- dessus des temps. Tes combats en moi sont Esprit: TA LÉGENDE M’EST

ÉTERNELLE.

Alors que MONT-ALBAS naissait tout neuf de SAINT-THÉODARD-

MONTAURIOL pour l’initié qui te tailla sur son chantier: tu comptais, alors, TÊTE DU

PALADIN! Ton destin naissait au niveau des âmes du temps, tous les murs croissants t’attendaient. Le compagnon tailleur d’images, quelque ami de ROLAND LE PREUX, composait sur toi son Epée, lui forgeait l’épée sur tes lois, il refaisait tes beaux plans inclinés aux pentes du HAUT GLAIVE.

On ne vient plus prier à ces sortes de lois. On oublie de longtemps que la ligne se fait sur la NOBLESSE D’AME; que l’orbe d’un large front pur en ÉPURE DE PIERRE fut pensé dans la nef intérieure d’un MAITRE INITIÉ DU CŒUR.

MAIS CE SONT LA LES IMMORTELLES LOIS.

PIERRE ANGULAIRE DE MA VILLE. Ton créateur te composa sur le rivage, près la sinuassions des eaux. Des eaux fauves l’hiver, pourpres l’été sous nos soleils d’azur étale. Notre Tarn porte le limon.

Le vieux pont d’aujourd’hui n’assistait pas à ta naissance, les bases de ton haut

Gastel-Nyo s’enchâssaient aux terres rurales.

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Depuis on a caché tes bases, on a comblé tes superbes ravins, on a mis au niveau de tous, tes PORTES DES HÉROS!

Le vieux Château Comtal étouffe dans nos heures, et toi tu voudrais t’évader: Ta poussée heurte dans mon cœur.

J’entends le vieux langage d’Oc autour des coupes de ta pierre et aussi le parler latin, et le langage grec ne me surprendrait pas près de ta discipline pure:

Qui te sculpta?...

Grand chef de pierre, RENAUD DE MONTAUBAN, tu portes ces pensées en toi.

Dans ta simplicité se lient toutes les forces.

Il ne faut pas qu’on puisse croire cependant que je veux dire ici que l’imagier qui te créa pensait toutes ces choses, lorsque simple il te façonna! MAIS CES FORCES

ÉTAIENT DANS L’ORDRE DE SES SCIENCES.

Un plan essentiel tenait tout, un bon sens posé sur l’esprit fleurissait dans les maîtres d’œuvre.

Ces Maîtres gardaient l’héritage qu’on leur ordonna de sauver.

Petite pierre du RENAUD, PIERRE DU PREUX toute une, toute isolée et toute claire en ma pensée.

Tu apparais aux regards toute nue: Tu es pourtant suprêmement armée.

Je t’ai, pour moi, ôtée du mur, je t’ai reposée toute libre, sur le bloc pur des savoirs du sculpteur.

J’ai vu ton poids et ta mesure.

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Je te tourne de tous côtés. Je te vois vivre l’Épopée! L’Épopée fixe DES

SCULPTEURS.

O cette pensée de la pierre! et son action DANS L’IMMOBILITÉ!

Quelle Douceur en étendue. En profondeur. Hors des limites de tes formes, ô calme orage de l’esprit. Orage des penseurs pétrifié dans la sérénité du Roc.

ROCHER DU CHEVALIER, tes profils sont les glaives clairs qui redressent les torts des hommes. Tes profils aux tournants de mondes, sont attachés entre eux, sont enchaînés comme l’est la spirale ressort de la Clepsydre marquant l’heure, comme l’est la barre fixée au cadran solaire. Tu dis aussi sous l’action du soleil quand il parvient à toi, tu dis, comme le dit notre cadran à Montauban, à l’église de Saint-Joseph, cadran qui porte

écrit sous douze divisions: “UNA TIBI”… UNE SEULE HEURE… pour toi! Pierre du

Paladin, à celui qui déchiffre, tu dis aussi: UNE SEULE HEURE.

V

UNE SEULE HEURE!

L’ART AUSSI N’A QU’UNE SEULE HEURE: c’est son heure de VÉRITÉ.

Appelons-la ici de son nom intérieur: Cette seule heure? MAIS C’EST L’HEURE

DE LA BEAUTÉ!

L’ART, n’est-ce pas une lueur qui nous serait restée de notre innocence première?

Nous avons tenté le péché de vouloir connaître.

Et ne serait-ce pas que l’homme, à sa naissance, obscurément mais sûrement, pût ressentir, à demi-éveillé déjà, L’ŒUVRE DU CRÉATEUR le formant de l’Argile?

Quand l’homme dans son art remet en mouvement le sens de l’ordre universel, ne serait-

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ce pas qu’il réétend en indicible orage, DANS SON ARGILE PÉRISSABLE, agir LES

LOIS de L’IMMORTEL?

Tout créateur de beau qui écoute des voix!

MAIS, ne serait-ce pas: CELUI QUI SE SOUVIENT DU SCULPTEUR

IMMORTEL?

ROCHER DU CHEVALIER, l’arc de ton front, l’arc de tes joues ont cet élan porteur de poids qu’ont les voûtes romanes, toujours prêtes à s’élancer, et concentrant sur elles-mêmes leur ramassement de portée.

De ce haut ROMAN authentique qu’on trouve dans les cryptes où sont les ÉPÉES

DES HÉROS et quelquefois aussi les paisibles squelettes, ces grandes Épées d’ossatures, aussi droites, aussi nettes que leurs inaltérables, que leurs imbrisables Épées…

VI

LA VUE AU DELA DE NOS YEUX

Ma pensée repose sur toi, cube de roc. FACE TAILLÉE DU CHEVALIER. Face humaine de MONTAUBAN! Mais enfin, quel est ton MYSTÈRE?

Non pas celui de ta légende!... Quel est ton MYSTÈRE DE PIERRE? Quelle est la loi de ton sculpteur?...

IL NE FAUT PAS qu’on puisse croire en me lisant que j’écris ici une LÉGENDE

DE LA PIERRE:

L’ERREUR serait TOTALE.

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C’est bien le ROC que je soupèse, le bloc tout seul, le roc tout pur. C’EST L’ART

TOUT SEUL DU STATUAIRE que J’ANALYSE en tournant, en esprit, LE ROCHER sur tous ses profils.

ISIS

ARTS HERMÉTIQUES

LA SCULPTURE

LA STATUAIRE ARCHITECTURALE

L’ART AUSTÈRE de la sculpture, l’art de la grande statuaire EST UN ART

FERMÉ.

ELLE S’IMPOSE A LA SCULPTURE cette pensée que prit BEETHOVEN à l’inscription de l’indévoilable DÉESSE, de l’indéchiffrable ISIS:

“Je suis tout ce qui est / Tout ce qui a été / Et tout ce qui sera. / Nul homme mortel / N’a

levé mon voile.”

OUI, Elle est tout ce qui est, tout ce qui a été et tout ce qui sera, LA PIERRE

SCULPTÉE, QUAND LA BEAUTÉ EST ÉTERNELLEMENT TRACÉE EN ELLE!

La trame de son voile n’est pas faite de ce que pense le vulgaire.

La pierre toute nue, notre RENAUD de MONTAUBAN, se voile DE SA

BEAUTÉ SEULE:

CELA EST HORS DE LA LÉGENDE

CE PLAN-LA EST SUR-LÉGENDAIRE.

Je n’écris pas ce livre pour autant que je le construis.

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Ces chapitres ou périodes sont plutôt pensés en assises, pas moins conçus en souci d’Écrivain qu’en Concept d’Architecte: TOUTES les périodes écrites s’étageront ici ainsi que blocs sur blocs et chacune des assises étant ici autant d’ouvriers actifs, tous ces blocs seront DES POUVOIRS.

QU’ON NOUS ENTENDE:

Ma sculpture avec moi nous assumons ici la tâche de ne pas laisser le stylet trahir un instant les grands tracés de statuaire architectural.

Je maintiens donc mon stylet chargé d’encre, le frère intime du ciseau.

D’accord ils dresseront les tracés de la pierre, et dans les mortiers sur le mur, les traits rapides de la fresque. Et c’est de la même âme et de la même main, qu’ils remordraient le bronze si l’airain trahissait le feu.

LA LOI que j’apportai en moi qui me fit être toute ma vie contre écolier, d’écoles mal conçues. Rétif à toute étude morte: MA LOI qui me jeta entier sur les tracés vivants, logiques: C’est cette force-là qui me pourra ici maintenir OUVRIER CONSTRUCTEUR

STATUAIRE.

VII

NOUS DÉSIRONS GARDER, COMME CONDUCTEUR DE L’OUVRAGE, LE

CARACTÈRE SEUL DE MAITRE OUVRIER SUR NOS CHANTIERS

OUVRIERS

Et de ce genre d’écriture d’autodidacte et de sculpteur dont je me sers ici, j’en dirai l’en dedans dans les chapitres essentiels, CHAPITRES qui prendront nom de

POUVOIRS ACTIFS.

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AINSI NOUS TENONS DANS L’ESPRIT DE LA PIERRE JE TOURNE ET JE

SCRUTE SON CORPS, SA LOI, SON AME, SON DESTIN STRUCTURAL.

Je dois rester, dans le cadre présent, STATUAIRE, ARCHITECTE ET

BATISSEUR DE MURS.

C’est de mortier autant que d’encre que mes mains se doivent vêtir: Nous demeurons près des terres, près des carrières de rocher, près des feux des fondeurs. Tout auprès des creusets d’où ruisselle l’éclair de cette lave dévorante, que les Anciens nommaient LE MÉTAL DE CORINTHE.

La masse de fer du Statuaire, la truelle pour les assises. L’argile toute roussâtre et paysanne du Potier. Les pots de tons à chaux éteinte pour la fresque construite, VOILA

NOS PLUS HABITUELLES LETTRES.

VA, CHEF DE CHEVALIER, VA, GRAND VISAGE DU RENAUD, TÊTE

DITE DE MONTAUBAN.

Je te replace dans ton mur, dans ta hautaine solitude: DANS TON PARFUM DE

MONTAGNE ORDONNÉE.

Les Pyrénées éblouissantes qu’on aperçoit d’auprès de toi, dans le divin lointain,

ÉCLAIRENT MES YEUX MOINS QUE TOI.

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