Original subtitles

Come with me, Miss Camille.

Do you think there's more fire and depth in the poetry?

No...

You're wrong, there's fire there.

I took his 'Inferno' to do something with small figures.

I wanted them to swarm everywhere, on either side of the gate.

See these subjects...

They illustrate the love between Paolo and Francesca...

I'm not sure about leaving the kiss in the middle of all the damned.

They are far too happy and much too joyful for that!

Yes.

She's the betrayal...

of trust.

What about him?

He's the lover...

A determined lover.

An impatient one!

Seen in profile, your Dante looks like a bird of prey.

Could he be enjoying their suffering?

I don't know...

Ask him!

You're more compassionate than Dante.

What makes you say that?

I say it because your door is closed...

It's not open to The Inferno.

Yes, but the door is part of The Inferno.

It looks as if the gate has been added as an afterthought.

Yet I spent a year on the drawings.

It's in the earth that I find my shapes...

and I still have so many subjects to imagine.

So many subjects.

If I could be a modest presence by your side...

I have little liking for modesty in my work...

but...

always tell me what you think.

I'll never hold back!

And you'll help me fight against prejudice.

Yes.

Your "Gates of Hell" was not done to edify young girls!

Even though all these creatures are destroyed by desire...

Sir, the models are here.

The other Abruzzesi, Adele's sister... Is she here?

- She was called. - But is she here?

She's coming.

- And "lovely feet, lovely thighs"? - Therese Fontaine?

- The beautiful redhead? - Miss Octavie is here.

The model for Pierre Louys?

He's here. But Mr Louys is going to be angry.

No matter.

- Shall I send them in? - Yes, send them in.

Yes, sir.

Tell them it'll be a crawling day.

I want clenched hands, twisted mouths, heaving breasts...

as if the demon was going to seize them.

The top of your belly... raise it a bit...

That's it.

Like this.

Don't complain. No "yes, buts"!

You're beautiful, but don't take advantage of it.

You're the one who's taking advantage.

Leading the hierarchy of materials is gold...

then bronze, stone, wood,

and lastly, clay.

But I'm reversing this hierarchy.

Here, clay has taken first place.

These are my conditions...

My house is open to you...

Come and have lunch...

and you'll make sketches as we take notes.

It'll work out well. That's enough.

A few short sessions, Victor?

No, I won't pose!

I do not even want to see a pencil!

I got it!

Do you know how?

Juliette Drouet managed to get a short pose for you.

She enticed him into the living room.

And what did I do then?

You measured his skull with calipers without him even noticing.

Better than that!

I questioned the proportions of his bust of David d'Angers.

I thought he was going to kill me.

He rushed up to the bust in question...

and stared at it as though he were hypotised.

It was then I grabbed the chance to measure his skull.

That story doesn't make sense.

He would never have allowed you to attack David d'Angers!

Well then...

I paid the little maid that he fancied...

and so obtained my 45 minutes.

I think it was Juliette

who got you the short pose session.

And after meals, when he was sleeping...

you've carefully taken his measurements.

During the meals

Juliette did me the favour of never having me sit in the same place.

So I was able to get all the necessary angles.

But how am I to treat the head

of this giant of our age?

How?

Will this be our little conundrum?

Would you like that?

The programs, premises and staff, are all indispensable.

Let's separate school from church... both have everything to gain.

The church may need a lot of persuading.

We're campaigning against ignorance.

You're in such a rush all the time!

So I don't have time to forget what I've just seen.

So I learn to work from memory.

What could be nobler than educating the people?

And to establish the French language in every corner of France...

that's a truly beautiful thing.

Don't think he looks down on you...

if all you get from him is "good evening Mr Rodin"

or "Good morning Mr Rodin".

I don't think about it at all...

and I wouldn't care, anyway.

I just want to capture the real Hugo.

You seem unhappy.

Hugo's shown me the door.

As far as he's concerned, it's finished.

It's always been like that.

With the Bronze Age, I'd been accused of cheating...

of molding directly on the body of my model.

I was able to circulate a photo to show the differences...

It was useless.

The damage was done.

It's my fault.

There's too much life in my sculpture!

Well don't blame Hugo.

Miss Drouet is very ill.

There's something of a tiger about him

Or of a lion.

So I didn't miss it then!

Because Hugo has a great animal presence.

What are you writing?

This questionnaire that the English call "confession album". Heard of it?

Yes, I know...

But I won't be filling in one.

I'll do it though.

My main occupation?

I'd say... carving stone.

"Doing nothing."

You don't do anything?

If you start with lies...

What would I want to be if I wasn't who I am?

You'd want to be Joan of Arc.

A cab horse.

I don't like that drivers treat them so badly.

My favourite artist?

Auguste Rodin.

"Myself".

If I'd stopped to think about it...

I'd have realised that.

For which personal defect would you have the most tolerance?

A kiss first.

You rat! You only wanted to shut me up!

Go on... answer!

Your unbridled liking for women.

My crazy love for Camille, you mean.

My crazy love for Camille.

Look...

A snail has crawled along here.

Look at the pattern of the track it left.

How pretty it is.

How it shines.

I haven't told you... I saw Dr Vivier about my heart.

I didn't tell you about his horse...

The one with its tongue hanging out all the time?

On Tuesday, there was a crowd around it. They were all laughing.

It really got Dr Vivier angry.

He wasn't able to move.

So, he pulled out his scalpel...

and sliced off the end of the tongue!

You don't say!

It won't affect your appetite, I hope!

Not for a nice bacon omelet with a big glass of white wine!

Do you remember the Sonian Forest?

One day, it was raining hard, and you protected me with your umbrella.

Oh yes!

I opened your colour box. You didn't start.

You said you were too slow.

Because I always told myself that the sun painted faster than me!

And then you went back to Paris...

and one day when I was thinking of you...

I started to hum this song...

that we sang together. Remember?

She had a wooden leg

And so that it wasn’t noticed

She had put underneath

discs of rubber

She had a wooden leg

And because she wore stockings

Anyone who hadn't felt her

Would never have suspected

Wood, wood, she had a wooden leg

We lived our best years in Brussels...

Rose.

And the wet cloths...

on your scale models, remember?

I'd learned well, hadn't I?

You know...

I was thinking...

if I'd continued to paint...

my paintings at best would have been like a minor Corot, no?

What would you say?

Why ask me?

- Are you kidding again? - No.

You know, Rose...

I'm not much better than you.

I'm just a labourer who learned to read.

Take Dante...

He's like a sculptor...

But he sculpts with words.

Know what I mean?

You don't.

"Dear Mr Rodin...

the feeling that emerges is that of boundless despair.

Burghers who are martyrs

don't walk to their death like criminals!"

Yet they look great.

It hasn't stopped the people of Calais feeling otherwise.

Whether it's the Chamber of Commerce...

lace manufacturers, shipowners...

Not to forget the municipal choir! All have criticised me.

Without exception.

It's not how we saw our glorious citizens...

going to the camp of the King of England!

Their sunken looks do not reflect our beliefs.

To have Eustache so downcast, is distressing.

He no longer has the strength to wear the huge rope around his neck...

which seems to be protecting him from laryngitis.

I'll have to ask Geffroy to write to them, to defend me.

My French isn't refined enough for that.

He will write that they are racked with sadness.

Which is the inescapable characteristic that marks all great works.

"inescapable", that's good. Make sure not to forget it.

They've just left the city.

Their proud posture before the king, is something that will come later.

That's what gives the group this impression of starting to walk.

Of motion.

Geffroy should talk of motion as well.

Go on... walk with them.

Walk with them!

Go on!

Go on... walk with them!

Their council doesn't care about motion.

When they've been cast...

you'll see them at eye level.

- Or higher. - Higher?

But I must be able to do it exactly how I want...

as all I'm interested in, is creating a masterpiece.

Those lovely people of Calais!

Mr Rodin...

Ah, it's Estager.

Will your Balzac have a southern flavour?

You won't laugh when you see the fellow I've got.

- Is your fellow a writer, too? - No, he's a teamster.

I had to find someone with Balzac's physique.

I couldn't work from illustrations.

And he was born here in Touraine.

So this would be the best place to find him.

Hello.

I want you bare to the waist.

- You've already modeled all those?! - Yes.

Look, I did all these too.

It's crazy how quick you are!

All the same, I still haven't got Balzac.

I can't pretend that I have.

Are you setting up?

- Where do you want the basin? - Put it there.

All right?

Everything all right?

Yes, fine thanks.

All right?

Turn sideways.

Look at me.

You're making fun of me.

Turn around.

Face me.

My costume's cute, eh?

Yes...

But not as cute as you.

It was so nice of you to buy...

this bathing costume that I asked for.

The sales girls were greatly amused.

You can make me do incredible things.

I would've loved to have seen that!

Tonight, if you've had a good day's work...

Come and kiss me.

Kiss you again?!

My mother never kissed me. With you, it never stops.

- If you touch me, I'll scream. - Really?

Come here and kiss me, right now!

- Come and kiss me! - No!

Come here and kiss me, right now!

My dear obstinate girl...

I don't even see you in the studio any more.

Where were you the other night?

I looked for you everywhere.

You keep walking away.

Camille!

When you run off, I can't work anymore.

Do you know why I run off?

Yes. Because you're an evil deity.

Or maybe you want a notarised contract...

where I declare you'll be my only pupil.

That's not enough, and you know it.

I'll take you to Italy, I promise.

And we'll live together..

and after, I'll marry you.

Would that be enough?

I love you passionately, Camille.

Write me the contract now, and sign it.

Go on!

We'll start again. Write.

1. Sole or exclusive pupil, whichever you like.

Even though I know you won't find another artist as talented as me...

2. Introduction to all your family.

3. Strict promise to take me to Italy.

4. And "after", as you put it, you'll marry me.

In other words, promise of marriage. Write "promise of marriage".

Promise of marriage.

There.

And 5, do not forget to swear to be faithful.

There... it's signed.

"Faithful" only has one 'L'.

I can see where you have difficulties.

I nearly forgot...

You can offer me a marble figurine...

if Miss Camille deigns to accept it.

I'll add to it myself.

You just improved my 'Thought'.

And you can visit me 4 times a month.

Without a contract, that's worthless.

I know you won't have respect for anything.

Your servant Rose is far too amenable.

As you've said... you'll never risk being tyranised.

You're quite mistaken.

And since you love me passionately, you can put that into the contract.

Thanks.

Higher? Lower?

Higher.

There.

Plaster.

Put it there.

There.

Take it.

Take it!

He's coming alive...

You'll soon know Balzac as if you'd lived with him for years.

And you...? Will I soon know you?

You've dented the forehead nicely...

and pouted the lower lip slightly... That works well.

Like that?

I'll leave his face alone for now...

and start work on the body.

With that gross belly of his!

At last!

- Monet! - Rodin!

Hello, Paul.

You realise you both have refusals in common!

You've been refused 3 times by the Academy.

Paul has to settle for refusals.

Those eunuchs at the Academy are jackasses.

Gutless wonders.

I don't know about jackasses...

But you're right. They don't teach you anything.

Nothing at all about modeling or light.

Thanks.

Your bronze that's in my studio...

is truly alive.

How do you explain to them that there's no flesh in their ideas?!

Cezanne!

Cezanne!

At 40, I was a nobody.

They didn't want my "Man with a Broken Nose"...

refused my "Saint John".

And competitions for monuments... refusals and regrets, every time!

Take my advice, Cezanne...

Don't listen to anyone!

Get back to work.

We only find beauty in work.

Without it, we're buggered.

Please get up!

I'm sorry... I'm a bit shaken up.

Gentlemen...

Let's sit down to eat... Clemenceau will join us later.

When I say that I shook your hand...

You've helped me to understand light...

and clouds, and cathedrals too, that I've always been so fond of.

It's magnificent, Monet.

It looks like real flesh.

Look at all those little waves.

Light...

Unimaginable...

Wonderful!

Touch it.

Feel that?

Just tiny random bumps...

That's what makes the marble come to life.

All these wonderful little facets.

You could believe they were petrified under caresses and kisses.

There's been no one like the Greeks...

to display this adoration for the beauty of the human body.

I'd like to make you a proposition...

but I don't want you to take it amiss.

- Your beautiful girl with the sheaf... - Tell me.

I'd like to use it for...

Another version?

No, not at all.

I wouldn't want to change the position of the arms...

nor that of the legs, either.

You're flattering me.

Take her if you want, but she's not leaving your studio.

You remember our contract?

"You can offer me a marble figurine...

if Miss Camille deigns to accept it".

- Remember? - Yes, that's right.

So? Agree?

Let's say that it'll be...

a kind of homage.

The homage of a master to his pupil.

You know very well that you're no longer a pupil.

I have an idea that I'd like to try...

Have your girl coming out of a rock.

What happens after that?

She offers her right hand to my girl.

For that, your girl will have to like her.

And if she doesn't like her?

She'll smash her skull with her right hand!

You'll be my best pupil.

Feel free to ask my advice.

Can you feel my desire to do that as soon as possible?

Camille...

It's months since you left for England.

I weep.

You've no idea how I suffer.

Everything has become insipid and indifferent to me.

Have pity on me!

Pity, my darling!

Fortunately, night prevents you from working.

Yes...

Except that even at night, my "Danaide" pursues me!

She's like you... she seems exhausted.

I know, but how else would I do it?

Her back should be shuddering, throbbing...

I have to bring it to life.

It's flesh...

and you know that with flesh, we're never finished.

When I start again at dawn, she'll be happy to see me.

Forgive me, Jessie...

for burdening you about my letters to England...

But Camille didn't reply.

At least you were getting news of her, thanks to me.

When she found out, she was furious.

I wanted to join her, but she refused.

I was desperate.

Did you know she teaches sculpture?

And how did she hijacked my students?

She told them that she would give lessons...

just as well and cheaper than Rodin himself!

She told them that?!

Fine. Thanks, Jessie.

Come on, let's get back to work.

You don't answer?

Why all those months in England?

Once I wrote to you...

"You are a good and honest person in the admirable work you do."

But otherwise, you're like your Paul...

Always wanting to dominate your world.

I know I can be cantankerous!

Paul must have been fed up with you, to have gone looking for clay for you...

Like the whole family, by the way.

"Go and find clay for her!"

"Camille needs it for her work."

At sixteen, I was already a regular tyrant.

Do you remember when we were at Islette?

You fell asleep with your mouth on my teat.

And we did all those tricks with the Calais figures!

No more tricks?

I hope so.

We were beautiful sculptors.

You were my symbol of joy.

So what now?

Now, I'm a symbol of doubt...

drawn by a child.

How will you handle that?

I'm sure I still can!

I'm moving back to Villa Payen.

You'll come and see me?

The Academy inspector wants me to clothe them!

Whatever for?

You only have to drape them.

You're sure to do it nicely.

He came to tell me that the combination of sexes

exaggerated the exposure of every human detail.

As a result, any public exhibition is prohibited.

The sweat on the bare back of your woman...

will make it even more desirable.

They left you alone about your "Kiss".

They can't cope with a nude figure sculpted by a woman.

You'll never leave Rose. So why go on seeing each other?

I'm not married to Rose...

and I don't acknowledge her child.

But you still won't leave her.

She sits there quietly, waiting for you to come home at night.

Well?!

I don't know.

Come and see my "Waltz".

It's beautiful... this imbalance!

The gay abandon of your woman...

As for him...

He seems to breathe her in!

If only I could make them swirl!

Again and again.

You might say I danced with them.

So where are my dancers going?

To love...

or to death?

What are the three beats of the waltz?

The embrace...

dizziness...

and passion.

The approach...

the torment...

and death

These two are magnificent.

They seem to want to make time stand still.

To swirl their swirl!

Camille.

You don't even know how to dance.

Do you want me to hum a waltz?

Yes.

Oh yes.

I want to breathe you in!

Your train was on time?

I told the driver that you were waiting. He broke all speed records.

Get your horny hands off me! Mrs La Chatelaine might be watching.

She's welcome to!

Come here!

It will do her good...

to watch us.

You maintain you were timid when you were young?

With success, all discretion has flown away.

You were born to shut up, but you'd say that more nicely.

Pardon?

Start again by articulating...

correctly.

Your mouth...

shut! Your mouth shut.

You were born to have your mouth closed.

Mouths weren't made to chatter.

Do you only get your voice back to tell me that I chatter?

No, it's to tell you, quickly...

that I'd like to see our new bedroom!

Come on then!

"Dearest Rose,

always write to me in Tours care of the post office.

Don't worry...

and make sure you take care of yourself.

You know that I'll be thinking of you

who is so obedient when you want to be...

and when you want to please me.

I'm working and will be kept busy for some time.

I send you a warm kiss of our strong friendship.

Yours truly..."

"Yours truly!"

Mr Rodin... Mr. Rodin, are you married?

Mr Rodin is married to his Claudel.

And he'll tell met...

in the next letter?

I shan't reply.

Care of the post office!

So, have you decided?

Yes, definitely.

It's decided.

It's alright?

How can she work carrying a baby?

And I already have a child.

It's hard, his mother cares only for me.

And Camille can't take him either.

And then, what will become of him?

We'll have to hide him or place him so his family knows nothing about it.

- Take me to her. - She'll say she's punished.

She will say that she wants more.

She knows we both agree.

Nothing must happen to her.

Nothing must happen to her.

Mrs Courcelles will go with you.

I've got you this time!

If only you'd accept your body...

Just because Zola got me this commission...

It doesn't gives him the right to harass me.

I'll finish you when I can.

And then, I'll put you on a base...

to look at you when you dominate us...

and all the little people who get in your way.

Can I tell you what I really think?

You have reduced Balzac to a shapeless mass.

Artistically, it is simply unsatisfactory.

It's beyond description.

Sorry to tell you so, but it is most displeasing!

My aim is not to please.

Pardon?

I said that my aim is not to please.

All I want to do is find the truth.

You think you've found the truth with this ogre?

We wanted a Balzac who's young and slim.

Go and admire the beautiful bust by David d'Angers, adorning his tomb.

Then you'll understand.

There's no need to inflate his testicles.

Balzac is a great men, known for his magnificent works...

not for his genitalia.

He needs to have a neck.

Dress the next model... and as quickly as possible...

and make sure it's in accordance with our wishes.

Don't forget you're already late, Rodin...

and you seem to have lost your way.

You should've said you wanted him with a pen and inkwell...

because I know how to do inkwells!

You know the committee were here.

I was told they were indignant.

The want a Balzac with less stomach.

That slash that you left...

It looks like a caesarean.

Do not forget that he still has 2,500 characters in his stomach!

They have to come out!

It's weird anyway.

Especially since we won't see her anymore, once he's dressed.

You're not the first and you won't be the last!

And you, the housewife!

The man's never satisfied!

He's fucking you. What comes next?

You come here, searching out house...

So here's where it happens!?

Get the hell out of here!

Get back to your kitchen!

Get out of here!

You get nothing more! Nothing more!

Nothing at all! Understand?

Get out!

Get out of here!

- You believe he'll marry you? - Get out of here!

That he'll recognize your kids?

Nothing! You'll get nothing!

Get out of here, you bitch!

Nothing... Nothing at all!

Still mumbling about those kids?

No.

You start with one, next thing it's four.

So there are two to go. Where are you at?

Because I'm getting lost.

Where do these children live? Who cares for them?

You know, it's nothing new. Your Claudel.

You can say whatever you like about it.

But don't mention it to me.

Keep your mouth shut, alright?!

You have in fact recognised them!

Not like our son!

- Your Auguste Beuret... - He's yours!

Who makes mediocre drawings and sells them with my name on them!

You talk about a son?!

Gossip!

And if what you're saying was true...

so then I would have married the mother...

and I would have given my name to this gaggle of children.

And believe it or not...

gladly!

Gladly!

I wanted to see you.

Your Rose was here, trying to pick a quarrel with me.

If your bitch ever comes again, it's over between you and me.

Paul will take up his new duties in New York.

My beloved brother is moving away from the sister you've dishonored.

Here...

I had fun drawing you.

I think you're looking your best.

The bonding!

It's true that it holds.

You wanted to hang on to the tree...

She won't shake off!

You're always finding ways to blacken our relationship.

I'm going to take a walk for a while.

Don't forget your drawing. It will appeal to Her Ladyship!

Mr Rodin, you're the first sculptor

to have given importance to woman and her sexuality.

With you, she's no longer just a tamed and domesticated animal.

Such a pretty face. You're not cutting her head off?!

You still think that the face is the only mirror of our feelings?

Here.

But if a torso is done well...

when it's really successful...

it holds all the life in itself alone!

Come with me.

You see?

As far as I'm concerned, nothing is missing.

She represents meditation.

That's why she has no arms or legs.

But when your work lacks all the limbs and fingers..

one could say that it's not finished!

Do we try to add to a tree?

Are the great cathedrals finished?

The greatest works of Michelangelo...

are those that are unfinished.

See?

Sorry, but I must leave you now.

You don't come to the studio anymore.

No.

You work for yourself as far as you're concerned...

and I don't blame you for that.

Do you remember our contract?

What's left of it?

Presentation to your relatives, was one point.

But I've done that.

I've presented you to my relatives...

and I'll continue to do that.

As your pupil.

No, not as my pupil.

Nothing's ever written about me without you getting a mention.

What a leech you are for me!

And the promised trip to Italy?

We haven't been to Italy, but we've been to Touraine.

And the promise of marriage after Italy?

Remember that?

You're a pain in the neck, Camille.

You know why?

You're not fully appreciated and you can't accept that.

While I've been lucky enough to make it.

It's unfair, I grant you,

But it degrades our relationship.

I work really hard...

I hardly ever exhibit...

I hardly sell anything.

So what am I to conclude?

That it's me who's responsible for all your bad luck.

Do you agree with that?

It's always the same with you.

The roller coaster goes up, it goes down...

and the going down gets faster and faster.

If it's going down faster on my side...

it'll be going up more and more slowly on yours.

- Did you come for a very naughty siesta? - That's enough, Camille.

Bring me the tub of plaster.

They're all wanting to see me finish.

But I just couldn't stop with my Balzac.

Seven years of thinking, seven years of work.

So, Pompon...

How do you like it?

You're getting there!

Go and buy me five dressing gowns.

We'll set them up...

and then pick the best style for the job.

It's humiliating...

It's the bust that I made of you that I mostly get asked for!

Is that my fault?

What am I to do?

If it's not the bust, it's something else.

You enjoy making trouble!

And the child with you was trouble?

Did you want it?

No...

No more than you. We agreed.

I know the speech...

"I live for my sculpture, you do too. There is our life."

Yes, our life is there.

Our children come out of clay and become our children of marble.

Absolutely! Our life is there!

I shared everything with you.

We've worked as close friends, worked as one.

We may be master craftsmen...

but as human beings, we're wretched!

Whatever I do, or intend to do, it'll no longer be part of Rodin.

You do what you think best, Camille.

You know, your arrogance and your outbursts...

They totally disarm me.

You need to fall on your arse... it'd do you good.

Do you remember the future St Paul...

when he was knocked down for no reason?

He heard the voice of Christ...

"Paul,

why are you persecuting me?"

Am I persecuting you now?

I'll not be swallowed or siphoned off by you anymore.

Never again.

I love you as Camille, but as Claudel, I hate you.

- I don't care! - You frighten me.

You don't need me anymore.

Finally!

It's finally said!

Miss Claudel, you say goodbye to Mr Rodin.

Goodbye Mr Rodin!

When we were together...

you have served me as a model three times.

After our breakup...

your face will return five times in my work.

And I don't accuse you of persecuting me...

Quite the contrary.

Don't release the chin. Leave a contact.

I have to leave this monstrous Paris.

I'll set myself up in the country...

forget all my troubles...

and work in the open air

with my family of statues.

Auguste!

Yesterday, at lunch, you still called me "Dad".

You're to call me "Sir" or "Mr Rodin"...

like everyone else, including your mother.

She also calls you "my old lady".

That's just between her and me.

You just do what I tell you!

There's a button missing.

I know, it fell off.

Buttons can be tricky.

Is that supposed to be funny?

Why are you so grumpy, sweetie?

You ought to have help.

I ask nothing of anyone.

Was that just because you want to hire a maid?

- So you can get her in the bedroom? - We won't be hiring anyone!

So, are you happy now?!

Our set-up here...

You're happy with it aren't you?

You know I like living in the country.

So, how about a smile?!

Let me sew the button on.

Let me do it.

Where's needle?

There.

I'll call you "Farewell".

I do like you...

That's what happens when Camille serves as your model.

With your fingers up to your mouth...

Do you want to tell me something?

Or are your lips sealed for all time?

Or do you want to stop me from stroking them?

Good night, Camille...

wherever you are.

Sir...!

I was at the Salon, and...

everyone was gathered around your Balzac.

Yes, to criticise it non-stop.

But they do come back to it.

What would you hear?

"A polar bear on its hind legs"

"A vile plaster nightmare"

That's what you hear all over the place.

I've become the Michelangelo of goitre.

Sir...

At the Salon I heard that you should wait...

at least ten years before showing your works.

The time may come when I won't be understood at all.

Then I'll be making progress.

Your Balzac deserves the most beautiful position in Paris.

I was expecting a triumph...

but when President Felix Faure stopped in front of "The Kiss"...

and then completely ignore my Balzac...

I knew it was a disaster.

And now, the literati...

protesting against Mr Rodin's "rough draft" as they call it!

Mr Monet said you've never gone this far.

But it's still a terrible defeat.

And yet, I know I'm right.

- Aren't I? - Yes.

Notre-Dame hasn't flown away

despite all the dogs that have pissed on it.

Have you read the review in "Catholic World"?

Yes, I read it.

Actually, I was quite happy about it.

"Look at Zola, look at Rodin..."

"Filthy literature, filthy sculpture."

And it's not over yet.

"When we know that neither of them are of French origin..."

You realize they're treating you like a wog?

They're wrong.

Rodin is a Christian name that dates back to the Middle Ages.

They're totally wrong.

And even if you were Prussian!

You're totally inflexible about your creativity...

but outside of your work, when it comes to fighting...

you lose your daring!

It's easy for you, Mirbeau...

you're a crusading writer that people dread.

Yes, because there are battles to be won.

You know that you and Monet are like gods to me.

It's true that your Balzac has most of the public against it...

together with the conformist critics...

and the accursed press. So what?

You should rejoice.

It's the latest scandal of the century, after Manet's and Courbet's.

Don't you realise...?

Your Balzac is a masterpiece!

Next to your colossus, the other sculptures

look like hairdresser dolls!

And your friends have organised a subscription...

for the statue to be erected on a square in Paris.

Bourdelle, Maillol, Toulouse-Lautrec,

Gauguin, Renoir, Monet, Cezanne, Sisley...

and even Debussy, Mallarme...

Valery, Gide... and others I've forgotten.

You're backed by the cream of the crop.

All this terrifies me, Mirbeau.

Really terrifies me.

Rodin...

stop disappointing your friends.

I'll remove my statue and install it at home.

The only place I can trust.

Since my Balzac, I've become another man.

He'll be my beloved child forever.

Bourdelle was right.

I did well to take you as a pupil.

I didn't know that I'd be learning something else here.

I'd never shivered like that before.

Today, I want to start your bust.

No, Sir...

I can't be nude in public.

Everyone just walks into this studio.

I'm not a model "we draw by day and cuddle by night"...

like Zola wrote.

I'd like you to love me a little bit.

I've been a slave to feelings for such a long time...

Today I want my freedom.

Look...

Do you see her balance and how she stays up?

If I were a great sculptor...

she would fly even further and not even touch the ground.

Bourdelle said that you embodied sculpture.

- Really? Bourdelle said that? - Yes!

Go and fix yourself. They'll be here soon.

- You'll come and see me? - Yes, Thursday.

I'll come Thursday.

Carry on, Hilda.

I'm surprised you steal my model.

Mary, you've been Whistler's pupil, haven't you?

[English accent] Yes, the same as my brother.

I'm telling you this because London want me for a monument to his memory

and I have the idea of a muse for this statue.

Would you like to be that muse?

- Yes. - Yes?

Are you still coming to see me tonight?

Why do you think I came?

Last night, I thought you were on top of me...

and that this thing was in me...

and that it wasn't my finger...

Then I had so much pleasure...

The shivers went right down my legs.

Kiss Me.

Hilda, I know you know the Carpeaux group.

Do you know it, Mary?

Yes, it's this pretty dance scene on the side of the Opera House.

A sort of farandole of women.

Of naked women.

Yes, of naked women dancing around a young man.

And if you accept that I am this young man a little older...

we could pay homage to Carpeaux.

It took me three years to get out of that affair, Blot.

I had no taste for anything...

as if I had no brains anymore.

Today, I can finally sleep and work.

Tell me what else I can do for her, and then leave me.

Camille has convinced herself that you were plagiarizing her.

That's ridiculous.

I don't see her anymore.

Neither her nor her work.

She just wrote to me that she found my Balzac very beautiful.

That's the only word I've had from her.

She blames you for everything, and she's full of hatred.

"Rodin is outside my windows..."

"He stands on a chair and watches everything I do."

Like this?

Mr Rodin... please!

Come down.

Well, let me spy on her...

since that's what she wants!

I have no authority over her anymore.

Pay Pompon the account she owes him.

I'll continue to be her anonymous benefactor...

to pay her expenses.

I'll write to the department...

to give her the marble she needs...

and I won't terminate her lease.

And at the Salon...

so that she can send one of her works...

I'll pull out one of mine.

And if a journalist wants to interest himself in my work...

I'd rather he switch it to hers.

It was mainly to tell you she's not going well at all.

Her head is filled with her obsessions about Rodin.

She doesn't need me any more.

That's what she always wanted, wasn't it?

Leave me now... and Blot...

Don't come back.

You know, Rilke...

this is my last visit.

Giants.

Your Balzac will end up needing flying buttresses like a cathedral.

Look at the procession of the damned who are thrown into the furnace.

And the angels up there...

doing crowd-control.

And that one...

who's poking his tongue out at an angel...

and the other who's abusing it.

Quite marvelous!

Everyone is waiting to be thrown in there.

But they're not jostling, and stumbling

like the figures on your gate.

And there's Joseph.

On the pedestal.

Madame Putiphar.

Look how interested she is in hearing...

the demon of temptation.

What about that dragon!

Look at the way it moves!

Those shapes.

When Joseph refused her advances...

she had him thrown in prison.

And Joseph didn't give in... did he?

Rilke...

Can you comprehend all that has come out of that solitude of stone?

And it took hundreds and hundreds of years.

Yet some consider it the work of barbarians.

Not a Rousseau...

not a Chateaubriand.

No one to defend them!

Never.

Is this where you learned about sculpture?

Yes.

As well as from looking at trees...

Observing the structure of clouds...

The beautiful clouds that form in the sky.

Peasant girls have firm flesh.

That's what you used to say...

when I was posing for you.

I was too slow at first!

Yes, I was too slow at first.

I wanted to do the right thing. I didn't want to ruin you.

I didn't want to ruin you.

You were awfully pretty.

- You were so sexy! - Because of you!

So sexy!

A sexpot!

- Do you know what Dionysos said? - What?

He said girls may be beautiful but a grown woman is more so.

Really?

You want me to show you?

- You want me to show you? - Yes.

- How sexy a woman can be? - Yes!

Last time we did a bust.

I need to draw your body, Hanako.

I need to see your muscularity. Understand?

You know I can't understand you.

Look...

Look.

Come with me.

Come.

You see?

She's hidden... can't be seen.

Come here.

I need you to undress...

This has to come off.

Master...

I'm sorry...

I... I cannot...

What's up with the Chink? Won't she pose nude?

No she won't.

Those rice-eater manners don't cut with us...

Nude means naked!

Naked... starkers! Understand?

Rose, get out!

Naked!

Where did she go?

Hanako.

Raise your leg a little bit.

More.

More.

Little bit more.

Your arm...

There... lower.

Lower.

More.

That's it!

Hanako... your head...

More.

Could be a fox terrier.

You have the twitching muscles of a fox-terrier.

Rose,

Give that doll to Rilke's daughter.

I'm not giving Yoyote away!

I didn't bring that doll back for you so you'd be playing with it all day.

It's ridiculous at your age.

Ridiculous!

How long have you had it now?

How long have you been hanging on to it?

Five years.

I would very much like that you give it to Rilke's daughter.

- You test a person's patience. - Do as I say... give it to her!

You do what I tell you... You send it or I smash it!

All I think of is my work. It's making me a bastard.

I've been too hard on you.

You know, Rose...

God made me a very great gift by putting you near me.

Would you take those words...

and be kind enough to hold them close to your heart.

It's freezing!

Yes it's freezing. Hi, Rodin.

Hi.

- Want me to help you? - Yes.

Let's try some new things...

Poses you haven't made before.

For a long time, I indicated poses.

Today I missed a mistake.

If I lower my eyes for a moment...

the current is cut off.

My hands must feel what my eyes see...

otherwise it's wrecked.

You know that Matisse came to show me his drawings?

- He's a nice guy. - Yes, he's nice.

I told him that I found them a little too polished for my taste.

After that...

he was told that he should be wary of the old lion.

It's true... you have big teeth!

"If you get too close, he'll devour you."

Better just to draw us!

That's it.

It's evenings which give the best results.

No, Steichen. The nights.

Moonlit nights!

The moonlight will please him.

In this case, it will need

a thirty-minute exposure at 2 am.

That's unheard of!

So long as he's not locked up in a museum.

Because he's going to need air air.

Show him your camera.

Let him understand that he'll be traveling.

Get closer...

Did you see...

his little quiver of joy?