The Bathers
1899–1904
Oil on canvas; 51.3 × 61.7 cm (20 3/16 × 24 1/4 in.)
The Art Institute of Chicago, Amy McCormick Memorial Collection, 1942.457
FWN 976
Evolution
Cezanne made fewer bather pictures (around one hundred and thirty) than landscapes, still lifes, or figure compositions. Their relative scarcity, however, does not imply that this genre was less important than the others but instead reflects the fact that it combine all three. And indeed, Cezanne spent a substantial amount of time in the last dozen years of his life working on three large bather compositions that are arguably the summation of his oeuvre.1
The Chicago painting shares figures with these paintings and with other Bathers from the early 1870s. It also has more distant antecedents in Cezanne’s own so-called erotic compositions and in works by other artists dating as far back as antiquity. To address these relationships and their implications, it is necessary to identify the number of figures and their poses. Unfortunately, this task is hampered by the disagreement between the two scholars who have studied these issues most thoroughly, Mary Louise Krumrine and Giulia Ballas. Both count thirteen figures in The Bathers, but they only agree on twelve of these—each author identifying one figure the other does not.[1] Krumrine and Ballas also designate the figures differently and sometimes trace their origins to different precursors.2
The fourteen figures in The Bathers identified between the two authors are represented in a colored schematic (fig. 11.1).[2] The disputed figures are the sixth and seventh from the left (in orange). The lower one is half-length, seen from behind, and raises her right arm. The figure above her, partly hidden by the first, faces left and bends forward, forming a pair with the purple figure to the left. Although the paint in this area of the canvas is loosely applied (fig. 11.2), it is possible to identify the lower figure’s head, back, and at least the lower part of her upraised right arm. The figure above is less readily identifiable, although part of her back, thighs, and buttocks can be seen. But she can be identified with greater certainty by tracing her antecedents and descendants. Notably, she occurs opposite her counterpart (alongside several other figures from the Chicago painting) in the center of a roughly contemporary watercolor (fig. 11.3).[3] The pair also reappear in at least two other contemporary or later works.[4]3
There are cases, however, where the uniqueness of the figures is not clearly established. It is unclear, for example, whether the sitting bather second from left (in green in the schematic) is simply the mirror image of the seated bather third from the right (also in green).[5] Similarly, the figures (in maroon and pink) fourth and second from the right with their arms raised above their heads may or may not be variants of the same figure.[6]4
Because most figures in The Bathers have both predecessors and successors in the other paintings on the same theme, identifying them makes it possible to locate Chicago’s painting within the evolution of the Bathers as a series. More specifically, while most of the figures have several long-standing antecedents, some have only a few recent prototypes. Among these, the disputed figure toward the center leaning to the left (in orange) has only one predecessor but several successors, which suggests she came late in the series. Similarly, the reclining figure (in black) fourth from the left has no obvious prototype in Cezanne’s work but does have one descendant, implying that she is also a latecomer.[7]5
The distribution of figures in the Chicago painting also illuminates its relationship to the three large paintings of the same subject: The Large Bathers (Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia) (fig. 11.4), the slightly later Bathers (National Gallery, London) (fig. 11.5), and the even later The Large Bathers (Philadelphia Museum of Art) (fig. 11.6). There is much disagreement among scholars as to when they were painted, but most accept that the series began in the mid-1890s and that Cezanne worked on it until his death.[8] Nevertheless, there is a pattern to the relationship between the distribution of figures across the series. Five of the figures in the Chicago Bathers appear in the Barnes Bathers.[9] Three of these reoccur in the London Bathers, as do three more types.[10] Seven of these eight types appear in the Philadelphia Bathers, but no further figures do. The implication of this pattern is not unequivocal, but—taken together with the broader development of the figures—it does suggest that the Chicago Bathers was begun around the same time as the London painting and prior to the Philadelphia picture.[11] What is more, the organization of the landscape and its trees recalls that of the London painting, while the distribution of the figures into two separate groups on either side of a void is close to the composition of the Philadelphia painting.6
Identifying the figures in The Bathers is vital to understanding their evolution from their sources and, more importantly, the implications carried by these metamorphoses. It is not always possible, however, to specify derivations of this kind with certainty, not least because some of Cezanne’s figures have multiple sources. One such borrowing is the seated figure facing right (in green) second from the left. Her pose is very likely modeled on earlier bathers who themselves are based on the seated nude in Édouard Manet’s Luncheon on the Grass (fig. 11.7), the succès de scandale of the 1863 Salon des Refusés, which Cezanne visited.[12] Manet’s figure derives in turn from a river god just to the right of center in Marcantonio Raimondi’s engraving of The Judgement of Paris after Raphael (fig. 11.8).[13] Cezanne’s appropriation of this figure could be regarded as symptomatic of a lack of imagination, but it makes more sense to think that it evinces his ambition to place himself in the tradition of old and modern masters alongside Raphael and Manet. And indeed, Cezanne told Roger Marx in 1905, “One does not replace the past, one only adds a new link.”[14]7
Fig. 11.7
Édouard Manet (French, 1832–1883). Luncheon on the Grass, 1863. Oil on canvas; 207 × 265 cm (81 1/2 × 104 5/16 in.). Musée d’Orsay, Paris, Gift of Etienne Moreau-Nélaton, 1906. © RMN-Grand Palais (Musée d’Orsay) / Benoît Touchard / Mathieu Rabeau.
Fig. 11.8
Marcantonio Raimondi (Italian, c. 1480–1534), after Raphael (Italian, 1483–1520). The Judgement of Paris, c. 1510–20. Engraving on paper; 29.1 × 43.7 cm (11 7/16 × 17 3/16 in.). The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Rogers Fund, 19.74.1.
The type instantiated by Cezanne’s seated figure arguably draws as well on a figure in one of his own earlier paintings, the seated figure in The Temptation of Saint Anthony (fig. 11.9).[15] This turbulent, nightmarish painting derives loosely from an episode in Gustave Flaubert’s dramatic novel of the same name: Satan tempts the early Christian hermit during his withdrawal to the desert with a number of visions, including one in which the legendary Queen of Sheba makes seductive advances toward him.[16] The female figure at the left of the painting who performs this role is clearly the prototype of the figure (in pink) second from the right in The Bathers seen from the back with her left arm raised above her head, and perhaps also the related figure (in maroon) with both arms raised above her head.[17] Both also derive more distantly from the same stock antique figure, the Venus Anadyomene (fig. 11.10).[18] By way of confirmation, the standing figures on the left side of Bathers of 1874–75 (fig. 11.11) echo the attitudes exhibited by the Venus when seen from the front and back (although Cezanne’s are reversed mirror images).8
Arcadia
This set of relationships is significant because it implies that Cezanne’s Bathers evolved out of paintings on the theme of eroticism, a subject that preoccupied and greatly troubled the younger Cezanne. The development of the figures in the painting is also linked to the classical topoi of the Golden Age and Arcadia, which were notionally the era and location of a lost idyllic past when humanity was still innocent.9
The setting of The Bathers is nevertheless generic, since Cezanne was unable to realize his “dream” of posing “naked models in the open air,” because women “intimidated” him, according to his first gallerist, Ambroise Vollard (and for reasons of propriety).[19] The scene does relate loosely, however, to the locale of his Bathers at Rest (1876–77; FWN 926), which represents the Mont Sainte-Victoire in the background, and to that of the watercolor Bathers Under a Bridge (1900–1906; FWN 3018-11b), which pictures the bridge at Les Trois Sautets on the banks of the river Arc that ran through Aix.[20] The Bathers is consequently redolent of Arcadia inasmuch as Provence—whose name indicates that it was the first transalpine Roman province—featured in contemporary literature as a kind of Arcadia, notably in the poem Mirèio, written in Occitan (or Provençal) by Frédéric Mistral in 1859.[21] It also appeared under the guise of the stony Sicilian Arcadia described by Theocritus in Prosper Grésy’s Mont Sainte-Victoire and the Hamlet of Bonfillons from the 1840s (fig. 11.12).[22] This painting even includes a group of three female bathers nestling out of sight at the edges of a shady pool, in poses with close relatives in The Bathers. So, too, Cezanne’s school friend Émile Zola characterized Provence in terms of the Arcadia first described by the Greek poet Hesiod in a letter of June 1858 to the young painter.[23] And when Cezanne replied to Zola, he styled himself as the forlorn Arcadian shepherd Tityrus from the first Eclogue of the Latin poet Virgil.[24]10
Fig. 11.12
Prosper Joseph Grésy (French, 1804–1874). The Mont Sainte-Victoire and the Hamlet of Bonfillons, c. 1840. Oil on panel; 11 × 46 cm (18 1/8 × 43 11/16 in.). Musée Granet, Aix-en-Provence, France. Photo: Album / Universal Images Group / Christophel Fine Art.
Cezanne’s Virgilian enthusiasm received a renewed impetus in 1896 when he met Joachim Gasquet, and the pair walked the landscape around the Mont Sainte-Victoire during the summer of 1897.[25] In his poem L’Enfant of 1900, a loose adaptation of Eclogue IV in service of Provençal nationalism, Gasquet added a preface containing the following conceit: “Under the pines of Le Tholonet, among the red rocks that the old master Paul Cézanne loves to paint and which cap the most beautiful land in the world, I found inside a book of VIRGIL soaked in sunlight, these sheets held together between the pages of the divine Eclogue to Pollio.”[26] 11
Gasquet introduced Cezanne to a number of his poet colleagues, including Emmanuel Signoret (who named Cezanne as one of the prides of Aix in an article of 1896 in Gasquet’s journal, Les mois dorés), Saint-Georges de Bouhélier, Marc Lafargue (who gave a copy of his L’age d’or of 1903 to Cezanne), and Jean Royère (whom Cezanne thanked for sending him a copy of his Eurythmies of 1904).[27] Cezanne also formed a friendship in 1902 with Léo Larguier, another admirer of Virgil who dedicated poems to the painter and used him as the model for one of his characters.[28] Many of the poems written by these new acquaintances described an imaginary Arcadian past populated by satyrs and nymphs living in such close harmony with the natural landscape that they form part of it. And art historian Nina Athanassoglou-Kallmyer has drawn parallels between Cezanne’s treatment of his bathers and the beings described by Gasquet and Bouhélier in particular, noting that these were “archetypes” like the artist’s “faceless, sexless, bathers.”[29]12
Arcadia, however, was also the site of sexual desire and, sometimes, sexual violence. Meyer Schapiro has described the fantasies the Latin poets inspired in Cezanne of shepherds who could gaze upon goddesses, and other “erotic” myths.[30] And in Cezanne’s Rape (fig. 11.13), the Hades of Ovid’s Metamorphoses abducts Persephone under the eyes of naked nymphs in the background while the Mont Sainte-Victoire looms in the distance.[31] Sexual violence is more explicit in Satyrs and Nymphs (fig. 11.14), whose theme is similar to that of the play written by Théodore Aubanel in the 1860s, Le pâtre (Lou pastre), in which a Provençal satyr repeatedly spies on naked female bathers and eventually rapes one of them.[32] And Athanassoglou-Kallmyer has shown that Bathing from about 1875–77 (fig. 11.15) has troubling overtones in representing a group of men spying on two women.[33]13
Paintings like the last are nonetheless rare by this date, Cezanne having progressively separated male from female bathers beginning in the early 1870s.[34] Correspondingly, the eroticism of these works is less overt and even “sublimated.”[35] Or so it would seem. Some art historians versed in psychoanalysis have argued, to the contrary, that the sexual charge of Cezanne’s earlier compositions is not in fact defused or dissipated in the Bathers so much as displaced from their subject matter and carried instead by their formal and technical characteristics.[36] And Aruna D’Souza argues that the “primordial stuff of paint” in the Chicago painting, and its “multiple and open-ended marks of deepest blue pigment,” express a frustrated “sensuality.”[37] There is some evidence to support this conclusion, insofar as Cezanne described his own (although probably early) work as “spunky [couillarde] painting” to Vollard.[38] His comment probably derives from a reading of Stendhal’s Histoire de la peinture en Italie of 1817.[39] This states that “the stimulating effects of bile coincide with those of seminal fluid” to produce “violent sensations” in the painter of a “bilious temperament.”[40]14
Ambiguity
A more nuanced picture of Cezanne’s treatment of sexuality in The Bathers emerges from considering its relationship to a story he greatly admired, Manette Salomon of 1867 by Edmond and Jules de Goncourt. Cezanne wrote to his son on August 3, 1906: “Long live the Goncourts … and all those who have leanings toward color.”[41] He also used the same phrase (“a personal way of seeing”) as the novel’s protagonist, Naz de Coriolis, to describe the unique form of vision to which he aspired.[42] In the novel, Coriolis’s Creole blood confers on him “an intimate affinity with the feminine temperament.”[43] And his love of color betokens a similar affinity, since it was considered feminine in academic theory.[44] Cezanne’s identification with Coriolis suggests, therefore, that his use of paint in The Bathers was not the straightforward efflux of an uncomplicated masculinity but that its gendering was altogether more multivalent.15
In this respect, his paintwork is appropriate to the bodies of the figures in The Bathers, which exhibit fewer conventional “signs of difference” than painted bathers normally do.[45] One explanation for this absence is the fact that Cezanne largely refrained from painting directly from the female model in later life. What is more, Cezanne said with admiration of one rare “exception” to this rule, “Look, she’s beautiful? She’s like a man!”[46]16
It has been suggested that Cezanne’s bathers have ancestors in the original humans described by Aristophanes in Plato’s Symposium, namely the androgynes known as the “spherical people.”[47] It is more clearly significant in this context that the prone bather in the Chicago painting (in light blue in the schematic) is based on a sculpture of a Sleeping Hermaphrodite in the Louvre, which Cezanne sketched.[48] And arguably, the closest precedent for the figure (in maroon) with raised arms and a raised knee standing against a tree is another antique hermaphrodite in the Louvre, the Genius of Eternal Rest (fig. 11.16), which Cezanne also drew; and whose pose Manette adopted when she first modeled for Coriolis.[49]17
Fig. 11.16
Genius of Eternal Rest, c. 200–300 CE. Marble; 185 × 46 × 44 cm (72 13/16 × 18 1/8 × 17 5/16 in.). Musée du Louvre, Paris, MR 207.
It seems likely, therefore, that Cezanne contrived the ambiguity of The Bathers with respect to gender quite deliberately, which suggests that this aspect of the human body was less important to him than the fact of its corporeality.[50] For Cezanne, corporeality was a property of things as well as people, even describing a tree trunk as “a body” in conversation with Jules Borély in 1902.[51] Arguably, then, the sheer corporeality of the bodies in The Bathers is more basic than their human identity, and is on a par with the bodiliness of the landscape they inhabit.18
Technique
The calligraphic contours present on the surface of Chicago’s Bathers also have a more straightforward explanation. This is that they are used here, as in the majority of Cezanne’s paintings of the period, as an expedient with which to hold forms together before modeling them with color—although he often had to restate them when this process did not succeed.[52] In The Bathers almost the opposite is true. Take the figure fifth from the left (in purple on the schematic) standing in the water facing right (see fig. 11.2): Cezanne began by sketching the outlines in dilute pale-blue paint, as can be seen in the head and the lower (proper) right arm (see Technical Summary in the Technical Report). He then added more contours of this kind over areas of color, notably in the shoulder. Still later contours are applied in a more saturated blue around the top of the right arm and in an even darker blue, using thicker paint, at the edges of the front leg. The contours in The Bathers thus correspond to every stage of the painting process. Similar repeated contours, applied over one another in different shades of blue, can be seen in the watercolor mentioned above (see fig. 11.3), suggesting there may have been some interchange of technique between the two works. 19
Cezanne’s multiple contours have several theoretical sources.[53] One is the theory of vision held by the painter Frenhofer in Honoré de Balzac’s novella Le chef d’œuvre inconnu of 1831, with whom Cezanne closely identified.[54] Frenhofer maintained that representing the figure with indeterminate contours was integral to his ambition to give the body “movement and life.”[55] Similarly, Matthew Simms describes how multiple contours traced in pencil and with the brush in related watercolors lend these works “vibrating edges” that express “the actual movement of living forms in space.”[56] This is true of the Bathers of 1900–1906 (FWN 2042), which represents many of the same figures as the Chicago painting. The striding figure at the left of this work, for example, combines initial pencil lines with light-grayish strokes drawn in watercolor, and superimposes over these a series of increasingly darker and more saturated blue watercolor contours. It is probable, therefore, that Cezanne borrowed his unusual handling of contour in The Bathers from watercolors like this.[57] This would also explain why The Bathers is so unusually transparent, as the watercolor medium does not allow the artist to hide one layer beneath another. 20
Color is also important in The Bathers. Although the painting does not have the rich and tightly woven harmony of more finished works, such as The Vase of Tulips (see cat. 8), the coloring of some figures is still complex. Notably, a wide range of mixed colors—running from a cool blue through more neutral grays and purples into beige and a pinkish red—can be found in the reclining figure (in black on the schematic) (fig. 11.17) alongside tiny touches of green from the surrounding verdure. It is worth noting, too, that a similar range of colors can be found in much earlier works—for example, in the reclining nymph in the background of The Rape (fig. 11.18), whose pose comes close to that of the corresponding figure in The Bathers. 21
Fig. 11.17
Detail of reclining figure in Cezanne’s The Bathers (1899–1904). The Art Institute of Chicago, 1942.457.
Fig. 11.18
Detail of nymph in background of Cezanne’s The Rape (1867). The Provost and Fellows of King’s College, Cambridge University (Keynes Collection), on loan to the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, England.
- See Mary Louise Krumrine, Paul Cézanne: The Bathers (Thames and Hudson, 1990), 252–53; and Giulia Ballas, Cézanne: Baigneuses et baigneurs; Thème et composition (Biro, 2002), 98.
- This illustration uses schematic drawings made by Krumrine and the color-coding employed by Ballas.
- See Krumrine, The Bathers, 252.
- Walter Feilchenfeldt, Jayne Warman, and David Nash, eds., The Paintings, Watercolors and Drawings of Paul Cezanne: An Online Catalogue Raisonné, accessed June 1, 2025, http://www.cezannecatalogue.com, nos. 978 and (perhaps) 3010-x2a (hereafter FWN). See Krumrine, The Bathers, 252.
- For the argument that the two are the same, see Ballas, Baigneuses et baigneurs, 118–23; for the opposite view, see Krumrine, The Bathers, 252–53 (types 4 and 9). It is a moot point whether she is identical to or different from the similar figures in other paintings these sources identify.
- See Ballas, Baigneuses et baigneurs, 134–37; and Krumrine, The Bathers, 252–53 (types 6 and 15, facing forward). The rightmost figure is nevertheless far closer to a figure seen from the back found in several male Bathers. See Krumrine, The Bathers, 246–47 (type 1). See also 210, on Cezanne’s borrowings from male Bathers in the Chicago painting.
- See Krumrine, The Bathers, 252–53 (type 14).
- On the chronology of the three large Bathers, see Theodore Reff, “Cézanne’s Late Bather Paintings,” Arts Magazine 52 (Oct. 1977): 116–17; and the catalogue entry by Christopher Riopelle, “Bathers (Baigneurs),” in Cézanne in the Barnes Foundation, ed. André Dombrowski, Nancy Ireson, and Sylvie Patry (Rizzoli Electa, 2021), 306. See also note 11 below.
- Reading from left to right, these are: striding (Krumrine type 1, red), frontal in the water (Krumrine type 2, dark blue), arms raised standing against a tree (Krumrine type 6, maroon), seated facing left (Krumrine type 9, green), and seated seen frontal (Krumrine type 5, purple).
- The new figures are: seated facing right (Krumrine type 11, green), half-length standing seen from the rear (Krumrine type 3, two examples, light blue right of center), and, below them, prone inclined toward the top left of the painting (Krumrine type 12, light blue).
- On the chronology of the painting in relation to the large Bathers, see Reff, “Cézanne’s Late Bather Paintings,” 118; the catalogue entry by Joe Rishel in Françoise Cachin et al., Cézanne, exh. cat. (Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1996), 533–35; and Philip Conisbee, “The Atelier des Lauves,” in Cézanne in Provence, exh. cat. (National Gallery of Art; Yale University Press, 2006), 239.
- On the derivation from Manet, see Ballas, Baigneuses et baigneurs, 42, 290; and Krumrine, Cézanne’s Bathers, 67. Cezanne mentioned the Salon des Refusés in a letter to Numa Coste of Feb. 27, 1864. See Paul Cézanne: Correspondance, ed. John Rewald (Grasset, 1978), 111.
- On the derivation of Manet’s figure, see Gustav Pauli, “Raffael und Manet,” Monatshefte für Kunstwissenschaft 1, no. 1 (Jan.–Feb. 1908): 53–55. On Cezanne’s derivations from Raimondi, see Ballas, Baigneuses et baigneurs, 42, 290; and Krumrine, Cézanne’s Bathers, 115.
- Cezanne to Roger Marx, Jan. 23, 1905, in Cezanne, Correspondance, 312: “On ne substitute pas au passé, on y ajoute seulement un nouveau chaînon.”
- On the derivation of this figure from the Saint Anthony painting, see Krumrine, Cézanne’s Bathers, 207; and Ballas, Baigneuses et baigneurs, 309. See also Meyer Schapiro, Cézanne (Harry N. Abrams, 1952), 29; and Reff, “Cézanne’s Late Bather Paintings,” 103.
- See Theodore Reff, “Cézanne, Flaubert, St. Anthony, and the Queen of Sheba,” Art Bulletin 44, no. 2 (June 1962): 113–25.
- See Krumrine, Cézanne’s Bathers, 207–8; and Ballas, Baigneuses et baigneurs, 309.
- See Krumrine, Cézanne’s Bathers, 55.
- Ambroise Vollard, Paul Cézanne (Ambroise Vollard, 1914), 96: “Son rêve eût été de faire poser ses modèles nus en plein air: mais c’était irréalisable pour beaucoup de raisons, dont la plus importante était que la femme, même habillée, l’intimidait.” See also Émile Bernard, “Souvenirs sur Paul Cézanne et lettres inédites,” Mercure de France 70, nos. 247 and 248 (Oct. 1 and 16, 1907): 395–96; Karl Ernst Osthaus, “Cézanne,” Feuer: Monatsschrift für Kunst und künstlerische Kultur 2, no. 1 (Oct. 1920): 84; Joachim Gasquet, Cézanne (Bernheim-Jeune, 1921), 34; Gustave Coquiot, Paul Cezanne (Paul Ollendorff, 1919), 144, 219; John Rewald, Cézanne: Sa vie, son œuvre, son amitié pour Zola (Albin Michel, 1939), 388; Jean Renoir, Renoir, mon père (Hachette, 1962), 128; and Aruna D’Souza, Cézanne’s Bathers: Biography and the Erotics of Paint (Pennsylvania State University Press, 2008), 80–84.
- FWN 3018-11b relates to excursions Cezanne made along the Arc to Les Trois Sautets and the Gour de Martelly in August and September 1906. See Cezanne to Paul Cezanne fils, Aug. 14 and Sept. 2, 1906, in Correspondance, 321, 323, the latter of which mentions how “de grands arbres … forment la voûte au-dessus de l’eau” at the second venue.
- See Nina Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, Cézanne and Provence: The Painter in His Culture (University of Chicago Press, 2003), 190. See also 187–207 on Virgil and Arcadia.
- On this painting and its resemblance to Cezanne’s work, see Bruno Ely, “La plus haute sommité du département,” in Musée Granet, Sainte-Victoire: Cézanne, exh. cat. (Réunion des Musés Nationaux, 1990), 172. On Grésy and the bather, see Ballas, Baigneuses et baigneurs, 33. On Theocritus’s Arcadia, see Erwin Panofsky, “Poussin and the Elegaic Tradition,” in Meaning and the Visual Arts (Doubleday, 1955), 297.
- See Paul Smith, “Joachim Gasquet, Virgil and Cézanne’s Landscape: ‘My Beloved Golden Age,’” Apollo 148, no. 439 (Oct. 1998): 13.
- See Smith, “My Beloved Golden Age,” 15, 20n6.
- See Gasquet, Cézanne, 59; and Smith, “My Beloved Golden Age,” 13, 20nn6–7.
- Joachim Gasquet, L’enfant (A. Dragon, 1900), n.p. See Smith, “My Beloved Golden Age,” 12–13.
- See Gasquet, Cézanne, 60; Smith, “My Beloved Golden Age,” 15; and Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, Cézanne and Provence, 216–18.
- See Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, Cézanne and Provence, 228–29.
- See Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, Cézanne and Provence, 227.
- See Schapiro, Cézanne, 4–5.
- See Mary Tompkins Lewis, Cézanne’s Early Imagery (University of California Press, 1989), 156–59.
- See Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, Cézanne and Provence, 190. See also FWN 656 and 657, known euphemistically as The Battle of Love.
- Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, Cézanne and Provence, 196.
- See Meyer Schapiro, “The Apples of Cézanne: An Essay on the Meaning of Still-Life,” in Modern Art: Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries (Braziller, 1978), 4, 10.
- See Schapiro, Cézanne, 15; and Reff, “Cézannne’s Late Bather Paintings,” 117.
- See Tamar Garb, “Visuality and Sexuality in Cézanne’s Late Bathers,” Oxford Art Journal 19, no. 2 (1996): 56–58; and T. J. Clark, “Freud’s Cézanne,” Representations, no. 52 (Autumn 1995): 102–3, 108–10.
- D’Souza, Cézanne’s Bathers, 58.
- Ambroise Vollard, Paul Cézanne (Paris, 1914), 22: “la peinture ‘bien couillarde.’”
- See Stendhal [Henri Beyle], Histoire de la peinture en Italie (Paris, 1868). See also Charles Camoin, “Souvenirs sur Paul Cézanne,” L’amour de l’art 2, no. 1 (1921): 26. On Cézanne and Stendhal, see Robert William Ratcliffe, “Cézanne’s Working Methods and Their Theoretical Background” (PhD diss., Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London, 1960), 312–27; and Marius Roux, The Substance and the Shadow, ed. Paul Smith, trans. Dick Collins and Fiona Cox (Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007), xxvi, 114–15, 158.
- Stendhal, Histoire de la peinture en Italie, 214–15: “les effets stimulants de la bile coincident avec ceux de l’humeur seminale,” “des sensations violentes,” “temperament bilieux.” Cezanne also used Stendhalian language in 1870 when he told the journalist Henri-Charles Stock about the paintings he had submitted unsuccessfully to the Salon: “J’ai les sensations très fortes,” “j’ose.” See Henri-Charles Stock, “Le Salon par Stock,” Stock-Album, no. 3 (1870): n.p.
- Cezanne to Cezanne fils, Aug. 3, 1906, in Correspondance, 318–19: “vivent les Goncourt … et tous ceux qui onlt des propensions vers la couleur.”
- Émile Bernard, “Paul Cézanne,” L’Occident, no. 32 (July 1904): 22; and Edmond de Goncourt and Jules de Goncourt, Manette Salomon (Paris, 1867), 2:266: “optique personelle.”
- Goncourt and Goncourt, Manette Salomon, 1:285–86: “des mâles énergies et des colères un peu sauvages,” “une sorte de paresse paresse d’adoration et de molle servitude heureuse,” “une si grande analogie avec la femme, de si intimes affinités avec le tempérament féminin.”
- See Charles Blanc, Grammaire des arts du dessin (Paris, 1867), 595.
- Garb, “Visuality and Sexuality,” 52–53.
- Vollard, Paul Cézanne, 96: “Il ne faisait d’exception que pour une servante qu’il avait eue, autrefois, au Jas de Bouffan, vieille créature au visage taillé à coups de serpe, et dont il disait à Zola avec admiration: ‘Regarde, est-ce beau? on dirait un homme!’” Vollard also recalls that Cezanne told him he intended to employ “une très vieille carne.” Other exceptions include models Cezanne named in his sketchbooks as Marie Louise and Aimée. See FWN 694, 3002-45a, and 3002–44b (recto), as well as the reconstruction of FWN 3002-43b and 3002-44a. All these images show the models with their hands raised over their heads.
- See Krumrine, Cézanne’s Bathers, 52–53.
- See Krumrine, Cézanne’s Bathers, 48, 210, 214, 218. The sketch is FWN 2178.
- FWN 3013-27a. See Goncourt and Goncourt, Manette Salomon, 1:262. On the sculpture, see W. Fröhner, Notice de la sculpture antique du Musée Impériale de Louvre (Paris, 1870), 1:449–50.
- For a summary of the literature on gender ambiguity in Cezanne’s Bathers, see Riopelle, “Bathers (Baigneurs),” 301–2.
- See cat. 1.
- See cat. 2.
- See cat. 13.
- For Cezanne’s statement “Frenhofer, c’est moi,” see Gasquet, Cézanne, 43. See also Gasquet, Cézanne, 26, 44, 92, 123.
- Balzac, “Le chef d’œuvre inconnu,” in Œuvres complètes (Paris, 1855), 14:286: “le movement et la vie.” According to the notes Charles Toché took from a painting lesson with Édouard Manet, he believed that there were “pas de traits précis, de fils de fer dans une chose mouvante.” See Ambroise Vollard, Souvenirs d’un marchand de tableaux (Albin Michel, 1937), 177.
- Matthew Simms, Cézanne’s Watercolors: Between Drawing and Painting (Yale University Press, 2008), 183.
- See Simms, Cézanne’s Watercolors, 189–90, which suggests that Cezanne “sought to retain the vital movement generated in his watercolor sketches in his large bather canvases.” Oils of bathers with similar compositions to the Chicago painting that employ contours to the same effect include FWN 967, 968, and 977. FWN 973, a painting of male bathers, also employs multiple contours applied at a late stage on the surface.
- The canvas fibers were not analyzed.
- See, for example, the chart of standard sizes available from Bourgeois Aîné in 1888, reproduced in David Bomford et al., Art in the Making: Impressionism, exh. cat. (National Gallery, London; Yale University Press, 1990), 46, fig. 31. After lining, the painting was mounted on a stretcher that is slightly larger than the original one, incorporating some of the tacking edges onto the picture plane (see Conservation History).
- This represents the finest canvas of the approximately seventy paintings by Cezanne that have been analyzed to date. Thread count and weave information were determined by Thread Count Automation Project software. See Don H. Johnson, “Thread Count Report: Paul Cézanne, The Bathers (FWN976/1942.457),” Sept. 2020, /files/a59a24c7-1bde-45ad-adae-74d24564b5c3/Cez_1942-457_Bathers_tcr_FWN976.pdf.
- Alfred Jakstas, examination report, Aug. 4, 1967, on file in the department of Conservation and Science, Art Institute of Chicago.
- Microscopically, regions of the ground layer near the left and bottom edges have a chunky appearance with large, coarsely ground lead white particles visible, possibly a local second layer applied to cover raw canvas near the edges.
- The ground composition was analyzed using scanning electron microscopy coupled with energy-dispersive X-ray spectroscopy (SEM/EDX). For more detailed results and conditions used, see Kim Muir, “1942-457_Cezanne_Bathers_ARP_SEM_202212,” Dec. 1, 2022, on file in the department of Conservation and Science, Art Institute of Chicago.
- Though the techniques used to analyze the pigments cannot discriminate between the two types of copper-arsenate pigments available in the nineteenth century—emerald green and Scheele’s green—the former is more likely, since the use of Scheele’s green is rare and emerald green has been confirmed in Cezanne’s paintings at other institutions. See Francesca Rosi et al., “A Non-Invasive XRF Study Supported by Multivariate Statistical Analysis and Reflectance FTIR to Assess the Composition of Modern Painting Materials,” Spectrochimica Acta Part A: Molecular and Biomolecular Spectroscopy 71, no. 5 (2009): 1655–62, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.saa.2008.06.011; and Anya Shutova and Barbara Buckley, “Materials and Techniques: A Study of Cézanne’s Paintings in the Barnes Foundation,” in Cézanne in the Barnes Foundation, ed. André Dombrowski, Nancy Ireson, and Sylvie Patry (Rizzoli Electa, 2021), 31–57. However, recent investigations have further highlighted the complexities related to the identification of copper-arsenic compounds. See Leonardo Pantoja Munoz, “Hidden in Plain Sight: Revisiting the Synthesis, Characterisation, Degradation and the Intricate Relationship Between Scheele’s Green and Emerald Green,” Heritage Science 12, no. 94 (2024): https://doi.org/10.1186/s40494-024-01192-7.
- See note 64 above.
- The presence of the pigments was inferred using the following methods: lead white (SEM/EDX, MA-XRF), ultramarine blue (SEM/EDX, HSI), cobalt blue (MA-XRF, HSI), emerald green (MA-XRF, HSI), viridian (MA-XRF, HSI), yellow/red oxides (XRF, HSI), vermilion (SEM/EDX, XRF, HSI), and possibly an organic yellow (inferred from the absence of inorganic elements in the XRF spectrum). Analysis was carried out on selected areas and may not include all pigments present in the painting. See Giovanni Verri, “1942-457_Cezanne_Bathers_ARP_XRF_HSI_202510”; and Muir, “1942-457_Cezanne_Bathers_ARP_SEM_202212,” on file in the department of Conservation and Science, Art Institute of Chicago.
- The binding medium was not analyzed. The estimation of an oil medium is based on visual examination, as well as on knowledge of Cezanne’s technique and published analyses of Cezanne’s paintings in other collections. See, for example, Charlotte Hale, “A Template for Experimentation: Cézanne’s Process and the Paintings of Hortense Fiquet,” in Dita Amory et al., Madame Cézanne, exh. cat. (Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2014), 55; and Elisabeth Reissner, “Ways of Making: Practice and Innovation in Cézanne’s Paintings in the National Gallery,” National Gallery Technical Bulletin 29 (2008): 10.
- Alfred Jakstas, interdepartmental correspondence, May 2, 1967, on file in the department of Conservation and Science, Art Institute of Chicago.
- Alfred Jakstas, treatment report, June 24, 1968, on file in the department of Conservation and Science, Art Institute of Chicago.
- Allison Langley, treatment report, May 21, 2021, on file in the department of Conservation and Science, Art Institute of Chicago.
- John Rewald, The Paintings of Paul Cézanne: A Catalogue Raisonné (Abrams, 1996), 1:512–13, no. 859; 2:301 (ill.).
- Wildenstein Galleries, Loan Exhibition of Paintings by Paul Cezanne, 1839–1906 (Paul Rosenberg, 1928), cat. 8.
- Daniel Catton Rich, ed., Catalogue of a Century of Progress: Exhibition of Paintings and Sculpture, exh. cat. (Art Institute of Chicago, 1933), cat. 306.
- See exhibition materials for Renaissance Society of the University of Chicago, Exhibition of Modern French Paintings, 1929, Archives of American Art, copy in curatorial file.
Entry by Paul Smith; Technical Report by Kim Muir with Giovanni Verri, “Cat. 11 The Bathers, 1899–1904,” in Cezanne Paintings and Watercolors at the Art Institute of Chicago, ed. Gloria Groom and Kim Muir (Art Institute of Chicago, 2026), https://doi.org/10.53269/9780865593251/16. © 2026 by The Art Institute of Chicago. This work is licensed under a CC BY-NC 4.0 license: creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/.