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Title
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The Work and the "Boundary of Meaning"/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue
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Description
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Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue s.277-281
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Creator
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Juszczak, Wiesław
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Date
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2014
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Format
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application/pdf
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Identifier
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oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:6102
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Language
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ang
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Publisher
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Instytut Sztuki PAN
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Relation
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oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:6530
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Rights
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Licencja PIA
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Subject
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anthropology of film
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Type
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czas.
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Text
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aul Claudel wrote in his Journal from 1910 that
it is important to always possess a strong feeling
of reality and hard facts. This statement could
be referred to assorted life situations. But Claudel was
thinking of a special state of affairs: the stand assu
med by the artist and his task. The word "reality” must
at this stage bring to mind yet another note made by
the poet four years earlier, when he wrote that he had
been thinking not of a reality accessible to our senses
but a “total reality of things visible and invisible”, the
base of truly universal poetry.
Claudel returned to this reflection upon many oc
casions, i.a. in Positions et propositions, published in
1928, when he announced that the matter of poetry are
not dreams, illusions or thoughts but sacred reality, in
which we are enrooted for always: a universe of the vis
ible to which Faith grants a universe of the invisible,
all that gazes at us and which we contemplate. All is
the work of God, lauded by the songs and poems of the
greatest poets as well as the songs of the most modest of
birds. Poesis perennis does not devise its themes but in
cessantly returns to those suggested by Creation, in the
manner of our liturgy, of which we never tire just as we
do not grow weary of the seasons of the year. The pur
pose of poetry is not, as Baudelaire maintained, to reach
the bottom of Infinity in order to discover novelty but,
on the contrary, to attain the bottom of the finite so as
to arrive at that, which is inexhaustible. In a travesty
of Jesus: He that is not with me is against me; and he that
gathereth not with me scattereth (Matthew 12,30; Luke
11,23) Claudel added that only truth links and con
nects all, while all that, which is not truth, disperses.
We accept that an authentic work of art discloses
or at least intends to reveal or render closer that, which
in a domain other than reflection on art is described as
the boundary of meaning. This term comes from the
philosophy of religion or, to put it as extensively as pos
sible, the study of religion. Religion in Essence and Mani
festation: A Study in Phenomenology by Gerardus van der
Leeuw disseminated this term, borrowing it from a today
already less known work, namely, Types of Men by Edu
ard Springer (published in 1914), who wrote that the
religious meaning of things is the one beyond which no
further or more profound meaning may hide. This is the
sense of entirety, the last word. Such meaning, however,
will be never comprehended and such a word will be
never uttered. They shall always remain above us. Ul
timate sense is an ever-revealed mystery that, however,
keeps on being concealed. It denotes a path leading to
the ultimate boundary where only one thing is compre
hended: all understanding remains “on the other side”.
Ultimate sense is thus the very limit of meaning.
Karen Blixen died in 1962. Immediately before she
said in an interview given on Danish Radio, i. a. that
inspiration is composed predominantly of all experi
ences comprising a unity thanks to which that, which
P
277
WIESŁAW
JUSZCZAK
The Work and the
"Boundary of Meaning”
we usually find so difficult to understand suddenly be
comes lucid and appears to have been bestowed upon
us in the manner of a gift.
An excellent commentary to this statement is a
fragment from a biography by the writer Judith Thur
man, who noted: the sentence “I understood every
thing” or “suddenly, I comprehended everything”
appears in the writings of Karen Blixen almost as a
liturgical formula. It signifies an awareness of the great
mystery that each one of us carries within, buried in
the past and now suddenly discovered, describing mo
ments that disclose the very skeleton of our identity.
This sketch is an outcome of attempts at comment
ing on Babette’s Feast (Babette’s gaestebud, 1987), Gabri
el Axel’s film adaptation of a novel written by Karen
Blixen in English in 1950. The novel was included in
Anecdotes of Destiny, a collection issued in 1953.
Babette’s Feast occupies an exceptional place in the
oeuvre of Karen Blixen: it is her masterpiece or belongs
to a group of her most complete works. A xel’s film, a
faithful transposition of the original, attains the same
extremely high level, so rare in cinematographic art. It
is and will undoubtedly remain one of the masterpiec
es of film. Nonetheless, due to the fact that as befits
a masterpiece it is known to a rather narrow audience
it seems necessary to propose at the very onset the
simplest possible and, unfortunately, rather abridged
introduction at least to its theme.
In the story the plot takes place in the small N or
wegian port town of Berlevaag. The film transferred
it to Denmark and a seacoast village in the northern
part of a peninsula. Here, probably at the beginning
of the 1920s, lived a pastor who in time gathered
disciples or believers from among simple fishermen
and sailors. Certain features of this congregation
could point to the impact of Swedenborg. A t this
stage, however, it suffices to add that the movement
aimed at a revival of religious life, initiated by the
pastor, spread across the country, gaining followers
among the high strata of the nobility and at the royal
court.
Wieslaw Juszczak • THE WORK AND THE “BOUNDARY OF MEANING
The pastor married late and soon became a widow
er. Alone, he brought up two daughters, Martina and
Philippa, christened after Luther and Melanchton.
Their upbringing must have been stern; moreover, the
pastor did not want the girls to leave home, declaring
that their assistance would be always indispensable in
view of his vocation. The daughters did not protest,
but upon two occasions the extraordinary beauty and
enchanting voice of the younger one disturbed the un
ruffled course of their life.
First there appeared at the pastor’s house Lorens
Loewenhielm, a young officer from a well-born family,
in love with Martina. He had gained access thanks to a
pious aunt, a long-time supporter of the pastor’s activ
ity whose country residence was located nearby. The
young man, however, soon understood that he would
be unable to win over the girl and after telling her that
he found out for the first time that fate is cruel and
that there are certain impossible things in the world,
he left for always - or so it seemed at the time.
N ext there arrived on a sightseeing tour a bril
liant French singer, Achille Papin, who had just per
formed at the Royal Opera in Stockholm. Having seen
Philippa and heard her astonishing voice in church he
decided to share his life and career with her. He suc
ceeded only insofar as the pastor permitted him to give
the young girl several singing lessons. Philippa, how
ever, resigned from them, evidently uncertain about
her feelings for the teacher.
Many years later, Achille wrote a letter to the
sisters requesting that they would take the person
delivering it, a certain Babette Hersant, under their
care. A t the time of the Paris Commune Babette had
lost her husband and son and was forced to flee from
France. Her nephew, working on a ship belonging to
the Scandinavian fleet, could take her along. Achille
Papin recalled the pastor’s home and presented her
with a letter of recommendation informing that Ba
bette was an excellent cook. The two sisters, living
very modestly (their father had passed away a long
time ago), devoted all their funds to charity and thus
concluded that they could not afford a housekeeper.
Babette pleaded to permit her to stay and work free of
charge, claiming that this was the last chance in her
life. The sisters were compelled to relent.
Upon a certain occasion Babette mentioned that
the only bond with her homeland was a lottery ticket
purchased a long time ago and renewed yearly by one
of her Parisian friends. More than ten years after hav
ing settled down in her new place of residence she re
ceived the news that she had won the first prize: 10
000 franks. This event coincided with the hundredth
anniversary of the pastor’s birth, which his daughters
intended to celebrate. Babette convinced them to al
low her to cook a French-style dinner on that day, for
which she would pay with her winnings. Having over
278
come their doubts, Martina and Philippa consented,
especially considering that this was Babette’s first re
quest and, they believed, the last one before her now
likely departure for France. Babette had become rich
and, in their opinion, the cost of a single reception
would not affect her resources.
Despite considerable anxiety caused by the scale
and type of purchases preceding the dinner, the
evening was a success. Even more so since it especially
impressed, and was appreciated by a totally unexpected
guest announced almost at the last moment. This was
Lorens Loewenhielm, now a retired general, who had
enjoyed an imposing career and for years represented
his country at the court of St. Petersburg and Paris.
The striking features of both the novel and the film
are unusually concise narration and the simplicity of all
applied means. This simplicity and aptness serve, al
ready on the outside, the essential expressive effect of
the whole dramatic construction, basically identical in
both works and granting the illusion of reality to things
and events that are by no means obvious but puzzling
and uncommon. That which should be regarded as
openly improbable is rendered credible in assorted ways,
one of them being the precisely defined historical qual
ity of facts. We know, for instance, that the closing and,
at the same time, main link of the plot takes place on
15 December 1885 and thus that the pastor was born in
1785. We also learn that Martina was born in 1836 and
Philippa - in 1837, that Lorens paid his first visit to the
pastor’s house in 1854, and that Achille Papin came a
year later, that Babette arrived in 1871, etc.
This whole network of dates, given directly or eas
ily recreated, aims, first and foremost, at rendering real
all those unlikely coincidences that bring to mind an
intervention of supernatural forces and that in a ra
tional order should be regarded either as confabula
tion or a challenge to faith.
On the other hand, fate or Providence reveals its
power through an improbable symmetry of events.
All the sequences aim at a single point designated by
the dinner given by Babette. Unfulfilled feelings and
crossed plans are realized, disclosing their concealed
order and meaning, becoming ultimately the reason
for an explanation of the central event and finding
their elucidation within it. In this manner, the despot
ic nature of the pastor and his egocentrism, only os
tensibly justified by noble vocation, are as if overcome
and vanquished, but actually reveal themselves in the
unexpected truth of their essential effects. The love of
Lorens for Martina and of Achille for Philippa, timidly
reciprocated but instantly stifled, now triumphs at a
totally different level. Thanks to the singer Babette
found herself at the home of the pastor’s daughters.
Owing to the general’s seemingly accidental but nec
essary presence at the dinner table and the experienc
es that he pursued owing to failed love the greatness of
Wieslaw Juszczak • THE WORK AND THE “BOUNDARY OF MEANING
Babette’s feast can be duly appreciated, since the meal
is a great work of art and Babette - a remarkable artist.
This is the way in which cards dealt by fate are shown.
Suddenly, we decipher the heretofore-concealed plan
and discover the essence of the game. The impact of
grace can ultimately come to the fore via the artwork
and in a place created by the latter.
General Loewenhielm rises to say a single sentence:
But the moment comes when our eyes are opened, and we
see and realize that grace is infinite.
In this fashion we discover the topic of Babette’s Feast,
its theme and most profound contents. This is a story
about a work of art and the revelation of grace - some
thing that might be described as coup de grâce, if this ex
pression were to be freed of its idiomatic meaning
Let us repeat: according to Babette’s Feast a work of
art describes and as if discloses the place that is to be
struck by the “bolt of grace”.
Each of the two motifs (“religious” and “artistic”)
of the story and, naturally, the film, can be separated
more clearly only at an analytical level, possesses to a
certain extent separate sigs of recognition, and con
trasts with the other.
The text of Babette’s Feast is full of open or con
cealed - at times travestied - Biblical quotations. Mem
bers of the pastor’s congregation at times speak in the
words of the Bible (e.g. the story about the cluster of
grapes comes from The Book of Numbers, and about the
treacherous nature of language - from The Epistle of St.
James). The theme from Psalm 85: Mercy and truth are
met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each oth
er recurs several times. One of the hymns sung by the
congregation and composed, as we learn, by the pastor
alludes to sentences repeated by St. Matthew (7, 9-10)
and St. Luke (11, 11): Or what man is there of you, whom
if his son asks bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he asks
for a fish, will give him a snake? It is said that Babette was
the dark Martha in the house of two fair Marys. The
feast is associated with two New Testament events the Wedding at Cana and the Pentecost, the second
being recalled as follows: Of what happened later in the
evening, nothing definite here can be stated. None of the
guests later on had any clear remembrance of it. They only
knew that the rooms had been filled with a heavenly light,
as if a number of small halos had blended into one glorious
radiance. Taciturn old people received the gift of tongues;
ears that for years had been almost deaf were opened to it.
Time itself had merged into eternity. Long after midnight,
the windows of the house shone like gold, and golden song
flowed out into the winter air.
A t the onset Babette and the theme of artistic crea
tivity are defined by a sombre ambiance. Karen Blixen
(as well as Axel and the brilliant Stephane Audran
playing the part of Babette) masterfully outlines a por
trait of the protagonist: simple and obvious, puzzling
and undefined, full of unexpected possibilities inces
279
santly revealed and realised. Into the world formed by
the pastor Babette introduced multi-faceted outland
ishness derived from her biography, customs, language
and religion. She does not demonstrate this trait but
also does not reject it. A t the same time, she enters a to
tally new environment and almost blends with it while
remaining essentially mysterious and unknown. When
the circumstances allow her to disclose that what she
regards as most important - her vocation and talent,
there emerges also something that defines her strange
ness to the very end: some sort of a pagan feature con
taining the idea and form of an offering.
The originally blurred outlines of this form give rise
to fear and outrage among everyone. In a single mo
ment, the whole trust that had been bestowed upon Ba
bette for the past fourteen years disappears and someone
even proposes to ignore her suspicious and undoubtedly
sinful gift and to treat it with silence and indifference.
A t that particular moment no one, and up to the end
almost no one infers an offering in the French women’s
caprice or is capable of assessing its dimensions.
In contrast to the obvious grace suffusing the con
tents of the life of the pastor’s daughters Babette’s of
fering is - not only ostensibly - dark, impenetrable,
violent and cruel. Regardless of the sophistication that
ultimately comes to the fore in its outcome, its sources
contain something primeval. First and foremost, it is
again due to this trait that the offering is “pagan”. A t
this stage, the film by Gabriel Axel adds something to
that, which Karen Blixen merely suggested and which
at first glance appears to be fleeting. The sequence of
preparations for the feast shows mounds of slaughtered
animals; next, we watch many other first-hand testimo
nies of unrestrained extravagance, the end result being
an image of frenzied wastage and destruction, a “pot
latch” in which, as it turns out at the end, the sum of 10
000 franks, enormous at the time, simply vanishes.
This “pagan” character of the feast, which, as has
been mentioned, became apparent rather prior to the
feast than in its course, compels us to regard Babette’s
offering in religious categories. In this context, “pagan”
means primarily “cult”, “religious” and belonging to a
different religious order than the one universally preva
lent in the given environment.
In the novel the image of the feast is humbler than
in the film and apart from the story about the gigantic
turtle, which appears in the kitchen and terrifies Mar
tha, it says little about the backstage preparations. The
general recognises and admires the brands and vintage
of the wines. He also knows the particular dishes: turtle
soup, blinis Demidoff and cailles en sarcophage, the latter
being the trademark of Babette Hersant and her artistry
at the Parisian “Café Anglais” restaurant famous for her
cuisine. In the story Lorens Loewenhielm reminisces
but does not exteriorise his recollections. In the film,
on the other hand, he speaks but his remarks do not
Wieslaw Juszczak • THE WORK AND THE “BOUNDARY OF MEANING
produce any sort of reaction or understanding among
the listeners. In both cases, therefore, data that would
make it possible to finally unveil the mystery of the feast,
i.e. to identify Babette, are not associated. The general
never saw her in Paris nor will he see her here. He rec
ognizes the work, which he once admired but does not
attempt to deduce by what miracle it had made its way
to the pastor’s home. In a certain sense his reaction is
correct: he distrusts sensual evidence and succumbs to
that, which he regards as improbable and thus cannot
be considered “real” according to commonly observed
rigours. In doing so, he accepts the order into which he
had been introduced, although he is unable to explain
it.
General Loewenhielm stopped eating and sat immov
able. Once more he was carried back to that dinner in Paris
of which he had thought in the sledge. An incredibly recher
che and palatable dish had been served there; he had asked
its name from his fellow diner, Colonel Galliffet, and the
Colonel had smilingly told him that it was named “Cadies
en Sarcophage”. He further told him that the dish had been
invented by the chef off the very café in which they were din
ing, a person known all over Paris as the greatest culinary
genius of the age and —most surprisingly —a woman! “And
indeed”, said Colonel Galliffet, ”this woman is now turning
a dinner at the Café Anglais into a kind of love affair —inot
a love affair of the noble and romantic category in which one
no longer distinguishes between bodily and spiritual appetite
or satiety!
The term “romantic” used here is by all means justi
fied. The cited dialogue should be situated somewhere
at the turn of the fifth decade of the nineteenth centu
ry. Romanticism, devised as an artistic current, was still
alive and although its tide was declining and becom
ing dispersed it grew increasingly universal. Mentioning
cailles en sarcophage Karen Blixen described the stylistic
features of Babette’s work and evoked the historicalarchaeological predilections of the period as well as its
macabre-grotesque inclination towards "creating an
atmosphere”. The name of the dish contains all: from
subjection to fashion to the use in culinary art of inspi
rations stemming from the great spiritual discoveries of
the epoch. Moreover, let us add, it again suggests some
sort of a cult ceremony, a ritual and an offering.
The speech given by General Loewenhielm disclos
ing the moral and religious meaning of Babette‘s feast
is preceded by a brief comment on the impact of wine.
Once more we come across an echo of The Acts of the
Apostles. The miracle of glossolalia that occurred on the
day of the Pentecost was commented in two ways by
those gathered around the supper table (2,12-13): And
they were all amazed, and were in doubt, saying one to an
other, What meaneth this? Others mocking said, These men
are full of new wine.
The novel similarly justifies and appears to use ra
tional arguments to hide the general’s irrational behav
280
iour. For all practical purposes, we may perceive the
influence of some sort of inspiration stemming from
unidentified sources. But, as we had already mentioned,
the narrator prefers to remain firmly on the ground:
Then the General felt that the time had come to make a
speech. He rose and stood up very straight. Nobody else at
the dinner table had stood up to speak. The old people lifted
their eyes to the face above them in high, happy expectation.
They were used to seeing sailors and vagabonds dead drunk
with the crass gin of the country, but they did not recognize
in a warrior and courtier the intoxication brought about by
the noblest wine of the world. “Mercy and truth, my friends,
have met together," said the General. “Righteousness and
bliss shall kiss one another".
He spoke in a clear voice, which had been trained in
drill grounds and had echoed sweetly in royal halls, and
yet he was speaking in a manner so new to himself and
so strangely moving that after his first sentence he had
to make a pause. For he was in the habit of forming his
speeches with care, conscious of his purpose, but here,
in the midst of the Dean’s simple congregation, it was as
if the whole figure of General Loewenhielm, his breast
covered with decorations, were but a mouthpiece for a
message which meant to be brought forth.
“Man, my friends,” said General Loewenhielm, “is
frail and foolish. We have all of us been told that grace
is to be found in the universe. But in our human foolish
ness and short-sightedness we imagine divine grace to
be finite. For this reason we tremble ...” Never till now
had the General stated that he trembled; he was genu
inely surprised and even shocked at hearing his own
voice proclaim the fact. “We tremble before making our
choice in life, and after having made it again tremble in
fear of having chosen wrong. But the moment comes
when our eyes are opened, and we see and realize that
grace is infinite. Grace, my friends, demands nothing
from us but that we shall await it with confidence and
acknowledge it in gratitude. Grace, brothers, makes
no conditions and singles out none of us in particular;
grace takes us all to its bosom and proclaims general
amnesty. See! that which we have chosen is given us,
and that which we have refused is, also and at the same
time, granted us. Ay, that which we have rejected is
poured upon us abundantly. For mercy and truth have
met together and righteousness and bliss have kissed
one another”.
This moment of illumination in which everything
that the general had experienced in his life appeared as
a “logical whole” now suddenly assumes meaning, re
veals its deep sense and comes into being thanks to Babette’s work. The feast, an artistic creation, delineates,
as has been said, space that makes possible perception,
experience and comprehension totally different from
their “ordinary”, common or pragmatic counterparts. A
feast conceived as a work of art places its participants
vis a vis complete reality revealing all its dimensions.
Wieslaw Juszczak • THE WORK AND THE “BOUNDARY OF MEANING
The densification and intensification of the sensual is
such that it appears to undergo a crisis of sorts. On a
daily basis, the firm cohesion of the visible cracks and
ensuing fissures contain invisible perspectives of things,
domains of “the invisible”.
Such a work is attainable thanks to sacrifice. Each
great work possesses something of an offering. It either
is an offering or originates from it; similarly to the offer
ing, it does not “communicate” anything to those who
come into contact with it or, to put differently, those
who find themselves within its range.
The probably most prominent message of Babette’s
Feast is contained in the discovery and process of ren
dering aware of the work of art both as the concentra
tion and liberation of a certain force and energy that it
would be most correct to describe as the force of the
truth - such a work takes us into its possession, embrac
es us, and compels us to participate in it. It is impossible,
therefore, to speak about the reception and recipients
of that, which has taken place and emerged in the act of
creation. Babette’s Feast shows how regardless of “com
petence” and even of will, willingness and resolutions
the work captivates those who had been drawn into its
orbit. And how regardless of experience, knowledge,
and even the state of consciousness it allows and forces
to see that, which it cannot indicate even indirectly or
ostensibly: to see “total reality” and the “sense of the
whole”, to reach the “boundary of meaning”. When Lo
rens Loewenhielm speaks about grace and Babette ad
mits that if she offered all that she could give then she
offered others perfect happiness they are both express
ing the same: experiencing an infinite, limitless whole.
That which we have chosen is given us, and that which
we have refused is, also and at the same time, granted us.
Let us repeat: great art is the reason why we become
its substance, the “matter” of its works.
The novel and the film end with a conversation
containing a unique and artistically important creed. In
this case, the text of the novel is much more extensive
than the film version of the dialogue.
Martina says: “We will all remember this evening when
you have gone back to Paris, Babette”.
Babette said: “I am not going back to Paris”.
“You are not going back to Paris?” Martine ex
claimed.
“No, ” said Babette. “What will I do in Paris? They have
all gone. I have lost them all, Mesdames”.
The sisters’ thoughts went to Monsieur Hersant and his
son, and they said: “Oh, my poor Babette”.
“Yes, they have all gone", said Babette. “The Duke of
Morny, the Duke of Decazes, Prince Narishkine, Generał
Galliffet, Aurelien Scholl, Paul Daru, the Princes Pauline!
All! “ .
The strange names and titles of people lost to Ba
bette faintly confused the two ladies, but there was such
an infinite perspective of tragedy in her announcement
28 1
that in their responsive state of mind they felt her losses
as their own, and their eyes filled with tears.
A t the end of another long silence Babette suddenly
smiled slightly at them and said: “And how would I go
back to Paris, Mesdames? I have no money”.
“No money?” the sisters cried as with one mouth.
“No” said Babette.
“But the ten thousand francs? The sisters asked in a hor
rified gasp.
“The ten thousand francs have been spent, Mesdames”,
said Babette. [...]
The ladies still did not find a word to say. The piece of
news was incomprehensible to them, but then many things
tonight in one way or another had been beyond comprehen
sion [...]
“Dear Babette”, she said softly, “you ought not to have
given away all you had for our sake”.
Babette gave her mistress a deep glance, a strange
glance. Was there not pity, even scorn, at the bottom
of it?
“For your sake?” she replied. “No. For my own”.
She rose from the chopping block and stood up be
fore the two sisters.
“I am a great artist!” she said.
She waited a moment and then repeated: “I am a
great artist, Mesdames”.
Again for a long time there was deep silence in the
kitchen. Then Martine said: “So you will be poor now
all your life, Babette?
“Poor?” said Babette. She smiled as if to herself. “No.
I shall never be poor. I told you that I am a great artist. A
great artist, Mesdames, is never poor. We have something,
Mesdames, of which other people know nothing. [...]
“But all those people whom you had mentioned,” she
said, “those princes and great people of Paris whom you
named, Babette? You yourself fought against them. You
were a Communard! The general you named had your hus
band and son short! How can you grieve over them?”
Babette’s dark eyes met Philippa’s. “Yes", she said, "I
was a Communard. [...] And those people I named, Mes
dames, were evil and cruel [...] But all the same, Mesdames,
I shall not go back to Paris, now that those people of whom I
have spoken are no longer there". [...] “You see, Mesdames
[... ] those people belonged to me, they were mine. They had
been brought up and trained, with greater expense than you,
my little ladies, could ever imagine or believe, to understand
what a great artist I am. I could make them happy. When
I did my very best I could make them perfectly happy”. [...]
“It was like that with Monsieur Papin too" [...] “He told
me so himself: ‘It is terrible and unbearable to an artist, ’ he
said, ‘to be encouraged to do, to be applauded for doing, his
second best’. He said: ‘Through all the world there goes one
long cry from the heart of the artist: Give me leave to do my
utmost!”.
June-November 1992
