DOI issue:
No. 237 (December 1912)
DOI article:Laillet, Hélène: The home of an artist: M. Fernand Khnopff's villa at Brussels
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.21158#0226
M. Fernand
leave them tcTtheir dream of beauty and of sad-
ness. It seems that Fernand Khnopff had wished
to illustrate the famous words of Alfred de Vigny
—that singer of sufferings nobly born—“Silence
alone is great, all else is weakness.” The pessimism
of the painter is as sincere as that of the poet.
If the artist did not tell you so, you would not
know that you were in the dining-room—how
should you ? There is nothing to denote the fact. At
meal-times a little table appears, only to disappear
again almost immediately. Here again is shown
the struggle between the ideal and the material.
Several steps at the end of the corridor lead to
the studio, where one feels more at ease than
in the other room, although the sense of mystery
is greater. Facing the door is an altar sacred to
Hypnos. It is composed of a crystal cabinet resting
on a glass pedestal cast by Tiffany; below are two
chimeras of gilded bronze and these words stand
out clearly: “ On n’a que soi.” The sun filters
through stained-glass windows like those in the
corridor, and their colours are reflected on the
white mosaic floor of the studio, in the middle of
which is traced a great
golden circle. On the ceil-
ing, to correspond, there is
another, where is repre-
sented the constellation of
Libra (the Balance) under
which Fernand Khnopff
was born. A little fountain
murmurs the eternal song
of Life, which flows on
stifling the swiftly passing
Present, so that the Past
and Future seem almost to
meet. At the bottom of
the white marble basin lie
mother-of-pearl shells, their
delicate colours shining
through the clear trans-
parent water. Beautiful
objects are scattered about
the room—a silken garment
of shimmering hues, a rose
shedding its petals, a branch
of withered mistletoe, a
beautiful cushion lying on
the floor, several butterflies
—one of so marvellous a
blue that the most subtle
combinations of colours
could not produce its tint
—and, on a bright piece of
204
Khnopff's Villa
embroidery by Lalique, a tortoise cast in bronze.
Khnopff does not like animals; for a little while
he tolerated this tortoise, then finding it too noisy,
he put it in the garden; it wandered away and he
found it again dead. To-day—silent—it has re-
gained its place in the studio and has been named
by the artist “ My remorse.” In one corner of the
room is a couch the pure Empire style of which
harmonises with the cold beauty of the room ; here
and there hang artistic draperies; on a pedestal
stands the first bust modelled by the artist—it is
of marble slightly tinted and thus has an almost
lifelike appearance—and near by there is a portrait
of Mme. Khnopff, the artist’s mother—a-very fine
study.
There is not a single detail in this studio which
does not denote the desire for complete harmony ;
this strained search after perfection is pleasing to
certain sensitive natures. Those who are fascinated
by his strange art seek to read the mind of Khnopff
by means of the numerous drawings into which he
has put something of himself, but though these
works are complete to the slightest detail, it is very
THE “BLUE room” (see pa*! 2 J 5)
leave them tcTtheir dream of beauty and of sad-
ness. It seems that Fernand Khnopff had wished
to illustrate the famous words of Alfred de Vigny
—that singer of sufferings nobly born—“Silence
alone is great, all else is weakness.” The pessimism
of the painter is as sincere as that of the poet.
If the artist did not tell you so, you would not
know that you were in the dining-room—how
should you ? There is nothing to denote the fact. At
meal-times a little table appears, only to disappear
again almost immediately. Here again is shown
the struggle between the ideal and the material.
Several steps at the end of the corridor lead to
the studio, where one feels more at ease than
in the other room, although the sense of mystery
is greater. Facing the door is an altar sacred to
Hypnos. It is composed of a crystal cabinet resting
on a glass pedestal cast by Tiffany; below are two
chimeras of gilded bronze and these words stand
out clearly: “ On n’a que soi.” The sun filters
through stained-glass windows like those in the
corridor, and their colours are reflected on the
white mosaic floor of the studio, in the middle of
which is traced a great
golden circle. On the ceil-
ing, to correspond, there is
another, where is repre-
sented the constellation of
Libra (the Balance) under
which Fernand Khnopff
was born. A little fountain
murmurs the eternal song
of Life, which flows on
stifling the swiftly passing
Present, so that the Past
and Future seem almost to
meet. At the bottom of
the white marble basin lie
mother-of-pearl shells, their
delicate colours shining
through the clear trans-
parent water. Beautiful
objects are scattered about
the room—a silken garment
of shimmering hues, a rose
shedding its petals, a branch
of withered mistletoe, a
beautiful cushion lying on
the floor, several butterflies
—one of so marvellous a
blue that the most subtle
combinations of colours
could not produce its tint
—and, on a bright piece of
204
Khnopff's Villa
embroidery by Lalique, a tortoise cast in bronze.
Khnopff does not like animals; for a little while
he tolerated this tortoise, then finding it too noisy,
he put it in the garden; it wandered away and he
found it again dead. To-day—silent—it has re-
gained its place in the studio and has been named
by the artist “ My remorse.” In one corner of the
room is a couch the pure Empire style of which
harmonises with the cold beauty of the room ; here
and there hang artistic draperies; on a pedestal
stands the first bust modelled by the artist—it is
of marble slightly tinted and thus has an almost
lifelike appearance—and near by there is a portrait
of Mme. Khnopff, the artist’s mother—a-very fine
study.
There is not a single detail in this studio which
does not denote the desire for complete harmony ;
this strained search after perfection is pleasing to
certain sensitive natures. Those who are fascinated
by his strange art seek to read the mind of Khnopff
by means of the numerous drawings into which he
has put something of himself, but though these
works are complete to the slightest detail, it is very
THE “BLUE room” (see pa*! 2 J 5)